Brain Dumplings

In Nepal, I’ve eaten momos at many different establishments--bhattis, rest stops, fancy restaurants, family dining rooms. They are the quintessential Nepali fast food and, unlike the Americanized dumpling, a plate of a dozen momos goes for less than one US dollar.

My favorite place to eat momos is at a bhatti not far from my work in Patan Dhoka. You need to squeeze past the giant steamer when you enter. Commuters struggle with their motorcycle helmets in the back of the room. The place is called Great Tasty.

For me, the charm of Great Tasty is the confidence the purveyors take in their sole product. There is no menu, just a handmade sign that reads 70RPS against the front wall. One sits down and someone will bring you a steaming plate of momos in a few moments.

The momo du jour every jour is the buff momo. Buff is a classic momo filling across the countless bhatti in Kathmandu and beyond. Buff, of course, refers to water buffalo meat. The flavor differs little from that of ground beef. The meat is mixed with spices and steamed inside a thin dough wrap.

Over time, I've learned there is a particular method for eating a dumpling that best unlocks its flavor and experience potential.

First, you need the proper equipment. Your plate of momos should be served with a thin spoon, one that would bend in ice cream. With the edge of the spoon, lightly slit the top of the momo. The wrap is very thin. But be delicate, as the momo is small and slippery.

Next, ladle the broth (orange in color, and mixed with spices and bits of meat) over the momo and its new opening. Extra broth is provided in plastic containers with an opening the size of a nickel. The ladling bathes the the momo's wrap with the tasty sauce and fills its inside with the smallest amount of sauce. Ladle the broth without too much thought to fully enjoy its meditative aspect. Even if one is in a hurry, there is always time for ladling.

A good momo should fit perfectly in the bowl of your spoon and be eaten in one bite. A momo is not something to be nibbled on. The size and shape of a momo makes it a complete unit and should be eaten as such.

The joy of eating a momo in one bite is feeling the juice flowing inside your mouth while mixing with the flavor and spices of the meat. One cannot think about the next bite but is free to enjoy the momo as it is, one at a time.

Please file under: Big trees taking over old shrines

Hey, if any of y'all are interested in things I've written for the Nepali Times since I've started there, these are the links to my articles so far (3 Nov).

My report on the ongoing renovations to Sundari Chowk, the oldest courtyard in Patan Palace: http://nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Patandurbarsquare-fitforaking-renovation,786

A profile of a 23rd-generation Ayurvedic healer: http://nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/Medicine-man,857

A guide-book review: http://nepalitimes.com/article/review/manalsu-valley-guidebook-review,820

A wine review: http://nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/wine-charity-whatever-it-takes,821

An intro to the annual Kathmandu Jazz Festival: http://nepalitimes.com/article/Nepali-Times-Buzz/jazzmandu-kathmandu-2013,834

An interview with British author Ned Beauman: http://nepalitimes.com/article/interview/About-time,855

Stupidest photo I took on the trek.

On the way back from Domje, we bypassed some of our ascending route by taking the trail on the opposite side of the river in Lower Tsum. The village across the river from Chumling, Ripchet, was about 200m higher than its across-the-river neighbor, which meant a much steeper descent to where the trails to the two sides of the river split off. We were walking down a series of switchbacks when we came across this in the trail: a newly formed 100m-high landslide.

I don't think any of us realized what we were traversing until we looked down to see people crossing the fresh dirt below. Vegetation, dirt and rock extended out into the river. I thought to myself that I didn't remember having to make such a maneuver on the way up when I realized that the landslide must have occurred some time in the last 5 days. I quickly got off from the patch of dirt I was standing on when I took this photo.

The landslide was located on the trail toward the end of one of the switchbacks, so we luckily didn't have to try and cross the loose dirt. We backtracked a little bit and found that someone had bushwhacked an impromptu trail that led vertically to the next section. The going was a little tentative, but we made it down safely and to the next part of the trail.

This is my favorite photo set from the Tsum Valley trek.

We arrived at Aarughat, the head of the Tsum Valley trail and the main bus terminus, one or two days late, depending on how you look at it. On the one hand, we thought it would be much faster for us to walk downhill through the valley back the way we came, it being downhill, and on the other, we thought buses were leaving out of Aarughat at all hours. As it turns out, it took us the same number of days to hike out of the valley as it took us to hike into it, and buses only left out of Aarughat in the morning. In the middle of what we thought was our last day, we were left with the entire evening to make our way back to Aarughat and sleep, a hike we did unnaturally slowly. We ended up pushing too close to nightfall at the second-to-last town (Soti Khalo) and ended up waiting for a night-bus to take us from there across the half-completed road in the darkness of night in the middle of nowhere, to the end of the line at a weird, bamboo-themed hotel filled with French ultramarathoners. That night bus, which was filled to capacity with French people, French-speaking Nepali people, villagers and ourselves, rollicked along the road, blasting Nepali and Hindi music and waking up the otherwise sleepy villages along the way. On our arrival, Jon described the trip as a "Satanic carnival ride." He had been planning out puke points in case of emergency.

After that ride and our night in the moist "room under the water tank," the three of us were a little dismayed to find the first bus of the morning, 7am, flush to the gills. The bus tickets were sold out, but the bus driver said we could ride in the aisles or on the roof. After the initial jostling jeep ride over the hills to Aarughat on dirt and rock roads, I had declared I would under no circumstances enter the death trap which was riding on the bus roof on that particular route. However, in that moment, faced with waiting for another bus that with only a slight chance would be less crowded, Milap and I decided to bite the bullet and ride on the roof. At least I can make sure our stuff's OK, I thought.

The morning ride on that roof was supremely pleasant. The sun had just come up and the air was still cool and dewy. The landscape was still mostly subtropical with the occasional bamboo branches hanging over our heads. The road was bumpy enough so the ride wasn't too fast, just an easy trot through the morning.

These photos were taking when we were ascending out of one valley on a switchback. The kid in the middle in the blue shirt was the bus boy, the ubiquitous character that collects bus fare, tells the driver when to stop and generally keeps order. These kids are generally pretty wily and wiry, moving back and forth between the roof and the inside of the bus, even when it's moving all full speed. Here, the bus boy asked me to take his photo before sitting down to pose with Milap. I like to see the progression in these photos, it more or less captures the motion and the constant swaying that accompanies riding on the top like this. I also like how the other guys on the bus slowly change their expression and look to the camera. There was a strange fraternity up there--Milap had spread out his sleeping pad and those guys were enjoying its comfort--that I think is evinced in these photos.

At a pee break 20 minutes later, the roof got significantly more filled as its denizens sang its praises to the uncomfortable below. The next hour and a half wasn't nearly as fun as the sun rose in the sky and my body grew more uncomfortable to the rocks and rollicking below. Unfortunately, the alternative kind of sucked, as we had to stand in the aisle of the bus for another 5 hours to Kathmandu with our necks craned beneath the low roof. Luckily our 10-day trek had toughened us against such discomforts and we made it back to the city without a whimper.