Dairy Treasures

Tibet is the land of yaks, about 13 million of them spread across the plateau, most in the northern plains of the Chang Thang, and the great grasslands of Amdo. Pastoralism is the way of life, and the milk of yaks is one the principle staples. The female yak, or dri, gives birth once a year, in the spring. She is able to feed her calf and provide about a litre and a half of milk per day, in two milkings. This is a minimal amount compared to a cow’s yield, yet it is sufficient to provide a family will all their needs and be a base of exchange with other necessities, such as barley flour, basic staples and items of daily life such as cooking utensils and clothing.

It has been found that yak milk has exceptional properties, high in (good) fat, but low in lactose, and is digestible to young children and babies, due to the ecosystem that the free ranging animals roam in. Products from the dri are many, and form the core of the Tibetan staple, butter being on top of the list as the ultimate comfort food, used to enhance much of what Tibetans eat or drink. It finds itself in tea, either churned into it or plopped into a cup of black tea, mixed into tsampa, or simply spread on top of bread. Stored in wooden boxes or yak stomachs, it also makes a deeply appreciated gift, even if the common form of packaging causes it to become rancid. Fresh butter is a delight, which can only be consumed in summer, and is highly appreciated.

After butter comes yogurt, which is thick and delicious. It is known for its capacity to cause drowsiness (according to Tibetan drivers who will not drive following a bowl of yogurt) or enhance sleep, making it a perfect dish to finish off the day, especially for children. Yogurt is considered auspicious and a host will present a bowl of yogurt at the end of a meal, an offering that cannot be refused. Imagery of yogurt is everywhere, with yogurt like clouds and yogurt offerings to the gods, borne by jeweled goddesses in flowing scarves. When a monk scholar passed his Geshe degree, which marked the end of his formal studies in Buddhist philosophy, an offering of yogurt would be made to the assembly of monks, brought in by running monks, its quality marked by its ability to remain in the bowl, as solid yogurt is considered the best and the richest.

Milk is the object of endless analogy, rich with auspicious connotations; spilling milk or crossing paths with a woman carrying a bucket of fresh milk are signs of good things coming and its presence marks many events. A bride walks into her new home carrying a bucket of milk tied to her back, and heavenly abodes have rivers flowing in milk.

At Norden, we collect fresh dri milk to turn into yogurt or add to tea. We offer butter from the nearby Lungta cooperative, and cheese from the Norchur cheese factory. Due to the exceptional qualities of yak milk, these unique products pass on their merits down the ecological chain, from plant to animal, then to us. Let us use it well!

The Honey People

They come every year; Huis from the nearby plains, the Linxia area at the base of the plateau. They appear in mid June, with the first flowers, and pitch their little tents along the road between Tso and Ritoma, arranging their wooden beehives in neat circles or squares. Then they wait for their bees to do the job, gather nectar from the flowers that carpet the pasture in July and August and make honey. The first time I bought honey I was disappointed to see it coagulate into a sugary mass. When we started Norden, honey became important and Yidam talked the honey men, striking a deal for something pure that we have had ever since. I always wanted to photograph the honey people. We always drove by their little encampments, and I would see them sitting outside their tents, with their wobbly tea kettle and assortment of clutter. Last week, we decided we needed honey and stopped by the road. While Jampa and Serwo discussed prices, the honeyman’s wife was taken in by my camera, which she tried to wrestle from my hand. Thinking she had a desperate urge to take pictures, I let her have it and she went swinging all around her tent looking through the lens with exclamations of joy. I had to wrestle a little to get it back and Dechen thought we might get into a fight. Serwo began to move away, echoed in his distaste by Jampa, saying they were too expensive. I told them I wanted my photos and Dechen said we didn’t mind paying a little more. The tall, lanky honey man collected the honey from the back of the tent and weighted 2 kg. I took my photos while their little dog, tied in front of its tin can doghouse, yapped away. I didn’t venture near the bees, which were already buzzing heavily at a distance from the tent. Text and Photos by Kim Yeshi

The Tsampa Mill

It stands in a secluded area by the river, close to the Monastery. We found the door locked and Yidam went to find the man who ran the small operation; grinding barley into tsampa flour from a water mill in the traditional way. The mill, still in its original construction, had belonged to Jamyang Shepa, the head lama of Labrang and for several incarnations, had provided his household and others with freshly ground tsampa. The man in charge had taken up the business four years earlier and said that his main customers were monks, mostly from Labrang monastery. We watched him stand over the river and open the latch, and saw the water rush in, activating the horizontal wheel that stood below the grinding stones.

We ordered our tsampa, for Norden Camp and for ourselves, attentive as he poured the barley seeds into the grinder, the smell of freshly ground tsampa filling the small, dark room and a thin layer of white powder escaping from the stones, the rest into the round wooden tray below. He packed it into sacks labeled as pig feed, apologizing for the lack of packaging. This tsampa will be used at Norden not only as a traditional staple, but also by Norden’s Chef for his innovative recipes on local products called “Tsampa Story”