Pakistan Parkay

We had recently been sent to this region of the province because of a recent natural disaster. Our mission was to inspect a historic artesian well that had been constructed by the engineers of Alexanders great army thousands of years ago. the last time I had been there,almost 20 years ago , the water was still perculating up and over the sides of the smooth natural stones that formed a large above ground open cistern from which all passers-by were welcome to drink from...and all that passed by the well did indeed drink from it, and drink deeply, for it is the best water on this planet, and the loss of the well would have been unfortunate historically but the well would have to be recreated in any event because people in the area relied upon this centuries old stone water tank as sure as we rely upon our 'Last Chance' gas stations. We arrived at the site to find it unscathed and the only people around it were those fortunate to have been in this open area of the valley during the great upheaval. As this place was a travel stop... most people that would need to find a pristine source of fresh water were largely prevented from making the trek here due to the sorry state of the roads. We were able to make it to this location only after 3 days of travel using all-terrain and tracked vehicles. a Camel or an Ass wouldn't have stood a chance... As the 'Foodie' of the team I was paying close attention to two women nearby that seemed to be preparing a meal. One was seated on the ground in front of a criss-cross of sticks with a goats bladder hanging down from the middle of the stand and she was pushing it back and forth. My first thoughts,from me to you, were 'Now why is she doing that?' ' It couldn't be water inside I'm sure...' The bladder seemed tight, as if full of air, and it bobbled slightly as if partially filled with liquid. The woman next to her was sitting at an oval shaped slab of iron heated by glowing embers beneath it as she spalts flats of dough down onto it and they release a crisp sizzle after striking the surface... like the sound of a thin glass rod snapping in half..or the tac of the pull of a quality rifle trigger. The girl in front of the swinging bag of 'something' responded to the women making the bread when she would call out to her by opening the bladder and passing a fingerful amount of its contents that would be in turn delivered to the searing hot surface of the flat iron. I had to know what this was all about... so I walked over to them and after a few seconds of each of making Sergio Leone type eye contact I communicated that I wanted to know what was inside of this bladder. The young girl kindly opened it up and held it over to me... it smelled sour..and once I pulled it open and held it towards the sunlight I could see inside that it was full of milk.. and full of butter curds... These two girls would be the envy of most of the upper percentile of Chefs that I know...just because of their adherance to a pure and simple recipe that is shared verbally only and must be performed perfectly or else hours of time are wasted. . . and the Main Bread Staple is at risk of ruination. I decided to buy some of their butter to use in the meal I had decided to prepare that night for my team and the people around us fortunate enough to be here...and not there. I pulled out my K-bar and grabbed a 5 dollar bill and walked over to the guy that seemed to be in charge of the small herd of goats and sheep... We were gonna have Sheep in a Blanket tonight...with the help of my two new friends.