Plov

From ancient yurt by Aral sand
To hip-hop club in Samarqand
Under-ground, on land, in skies above
All-Uzbekistan there's always Plov.

Plov, Plov, O Glorious Plov
Nothing like it for Inner Glow
Take a pot, bring a pail
Cut choicest fat (from mutton tail) --

Saute onion, carrot, and lots of rice,
Add token veg (if there be supplies)
And then the meat: in summer lamb,
In winter beef (though never ham.)

Cover with water, bring slowly to boil
(For better taste, add some more oil.)
Salt, pepper, saffron, cumin
(Any other spices per your acumen.)

An hour passes; at last it's ready
Steaming, filling, the aroma heady
Envy of Nazarbayev (or Niyazov)
Plov, Plov, Glorious Plov.