The diet out here is changing pretty dramatically since the cold has really hit. Most notably, aside from apples (who’s time, too, is coming), fresh produce has receded into the realm of dreams. We still have the sugared jams and salads, made this summer not to rot, but otherwise, its bread, tea, potatoes and meat.

Speaking of meat, we just slaughtered the winter cow this past weekend. After deliberating between the purchase of a cow or a yak, my father decided to kill a heifer he had out in the village. We are now the proud owners of lots and lots of beef, sitting frozen in the garage.

The slaughter itself was an event. We tied the beast down, slit its throat, skinned it, and then proceeded to butcher it, as often with an axe as a sharp knife. During this time, our group of four nearly tripled in size, at one point blossoming with a dozen beers and a bottle of vodka. It was all done outside, and I have pictures of cold, bloody hands and organ meat in the snow. I felt pretty good, being able to identify most of the organs. It was the especially large sack that caught me off guard. Apparently, it did the rest of the men as well; I guess nobody knew the cow was pregnant.

Since then, most of our dinners have been well boiled organ meat. The water its boiled in, somehow tastes better than its sheep meat counterpart. The meat is fattier, with yellow fat, as opposed to the white of sheep. Also, every part is just bigger, from the intestines to the vertebrae. One night, sitting around a table of 13, after devouring some rice wrapped in stomach made to resemble a duck, I had the pleasure of watching my mousy little mother scrape rings of the cow’s esophagus with her teeth, as if it were an artichoke leaf.

Otherwise, we’re eating lots of garlic and onions to ward off the flu. The schools all shut down last week, owing to poor attendance on account of all the sick children. Folks with the flu are identifiable enough, all sporting white, cotton face masks.

Aside from tea, our drinks seem to revolve around the carbonated variety. Not beer or soda, per se, but a more uniquely Kyrgyz version. Here at home, I sit down to a tall glass of fermented cow milk in the mornings, and after dinner usually have a little bit of that “cloud,” which has turned out to be sugary tea fermented with a mold patty. After my tutoring lesson in the morning, I’m treated to a chunky, fermented barley drink, which is apparently good for my hemoglobin.

Winter is here, folks. Its good and dark by six o’clock, and doesn’t brighten again until well after 8. As cold as it seems, I’m told from Dec. 20 until Feb. 15 is the peak of the storm. I sounds impossible, folks, but if the locals can do it, then I can, too.

Originally written Dec. 10th, 2009