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Published: September 22nd 2006
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UNBORN BABY LAMB
The baby lamb, lying safe in the security of its Mamá's placenta. While constructions continue, and funds dwindle, all that is to be found in our kitchen cupboard is a diminishing jar of vegemite, a tin of milk and half a jar of mayonnaise. So, it’s with these limited resources I’ve forsaken the wifely duty of cooking and we now sit in on the meal a day Elvis’ mum brews up for the family.
Peru’s cuisine, to say the very least, is unique, colourful and, at its best, a challenge. Previous trips to Peru, I’ve feasted gloriously on heavy laden soups, spiced meats and potatoes, flavoursome rice… all of which, I found out now, was heavily influenced by western countries, to please the western tourists… none of which was a REAL Peruvian dish: food of the pobres and campos. (poor and country)
Elvis’ dad who lives in the depths of the Andean valleys raising horses, cattle, sheep and goats: makes and appearance every couple of weeks, riding into town in an old rickety truck which he shares with cattle, chickens and whatever other man or animal that maybe catching a ride. And, with every visit to town he brings in tow various animals to sell at the markets. His most recent
Milking the Goat
Ronny and Elvis' mum trying very hard to get a little goats milk. visit brought with him 3 sheep (dead) and a live mother goat with her kid. The morning after he arrived, I woke to the sounds of BAAHING, little baby goaty noises and was greeted with the sight of 3 sheep being skinned and gutted for the market.
When Elvis’ dad comes to town there is always meat with our food; and that morning we feasted on fatty chunky goat meat and boiled potatoes. I hadn’t eaten anything resembling meat for a long while so I went at it ravishingly and looked forward to what lunch time might entail.
It was a successful morning at market and everyone returned home to the grossly disgusting task of cleaning the 3 dead sheep’s entrails. With that project I took a voluntary inactive stance and played with the baby goat instead: shielding it from all that remained of what was quite possibly its
3 aunty sheeps from Farmer Negron’s animal paddock! Quite contentedly I played, until Elvis’ dad called me over to show me something he held in his hand. It was a heartbreaking moment when I realized that the thing in his palm was a tiny unborn lamb swimming in
SHEEP'S INTESTINTES ANYONE?
Elvis' dad with the intestines. a protective bubble of his mamma’s placenta. It was so tiny, but so recognizable with its little legs and tiny ears. This was one little lamb that didn’t even get the chance to see the light of day. And, in this moment of sad reflection, Elvis’ dad slits the bubble and pulls it out by its head… ties some string around its neck and hangs it on the clothes line like a wet sock put out to dry.
It turns out that all unborn animals are hung out to dry and then, afterwards, sold to the witches in the witch markets. And after that, I couldn’t really understand, something about mixing potions and salves and offerings to the Mother Earth… (????????)
Quite bemused with all the unborn animal and witchery business, I was incredibly oblivious to the bowl of soup I was handed, and, unwatchingly, and, unthinkingly I put spoon to mouth.
Hmmm, this doesn’t taste very pleasant. I thought. It tastes quite like the smell of……. Cow poo….. And, without moving, I let my eyes ever so casually wonder down to the bowl in my lap…. And there it was….. swimming in my soup, the clearly recognizable
DID I MENTION CHICKEN FOOT SOUP?
Elvis is pulling a face for the camera, because really, this is one of his favourite soups!! What am I married to? (!!) and identifiable curly intestine and whatever other sheep’s remnants that were left over. And to think, that I actually wondered why they were scrubbing so hard at the dead sheep’s entrails!! Quickly and discreetly I swapped Elvis’ empty bowl with mine; and, just as quickly as Elvis wiped through his first bowl, he wiped through the 2nd. All the while slurping and smacking his lips declaring how delicious it was. I couldn’t eat the next course of rice and potatoes because all I could taste was the smell of cow poo!! And, for the rest of the day, no matter the amount of water, tea or Coke I drank, I could not eradicate the taste….. it brought back traumatizing memories of my childhood when my EVIL Uncle Les pushed me head first in¨to a fresh cow patty. (Yes, I remember Uncle, and don’t think for a moment that I’ll ever forget!!!!!!!!!)
Come lunch time the next day I was starving! Wafts of bbq’d meat were drifting from the fire and the hunger pains were playng football in my stomach. Finally, as the bowls were passed around I warily, and somewhat hesitantly, peeked at the soups contents. It looked like
The Truck
The kind of truck Elvis' dad travels home in. beef…. And it smelled like beef…..
EXCELLENT … I eagerly dug in- Hmmmm, not much meat on this side, let’s turn it over and see what’s on the other side. And there it was, this odd, thick layer of white, oddly fury textured, prickly prickles. Quite stupidly I dared to ask: “Hmm what part of the cow is this?”
“The mouth!” Elvis said between caveman like bites at his white prickly meat.
The mouth! Superb….. Wonderful…. That can only mean that these white prickles is the esophagus!! Smashing!! And it was there, with everyone to witness, I did what I do best….. yep, you’ve got it! I burst into tears.
Admittedly, not a nice compliment to the chef: Elvis’s mum… but it was all just too much.
“I wanna go home”. I cried. “I stink!!” I sobbed (and it was true, I don’t even remember the last time I had had a sauce pan bath!) “I want to poo in a toilet, not in a bucket” (understandably!) “I want to fall asleep warm, not freezing!! AND I WANT MY MUM!” oh how I wailed!! And with that, Elvis’ quiet, reserved mum came round the table and gave me her best mum hug.
Afterwards, Elvis and his mum produced the biggest ever mother of saucepans.. filled to the brim with hot heavenly water. All modesty out the window I stood starkers in the courtyard as Elvis poured jugs of scorching water over my head. It was the best three minute HOT shower I’d had for ages!! I went to bed clean, albeit a little-lot hungry, but thoroughly over my little-big emotional outburst.
It was about four in the morning when I woke to the hunger pains. Ever s mously like, I crept out of bed, pilfered some days old bread and feasted queenly on a vegemite sandwich… the most succulent and sweetest vegemite sandwich I’d ever eaten.
It was a happy little vegemite who crawled back into bed to find that it really wasn’t that cold and miserable after all.
Candice
xxoo
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