AgriCulture bloggers Peter Davies and Mark Scherzer are the owners of Turkana Farms in Germantown, NY. This week, Peter writes: That’s right, “tail” not “tale.” Our sheeps’ tails have gotten caught in a collision of cultures. As some of you may know, we breed karakul, a desert sheep originating in the Karagol region of Turkmenistan. What is unusual about them is that instead of the standard sheep tail, this breed has a large fatty mass where the tail should begin, sometimes weighing several pounds; a more standard ropelike tail extends down from that. This fatty upper tail apparently acts metabolically in a similar way to the camel’s hump, that is, as a reserve food source in times of drought—a handy appendage for a desert dweller. To our slaughter house and some USDA inspectors, this fatty tail seems to be regarded as some kind of abnormality or strange aberration. Despite our requests to save it, the slaughterers usually throw it away, or the inspectors sometimes order them to be discarded on the grounds that they are not sanitary. But, one might argue, a cow’s tail hangs just
as close to the anus as a sheep’s does, and still finds its way to the meat market as “ox-tail." Likewise pigs’ tails hang around the same unpleasant aperture, and even they find their way to some markets. But in our part of America, apparently, not sheeps’ tails. By contrast, for the Uzbekis now living in Queens, the karakul sheep’s tail is a highly prized commodity, so much so that some of them are now googling "Karakul" and finding us, we, apparently, being the only listed source for the tails in the region. Yes, I tell them: we have karakul sheep, and they do have the fatty tails but for reasons difficult to understand we are not usually enabled to sell them.
So what is this Uzbeki passion for tails all about? In Uzbekistan, as in other parts of Central Asia, the karakul tail, when rendered, is the major source of cooking oil and, as such, imparts a distinctive flavor to Uzbeki cuisine. For added flavor, lumps of it are typically alternated on the skewer with meat kebabs, and, in some cases, lumps of the fat are used as the kebabs themselves. For an Uzbeki, cooking without the karakul tail is tantamount to someone from the Mediterranean world being deprived of olive oil. Or someone from the deep South being deprived of lard. Our Uzbekis in Queens are craving something very central to their diet.
And why, you may wonder have the Uzbekis settled on this strange choice of cooking oil? In a largely Muslim land (with a large Jewish minority), lard, obviously, is not an option. And the Uzbeki climate does not permit olive trees. Further, for a population heavily pastoral, the availability of these tails for cooking oil is obvious. For a pastoralist, the sheep is not just a source for meat and wearing apparel but also for milk, butter, yoghurt, and, yes, cooking oil. Our latest culture clash came last week when I went to pick up the lamb from the five karakul we sent off for slaughter recently. A few days before pick up, I received a phone call from a Mr. K, an Uzbeki living in Queens, who was obviously craving the tastes of his homeland. He was very excited to hear that I would be getting karakul lamb and wanted a whole one, but, in particular it was the tail he wanted. I said we had requested, once again, that the slaughter house save the tails, but warned him we had been having trouble getting them in the past. Not long after, I received a call from yet another Queens Uzbeki also requesting karakul tails.
But we were all to be disappointed. Once again, I discovered that the tails had been discarded. Mr. K, therefore, declined to buy the lamb. Without the tail he was decidedly not interested. But, as a measure of his passion for karakul, he has arranged to arrive at 7 a.m. Saturday morning with knives and a large sheet of plastic, and will choose his own sheep to slaughter it on the premises. Where there is a will, there is a way, as they say. I am not sure I want to be so close to the terrible act, but I can appreciate it when someone is willing to go to such lengths to find the food he loves. —Peter DaviesFor the complete archive of past AgriCulture blogs, click here.
