First tell the omniscient taxi driver who suggests talking you to a “nice place to chill”™ to fuck off.

We’re going to a specific address. Yes, it’s really a car and auto parts market. You got it right.

As soon as we leave the car, we’re under attack:

“Dude, tires/wheels?!”

“What are you looking for, guys?”

“Mercedes, and it’s not old at all!”

However, everything’s ok. They aren’t too annoying. We just pass by.

We enter. At once on your left you see a long row of smoking braziers and tents attached to them. We randomly tried 2 places, not having enough strength for more. Leaving the food on the plastic plates with flowers feels like a crime.

It wildly smells of resin and wood. “Saxaul in action!” (c). There’s a blazing bonfire in an iron box on the side of each brazier.

I have to admit that barkers aren’t very imposing, so we just follow my sniff radar.

We order a bowl of pilaf and 4 skewers of shashlik – chicken, lamb, duck and lula.

I have to say a few words about the Kazakhstan duck. Where they get it from is the mystery of nature: there’s a layer of meat like in a cow under its skin – and no fat at all, which is just nonsense.

Then about the FAT. Or rather about its absence – even in pilaf (we’ve tried tree times in three different places) rice crumbles and, actually, doesn’t sink in oil at all. Actually means absolutely. The same can be said about the meat.

Fuck! How incredible it is! Absolutely fucking delicious!

In addition, the Red Data Book saxaul has the highest ignition temperature. Therefore, if you have good hands, you get an ultimate result: there’s a crunchy crust outside, and the meat is medium done inside. So, it’s a chimera of shashlik and steak.

All meat is elastic, and at the same time you can disassemble it into pieces with your lips. Lula has sort of absolutely extramundane texture. Everything smells and hisses, really oozes with taste and doesn’t require any sauce at all.

Each brazier is equipped with a clean tent with plastic tablecloths, lovely waitress-girls and grumpy visitors who find that either “the mouton is shit”, or “there isn’t enough kurdyuk”, or that the chicken is “painted”. In short, those are some professionals.

Choose on your own among a row of “bonfires”. Trust the taste and the smell of it.

Do enjoy!