The regional table / South Dakota
Chislic
The fat has to climb back to temperature between batches, and that is the whole difference between chislic and boiled lamb.
South Dakota is one of the few states whose bar food is on the statute book, and the operative text is short enough to print whole. Senate Bill 96 of the Ninety-third Legislative Assembly was first read in the Senate on 19 January 2018, carrying eighteen senators and sixteen representatives as sponsors — Senator Nelson prime in the Senate, Representative Schoenfish prime in the House — and Section 1 of the enrolled act reads: "That chapter 1-6 be amended by adding a NEW SECTION to read: Chislic is hereby designated as the official nosh of South Dakota." It was not a formality. Senate State Affairs sent it out 6 to 2 on 2 February and the Senate passed it 22 to 12; then House Health and Human Services deadlocked on 8 February, where a motion to pass it failed 6 to 5 and a motion to kill it failed 6 to 5 as well, and the chair deferred it. The committee minutes name the men who came to Pierre to speak for it: Gary Jerke of Tripp, Frank Kloucek of Scotland, Bill Aschelman of Hurley, Tom Harmon of Pierre. The first three of those towns sit within a short drive of each other in the Hutchinson County country, which is as close as a document will bring you to where chislic lives. The same committee passed it 9 to 2 on 22 February, the House passed it 45 to 19 on 27 February, and the Governor signed it on 8 March 2018.
The word is harder than the law. It is usually traced to a Turkic term for skewered meat carried out of south Russia by the German colonists, and the dictionaries half-support that. Redhouse's Turkish and English Lexicon of 1890 gives shish as "A spit" and "A skewer", glosses the verb built on it "To spit or skewer", and twenty lines further down the same column prints shishek, "A lamb in his second year" — skewer, spitting and yearling mutton, all within one page. What Redhouse does not have is the suffixed form the usual etymology needs, and an Ottoman lexicon cannot settle what a Crimean Tatar dialect did with the word in any case. Chislic itself is in no dictionary I could open; Merriam-Webster has no entry for it. Nor could I find it written down in South Dakota. A South Dakota Guide, the Federal Writers' Project volume of 1938, stops at Freeman and calls it "the center of a German-Russian community. Although coming to the United States from Russia, they are of German descent", then discusses surnames and farming methods and names not one thing anybody ate; the guide's only use of the word mutton is at a Norwegian wedding banquet in another county. The Vermillion community newspaper archive, which holds Clay County papers from 1862 onward, returns nothing for chislic, chislick, schislic or shishlik while returning ten hits for kuchen, and Nebraska's open archive returns nothing at all. So there is no first chislic here, no family and no year, and this article invents none. The quantities below were worked out for this page.
Why this version works
Lamb is not a compromise here. The USDA put the case for it in 1913, in Farmers' Bulletin 526, "Mutton and Its Value in the Diet" by C. F. Langworthy and Caroline L. Hunt: "That quality of mutton which makes it absorb odors and flavors easily is an advantage in cooking, for its own flavor combines easily with that of the various seasonings." That is the argument for garlic salt on lamb in one sentence, written a century before the statute.
Three-quarter-inch cubes, not one-inch. A cube that size browns on every face in the time its middle takes to go from raw to rosy. Go up to an inch and you are choosing between a pale crust and a grey centre, because the fat cannot get through that much meat before the outside overcooks.
The garlic salt goes on the moment it leaves the oil. Salt sticks to the film of hot fat on a cube and to nothing else. Thirty seconds later the surface has set and most of what you shake on falls to the bottom of the bowl. Salt in the pan, over the paper, while it is still hissing.
The fat is at 375°F when the meat goes in — and again for the next lot. Two pounds of cold cubes will drag a pot of oil down fifty degrees in seconds, and meat sitting in slack fat steams in its own juice instead of crusting. Fry a third of it at a time and wait for the thermometer to climb back before the next handful.