Arriving back form work at 10:30 am, I found one sister sweeping, and two cooking. The smell of boiled beets and potatoes filled the kitchen, and I spent the day dicing boiled potatoes and carrots for all the salads we were preparing for the holiday. We made four different salads, all involving finely diced or shredded ingredients, all involving mayonnaise. The Olivie is finely diced potatoes, finely diced cooked carrots, canned peas, cubed pickles, cubed bologna, cubed eggs and mayonnaise. It tastes just like potato salad. Another salad is shredded beets, shredded raw garlic and mayonnaise. The mimoza salad layers mashed sardines, shredded potatoes, shredded cooked carrots and shredded hard-boiled egg between mayonnaise strata. Finally, the spinach salad is shredded spinach, canned corn, croutons and mayonnaise. My host father also roasted pork over and open pit, then doused it with vinegar and finely shredded onions.
I found out that all this lavish feast, set at a table that could hold at least fifteen people was made just in case guests came, and there was no definite people coming. Turkmen New Year’s has an element of Halloween. People, mostly in their twenties or younger, wander from house to house of friends and family, eating food the whole way. I went to three different houses, each of which served me a full meal, and became increasingly distressed that I could not eat vast quantities. I had already stuffed myself on pork with my host family, then politely worked my way through a stuffed cabbage at my second house, when at the third house I was served a full bowl or soup and a huge plate of manty. I picked politely, but my stomach ached, “Eat, eat! Don’t you like Turkmen food? Why don’t you eat? Isn’t it delicious?” my host repeated. On every street, the children throw firecrackers called “Pankledaks” that explode with load cracks. With each crack my belly lurched.
For midnight, I was back at home with the family. We watched the president’s speech, then drank champagne out of pressed-glass flutes in which we had burned papers containing dreams we wrote for the New Year. There was cake, and then we went outside to burn out little fireworks. Being a neurotic New Yorker to the end, I was half terrified, as the feeble little colored streams whizzed out the end. The closest thing I’ve held is a sparkler, but this thin little firecracker has gunpowder and everything. What if one gets stuck and it explodes in my face? I genuinely felt like a “big girl” entrusted with this powerful dangerous toy. My host father also heralded in the new year with some gun powdered, firing a single shot from a rifle. It may be the only time in my life I’ve seen a gun fired. Afterwards there was a bonfire in the garden. Three sisters and five and friends danced around the bonfire. The celebration went on and on. The black smoke from three old tires rose into the night before I finally called it a day and went to bed at 2 am. I’m not sure how long the party lasted after that.
THIS IS THE END
14 years ago
