Sukuti

Long before refrigerators arrived in Nepal, people in the hills had sukuti. Strips of buffalo or goat meat, rubbed with salt and turmeric, hung on bamboo racks or draped over rooftops to dry in the sun and wind for days until they turned into hard, dark, intensely concentrated jerky. It was survival food — lightweight, long-lasting, packed with protein. Hunters carried it. Traders carried it. Soldiers carried it.

Now it's bar food, and arguably better for it. Sukuti sadeko is the most common preparation: the dried meat is sliced or shredded, then tossed with raw mustard oil, finely sliced onions, tomatoes, green chilies, fresh coriander, a squeeze of lime, and a generous pinch of timmur (Sichuan pepper) that makes your lips buzz. It's served on a plate with a cold beer, and it disappears faster than you'd think possible.

The texture is what gets people. It's chewy, dense, almost leathery — you have to work for it, and the chewing releases waves of concentrated meaty, smoky, spicy flavor. It's the opposite of instant gratification, and that's the appeal. One plate of sukuti sadeko can outlast three beers if you pace yourself.

Newari restaurants have the best sukuti, especially the ones that dry their own. You can also buy dried sukuti in markets — Asan in Kathmandu has vendors selling dark strips of it alongside gundruk and dried fish — and make sadeko at home.