I once was a llama shepard in Mongolia. The plains stretched into infinity and the wind blew and the grasses swayed to-and-fro. When the sun went down a chill swept into the land unlike any coldness I can describe. We would all congregrate (the Mongolians and I) in a tent, where the elderly village women stood over a vat of bubbling liquid, adding spices and oils. The aromas were sublime. The tent was filled with the aromas. Finally, when the vat - the cauldron - was filled with a completed bubbling soup, we would hover around and dip thin slices of llama, rice cakes, cabbages, and all manner of items into the rich soup. After a few moments we would remove our cooked items of pleasure, dip them into sauces, and eat. Howls of pleasure and moans of ecstacy filled the plains. Sometimes, we could hear moans in the distance from other villages where our bretheren likewise hovered around the fragrant, bubbling cauldrons of mongolia.
Feel free to go to Flushing, Queens if you would like a similar experiece.
Little Lamb
Flushing
