Eggs.

Our hotel has breakfast that comes with the stay...
Waitress: "You here breakfast?"... 
Me: "yes"
Waitress: "eggs"
Me: "ok, cooked extra please?"
Waitress: "eggs"
So we had "eggs" that were seemingly cooked for the sole purpose of holding their shape.  Once this purpose was complete, all heat was removed and they were placed on a cold plate and handed to the Americans with the weak stomach.

After breakfast we rested after a long day of traveling to Bishkek via Istanbul.  Our only requirement today was the biggest of the trip: to go to the Ministry that governs adoptions and formally receive a referral for our son.  So much could go wrong.  The ministry might not receive us, they might delay us several days, or they might refer us a different child.

We showed up very nervous.  The building felt very Soviet, with stark, uncovered light bulbs and worn down marble steps.  In one end of the bare office sat a women representing the ministry, on the far other side we sat, awaiting our letter.  The translators sat in between.  She pulled out a letter that we could see had a blue ink signature and a colorful Kyrgyz letterhead.  She read.  We heard our name among the Russian words, then the only other words we could understand... his name.  Praise God. 

We have been referred our Son, we will see him tomorrow.  I'll eat a runny egg to that!