Hoof in Mouth; or Waste Not, Want Not

Autumn. The season is almost upon us now that September is here. And in Armenia people's minds turn toward many things. The coming harvest. The canning of fruits and vegetables. The gathering of wood. Boiled cow hooves.

Out of all the Armenian dishes I have eaten here, there is one that I still don't understand: khash. With the “kh” sound in Armenian resembling someone choking on his own phlegm, the pronunciation of the word is almost as distasteful as the food itself. And, as with most things Armenian, the exact origins of khash is unknown but most will concur that it was first concocted during a time of difficulty, a time of starvation. All parts of the cow were used when it was necessary to kill one. The meat cooked. The hide tanned. All that was left were four hooves and some stomach. Today the combination of these two is considered a delicacy.

In order to prepare khash one must take the stomach—available at any local market—and soak it in water for four to five days, changing the water twice a day. Toward the end of the third day place the four hooves—also available at the market—in a separate pot and soak them in water, allowing for the blood to be removed and the skin and hair to be loosened. Use a razor to scrape these off of the hooves and then cut/break them into smaller pieces/chunks. Meanwhile, clean the inside of the stomach carefully with a knife, making sure that it is spotless before boiling. The cleaning of the stomach is, I am told, very important, as there could be a lot of harmful things in it, such as partially digested food, bile, and the like. In a pot with fresh water, boil the stomach until cooked, discarding the water afterwards. Then place both stomach and hooves in a large pot with 20 liters of water and simmer for ten to twelve hours.

Local traditions state that khash can only be eaten in the morning, and then only in the months that contain the letter "r", that is, from September through April. As the harvest winds down and the winter rolls in, eating khash can become the focal point of a person's day. While once considered a food for the poor (which, ironically, is the transliteration of the Armenian word for "stomach" or "gut") it soon became popular with the Armenian elite. This is partially due to the fact that it is believed that khash has healing powers, helping to firm and mend bones. Armenians are also able to joke about this national meal, stating that the word khash stands for three other Armenian words—khelk, ashkhatank, and shnorhk, or intellect, work, and talent. And it takes all three of these to get khash down and to keep khash down.

After the twelve or so hours of boiling it is dished out into shallow bowls, the joints of the hooves sticking out of the broth like icebergs waiting to sink you. To counter the affects of the look, smell, and idea of khash, press a large amount of garlic over everything and add a generous amount of salt. Torn pieces of lavash—a traditional Armenian flat-bread similar to tortillas, only larger and thinner—are placed in the broth to sop it all up, and a larger piece of lavash is used to cover the bowl, keeping it warm, while the first shot of vodka is poured.

It must be noted that drinking vodka is an important part of eating khash. It is, perhaps, the khelk of the process, the way to convince the brain that it is all right to place a cow hoof in one's mouth. As this is done in the morning, the first toast is automatically “Bari luis,” literally “kind light” but commonly “good morning.” From there the ashkhatank of it becomes easier. The large covering of lavash is pulled back, more garlic and salt are added—as if one knows it will not taste good—and a handful is grabbed. During the toast the torn pieces of lavash soaked up all the broth and created a thick, gray pasty glop which can be picked up with the fingers. The consistency of the lavash has become that of the stomach and, due to the garlic and salt, tastes the same, too. The glop is consumed, as are two more shots of vodka, before the hooves are touched, being saved for last.

More salt is poured on the hooves before they are picked up to eat. Feeling as if one is biting into a ball of rubber bands--and tasting like it as well—the shnorhk comes from being able to keep the hoof in one's own stomach. It is slow going, making sure that it stays down, but once finished it is an accomplishment, especially if one can fend off a second helping from the host.

Stomach full, mind reeling on what's in it, one is free for the rest of the day. It is not expected that one does anything after eating khash. Another great tradition. Go home. Lie on the couch. Think about the cross-cultural experience you have just had. And then think of that colorful American icon that weary travelers crave after eating odd ethnic food. The pink stuff. Pepto-Bismol.