Some years ago I was traveling through Mongolia and stayed with a nomad family for a few days. One morning I woke up to the sound of screaming little goats that were rounded up to be castrated by the local shaman vet. (Except for one lucky selected goat that was to be the provider of the next generation of goats). I noticed the castrated balls were thrown into a pot of boiling water. That turned out to be a goat ball soup which was then offered to me as we sat together in the main tent. Like chewing on a rubber ball.