Fried Mutton Chest

Dinner last Friday night was interesting, to say the least. We (meaning Tom) were searching for a restaurant that came highly recommended by both the Lonely Planet book on Mongolia and by Phil Nichols, one of the professors here at KU for summer campus. When we couldn't find it because it appeared to have disappeared without even leaving a building behind, we went looking for alternative eats.

We tried a street with lots of restaurants, but were having a hard time deciding which one to patronize. Tom really wanted Mongolian food, and Ed was just hungry and wanted to eat. Finally, Ed picked one that had a reasonable number of customers figuring the food must be at least OK and the wait wouldn't be too long. Ed and I ordered the fried mutton ribs, which were pretty good, if a bit fatty. Tom, however, made the mistake of asking our waitress what she recommended. I think his exact words were "number one." Now, in all fairness, she may have misunderstood and thought he was asking which dish had the most food, not which was best. Or perhaps she saw no distinction between the two. In any case he ended up ordering the "fried mutton chest."

As it turns out this was quite literally, the whole chest of a sheep. Not a lamb, mind you, but a fully grown sheep. When this generous bounty was delivered to the table and the shock wore off enough for Tom to speak, he said simply, "I can't eat this." Both Ed and I initially thought he meant there was too much food and he was offering to share. Looking more carefully at the meal on the plate and his grey face, however, we realized he was being quite literal.

He did pay for the meal, but quickly left without touching his food. Somebody feasted on free mutton chest that night. Tom ended up eating at the Indian restaurant in the hotel. Ironically, he had the lamb curry.

"Fried Mutton Chest" is now a running joke with us. If you see Tom ask him how it was. Be careful, however, as I think he is still experiencing symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder.