The Steampunk World
I've made it a habit of stopping by a certain house in town where they are always selling some sort of bush meat out of a big pot by the porch. There are certain creatures that I am eager to sample, and this place draws people from Konongo due to its selection.
They must have had a lucky night of hunting. They showed me their big plastic tub of game. They had a small antelope the size of a spaniel. I felt the sharp little daggers on its head, shuddering at the thought of a large and agressive one. There was a big fat rat that looked more like a bumbly Cinderella mouse than the sleek weasley one I ate earlier. They had some sort of small fowl. On top of the pile was the craziest creature! I thiiink it was a mammal... it looked like a skinny armadillo, streamlined like a bullet with a sharp nose and big claws. But its armor consisted of diamonds rather than accordion bands. I'm kinda glad that wasn't the one in the pot, at least until I find out if it violates my no-primates rule. It looked like a lizard-monkey.
What was in the pot was yet another selection from that delectable Order, Rodentia. I haven't figured out the English name of this one, either- they called it apese. It wasn't considered a rat. I only saw it in the soup, but it sure looked like one... just larger. It didn't have the chubby beaverishness of the akranty3 (cane rat). Its teeth were long but skinny like some weird gerbil. It was a giant long-toothed rat, something left over from that time a few ice ages ago when every mammal seemed to be into huge teeth. The other rat I ate was the size of Ben. This guy looked like he could give Ben a mighty nibblin'. They said it didn't dig holes like rats, it lived in the trees..
I asked for a haunch. Now, you have to understand that Ghanaians eat everything but certain viscera from an animal. They just chop it into chunks and chew the meat, gristle, fat, skin, bones, feet, and head. For something goat-sized and larger, the best way to remove all the hair is for you and your buddy to hold it over a fire. This method is very throrough and I find it gives the skin (I've grown used to eating skin) a nice grilled flavor. But for small things such as rodents, they usually shave it with a knife, so putting your lips to a thigh to take a bite is disturbingly similar to kissing a man who hasn't shaved in a week.
Biting past such thoughts, I took out a hunk and examined the cross-section. The skin was very thick, as a pencil. Then there was a thin layer of fat followed by the thin, red, outer mucles with a hamlike taste and consistency. Underneath that was the thick leg muscle, a dark grey meat that melted in my mouth like the the tenderest, juiciest roast turkey dark meat that I've ever had plus that unique nutty rodent smoking. The soup was a hot spicy barbeque, and I was floored, devouring it in bites carefully calculated to take in a sample of each layer from tender meat to tickly hair.
A dreamy jungle turkey cordon bleu. Not so sweet as the rat, not so gamey as the akranty3. While I can see myself occasionally wanting to gorge on the rat's sweetness, this meat has muscled (ha ha) its way into the Hall of Toe-Curlingly Delicious Meat-Gods in the pantheon of my palate, a hallowed hall that Pork and Chicken sullenly sulk outside of while only the choicest cuts of Beef are allowed past the uniformed fork-and-knife guards to drink au jus cocktails and waltz upon my tongue. Duck is there, dripping with grease as he chats up that New Orleans belle Crocodile. Lobster and Crab sip lemon drops in the butter hottub. Now Rat, Cane Rat, and Toothy Rat have strolled in picking their teeth with the guards and threaten to toss everybody out and take over the joint.
---
Dog, on the other hand, was harder to get ahold of. Not because of the slight social stigma against eating it, but because it is so popular that getting dibs on part of the pot is more about influence than money. We went to the house of the man who cooked it one night to arrange to have some the next night, playing the oft-successful 'Oburoni wants to learn our culture' card. When we returned the next evening, we were told it was all gone. Only when the old man came out and saw me did he change his tune and bring out his cauldron of dog stew. The friends who accompanied me were eager to get in on the otherwise inaccessable meal- without my Oburoni influence, they're just young men, not one of the graying elders in the cook's tight circle of customers.
What a light, fresh-flavored meat. I was afraid it would taste like wet dog. Instead, it's an airy meat, almost so clean that it serves as a blank canvas for the soup's spice to paint upon. If I hadn't known I would have definitely said that I was eating a bird. This meat would seriously threaten the chicken industry if not for the stigma against it. I think I'd like to try it Vietnamese style, with shoots and vegetables for a meal so light you could blow it off your plate. I understand why it's popular, but my preference is for a stronger flavor, so I would certainly eat it at any chance but I wouldn't have it shipped as I may end up doing with rat meat.
The next evening Eric and I returned, because the old man had taken an extra day to prepare a special treat. We took a seat on a low stool by the porch, the only light coming from a gas lantern. Grandpa came out in droopy briefs while Grandma, wearing only shorts and flip-flops, offered some water for washing. Eric was there only as my translator, he feels too much of a kinship to dogs to eat them. I myself was attacked by a dog as a small child and considered each bite to be a little bit of revenge.
It is good and right that the elderly couple received us in a state of near nudity. This is a tradition in much of the U.S. as well- when you are received by your grandparents in their home, they should be in their underwear. The reason is twofold- for one, they have earned the right to go about as they please, and have shed the self-consciousness of youth as we all should. Secondly, you must gaze upon their bodies and know that you see your own future. We will all age and droop and sag, and this is good and right.
The meal was doggie rib-tips on a kebob, prepared with a local barbeque made from ginger, onions, and hot pepper. Incredible. I 'wolfed' it down, har har.
---
They must have had a lucky night of hunting. They showed me their big plastic tub of game. They had a small antelope the size of a spaniel. I felt the sharp little daggers on its head, shuddering at the thought of a large and agressive one. There was a big fat rat that looked more like a bumbly Cinderella mouse than the sleek weasley one I ate earlier. They had some sort of small fowl. On top of the pile was the craziest creature! I thiiink it was a mammal... it looked like a skinny armadillo, streamlined like a bullet with a sharp nose and big claws. But its armor consisted of diamonds rather than accordion bands. I'm kinda glad that wasn't the one in the pot, at least until I find out if it violates my no-primates rule. It looked like a lizard-monkey.
What was in the pot was yet another selection from that delectable Order, Rodentia. I haven't figured out the English name of this one, either- they called it apese. It wasn't considered a rat. I only saw it in the soup, but it sure looked like one... just larger. It didn't have the chubby beaverishness of the akranty3 (cane rat). Its teeth were long but skinny like some weird gerbil. It was a giant long-toothed rat, something left over from that time a few ice ages ago when every mammal seemed to be into huge teeth. The other rat I ate was the size of Ben. This guy looked like he could give Ben a mighty nibblin'. They said it didn't dig holes like rats, it lived in the trees..
I asked for a haunch. Now, you have to understand that Ghanaians eat everything but certain viscera from an animal. They just chop it into chunks and chew the meat, gristle, fat, skin, bones, feet, and head. For something goat-sized and larger, the best way to remove all the hair is for you and your buddy to hold it over a fire. This method is very throrough and I find it gives the skin (I've grown used to eating skin) a nice grilled flavor. But for small things such as rodents, they usually shave it with a knife, so putting your lips to a thigh to take a bite is disturbingly similar to kissing a man who hasn't shaved in a week.
Biting past such thoughts, I took out a hunk and examined the cross-section. The skin was very thick, as a pencil. Then there was a thin layer of fat followed by the thin, red, outer mucles with a hamlike taste and consistency. Underneath that was the thick leg muscle, a dark grey meat that melted in my mouth like the the tenderest, juiciest roast turkey dark meat that I've ever had plus that unique nutty rodent smoking. The soup was a hot spicy barbeque, and I was floored, devouring it in bites carefully calculated to take in a sample of each layer from tender meat to tickly hair.
A dreamy jungle turkey cordon bleu. Not so sweet as the rat, not so gamey as the akranty3. While I can see myself occasionally wanting to gorge on the rat's sweetness, this meat has muscled (ha ha) its way into the Hall of Toe-Curlingly Delicious Meat-Gods in the pantheon of my palate, a hallowed hall that Pork and Chicken sullenly sulk outside of while only the choicest cuts of Beef are allowed past the uniformed fork-and-knife guards to drink au jus cocktails and waltz upon my tongue. Duck is there, dripping with grease as he chats up that New Orleans belle Crocodile. Lobster and Crab sip lemon drops in the butter hottub. Now Rat, Cane Rat, and Toothy Rat have strolled in picking their teeth with the guards and threaten to toss everybody out and take over the joint.
---
Dog, on the other hand, was harder to get ahold of. Not because of the slight social stigma against eating it, but because it is so popular that getting dibs on part of the pot is more about influence than money. We went to the house of the man who cooked it one night to arrange to have some the next night, playing the oft-successful 'Oburoni wants to learn our culture' card. When we returned the next evening, we were told it was all gone. Only when the old man came out and saw me did he change his tune and bring out his cauldron of dog stew. The friends who accompanied me were eager to get in on the otherwise inaccessable meal- without my Oburoni influence, they're just young men, not one of the graying elders in the cook's tight circle of customers.
What a light, fresh-flavored meat. I was afraid it would taste like wet dog. Instead, it's an airy meat, almost so clean that it serves as a blank canvas for the soup's spice to paint upon. If I hadn't known I would have definitely said that I was eating a bird. This meat would seriously threaten the chicken industry if not for the stigma against it. I think I'd like to try it Vietnamese style, with shoots and vegetables for a meal so light you could blow it off your plate. I understand why it's popular, but my preference is for a stronger flavor, so I would certainly eat it at any chance but I wouldn't have it shipped as I may end up doing with rat meat.
The next evening Eric and I returned, because the old man had taken an extra day to prepare a special treat. We took a seat on a low stool by the porch, the only light coming from a gas lantern. Grandpa came out in droopy briefs while Grandma, wearing only shorts and flip-flops, offered some water for washing. Eric was there only as my translator, he feels too much of a kinship to dogs to eat them. I myself was attacked by a dog as a small child and considered each bite to be a little bit of revenge.
It is good and right that the elderly couple received us in a state of near nudity. This is a tradition in much of the U.S. as well- when you are received by your grandparents in their home, they should be in their underwear. The reason is twofold- for one, they have earned the right to go about as they please, and have shed the self-consciousness of youth as we all should. Secondly, you must gaze upon their bodies and know that you see your own future. We will all age and droop and sag, and this is good and right.
The meal was doggie rib-tips on a kebob, prepared with a local barbeque made from ginger, onions, and hot pepper. Incredible. I 'wolfed' it down, har har.
---
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