Thursday, January 20, 2011

To be Ukrainian

It happened on a foggy, Friday night...
After months of anticipation, hungry guests trickled into house ten on east first street. The air was thick with bacon grease and the counters were covered with flour. Wet paper towels concealed what seemed like millions of dumplings, each one pregnant with mashed potatoes, pinched closed by eager hands. 
Ukrainian was  in his blood- or so he claimed. Countless times he had spoken of this meal to us..and as uniformed non-Ukrainians we stood in awe of the dumplings and sausage and lettuce wraps called something close to pullupshi?.. and the gravy: half-and-half/onion-bacon heaven-- spread over the mass of food .
Food ac coma followed. 


And when we woke again...
It was time to battle. 
A storage drawer of nerf guns came out, teams were made, boundaries were set and it was organized chaos.  
It's amazing how a little suctioned piece of Styrofoam can be so accurate and can cause such competition. It definitely wasn't my best round, but still a successful ending to a Shanti Shack night. 

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