More meat than I can handle
I had been forewarned by my sister Stefanie that there would be a sacrificial pig at the Grand Canao. I was prepared for this (or thought I was) and figured that I would observe the ritual to gain some insight for the next time I have to teach Lord of the Flies. I was up at the ancestral home with Albert and Shirley after our afternoon nap when the pig started squealing. Albert said it was time for us to go and watch the festivities. When we walked down to the main camp area, the pig was hog tied and people were dancing and playing the music. Over in the corner I saw a guy sharpening a short wooden stake; they don’t just slit the pig’s throat—they put the stake through the heart so that the pig will make more noise, enough for the ancestral spirits to hear. I kept telling myself that I will be able to watch it, will be able to view the slaughter as an educational experience. That all changed when the man approached the pig with knife and stake in hand and the pig started squealing bloody murder. Much to the amusement of the natives, I high tailed it out of there before any blood was spilled.
I did eat the pig though. The first one that was killed was boiled in a cauldron and served with rice. I ate on the floor of one of the three houses. It was late and I’d had my fair share of rice wine and rum and coke, otherwise I would have felt very self conscious eating fresh cooked pig and rice on the floor with my fingers. Your hands get pretty darn greasy that way. While I was eating, one of the men placed one of the “tastier” delicacies on my plate, pig intestines. It looked like black sausage. I didn’t want to appear rude so I ate it, and actually, it was quite tasty. Salty but good. I’m glad, though, that the liver wasn’t put on my plate. I don’t think I could stomach that.
Later in the evening, another pig was killed and roasted over the fire through the night. That was served for breakfast. A water buffalo and (don’t read this Abby) a horse was also killed, butchered and served. Again, I absented myself from the slaughter. I tried the water buffalo which was more or less like beef but passed on the horse. I thought horses were used to make glue at the knackery?
On a separate occasion in town, more pig was served along with goat. I had tried goat in Mexico so that was old hat to me. Something totally bizarre and unappetizing though was offered to me on the way to the highlands. Eggs were being passed out; I figured they were just hard boiled eggs, which I like in egg salad or crumbled on a green salad but not plain, so I declined. Turns out they weren’t plain boiled eggs after all but balut, a favorite snack in the mountains. Balut is an almost hatched duck egg, complete with the baby duck inside. It’s like eating a formed embryo. I will not vomit…I will not vomit…
After this holiday, I can understand why some people are vegetarians.
I did eat the pig though. The first one that was killed was boiled in a cauldron and served with rice. I ate on the floor of one of the three houses. It was late and I’d had my fair share of rice wine and rum and coke, otherwise I would have felt very self conscious eating fresh cooked pig and rice on the floor with my fingers. Your hands get pretty darn greasy that way. While I was eating, one of the men placed one of the “tastier” delicacies on my plate, pig intestines. It looked like black sausage. I didn’t want to appear rude so I ate it, and actually, it was quite tasty. Salty but good. I’m glad, though, that the liver wasn’t put on my plate. I don’t think I could stomach that.
Later in the evening, another pig was killed and roasted over the fire through the night. That was served for breakfast. A water buffalo and (don’t read this Abby) a horse was also killed, butchered and served. Again, I absented myself from the slaughter. I tried the water buffalo which was more or less like beef but passed on the horse. I thought horses were used to make glue at the knackery?
On a separate occasion in town, more pig was served along with goat. I had tried goat in Mexico so that was old hat to me. Something totally bizarre and unappetizing though was offered to me on the way to the highlands. Eggs were being passed out; I figured they were just hard boiled eggs, which I like in egg salad or crumbled on a green salad but not plain, so I declined. Turns out they weren’t plain boiled eggs after all but balut, a favorite snack in the mountains. Balut is an almost hatched duck egg, complete with the baby duck inside. It’s like eating a formed embryo. I will not vomit…I will not vomit…
After this holiday, I can understand why some people are vegetarians.
posted by Michelle at
11:03 PM
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