My line when the issue of khash, the traditional Armenian soup made with cow hooves and various innards, in the past has been: Welllll, it’s not that it’s bad. It’s just that it’s not good either.

Which, based upon said ingredients, sounds gracious. After today’s second attempt at eating khash, however, I’m going to have to come up with a new line. It may go something like this:

“Khash isn’t bad. It’s actually pretty good. Wait. That can’t be right.”

But it actually sort of is. Good, that is. When made by the right person, which today’s khash must have been. Because, unlike last time, I ate today until I was full, not until my gag reflex was activated.

So here’s what the stuff is, for those who want the gory details of how it’s eaten.

The soup arrives as sort of a clear broth with white and brown chunks in it. The chunks are organs that have been cooking in the broth for a good solid day, maybe more. My understanding of this process is admittedly sketchy, but according to the Peace Corps cookbook, khash contains four cow hooves, six lamb tongues and a kilo of cow tripe. I sort of wish I hadn’t just looked that up.

I’ve heard that guests of honor may often be the recipients of said hooves. This doesn’t happen today, and I don’t feel the need to ask. It is best not to give people ideas.

Now that the soup is on the table, it’s time to assess the condiments nearby. There is a small bowl of crushed garlic, a tiny salt dish, plates of radish sticks and pickled peppers (think pepperoncini), and stacks of dried lavash set directly on the table.

Our host, an Army officer who’s taking English lessons with Andrew, offers instructions to my husband on khash-eating (I’m off the hook because I’ve done this before). But because learning is best accomplished via demonstration, Arnak himself spoons garlic into Andrew’s bowl and pinches salt out of the dish and into the soup. Andrew is instructed to stir and taste. Once his khash has the desired level of salt and garlic, Arnak crumbles lavash into Andrew’s soup like saltines into chili, except much more. Our other host, Gegham, tells us to keep piling on the lavosh until there’s no standing broth.

Khash is to be eaten with the hands. But since it is soup, assistance is necessary. Our hosts urge us to use other pieces of lavash as scoops, one in each hand. Another piece of lavash should lie across part of the bowl, to keep the heat in while you eat from the other side.

I’m a little freaked out to take my first bite, because my memory of khash is that it tastes like garlic, water, and rectum. My suspicions that this khash is different, however, are confirmed when Andrew says, “I actually like this.”

Gegham tells us to eat the radish and peppers too. For me, they act as a crisp refresher between bites of this really rich stew. But he says they clean out the system because the khash just sort of sits inside your gut if eaten alone. For the record, I’ve given up health lessons in social situations.

So we eat. And we toast with vodka. It is a nice time. It is a hangist time, easy-going and mellow. No drinking til we pass out, no force-feeding, no talking about the inferiority of America to “Our Armenia” (a popular topic for many hosts).

Our time together is just... good. And so is the cow hoof soup.