Courtney and I are sitting at the dinner table, starved as usual after waiting for our royal family to commence their own dining at lunchtime. I haven't eaten since 9 this morning and it's 3 pm, and the empty carbs of my bread and margarine breakfast have long since worn off. I am completely ravenous for nourishment. Set in front of us is a bowl of the most savory, delicious looking meat, a plate of fried potatoes, a basket of bread, and half a small watermelon. Excellent. Time to dine.
Upon eating a bite of the saucy meat, which is rich and tastes sort of like prime rib meets BBQ chicken wings (in a good way) we wonder what kind it is. To me, it just tastes beefy, so obviously it's just beef! Courtney isn't so convinced. And really, I shouldn't have been so certain either because no beef has bones so small that when you take an average sized bite you have to fish out the bones from your mouth so you don't choke on them. We ponder what it could be, and honestly, it's delicious, so I really don't want to know. My mind wanders back to sophomore year when I ate a traditional Filipino meal at Blythe Conde's 16th birthday party, and I later found out that I had consumed an entree well known for being cooked in pig's blood. I love food. I would rather just be oblivious to what cute barnyard delicacy I'm munching on and not think about the short, aimless life they led before their inevitable end at the chopping block.
However, Courtney, aka Curious George, could not withhold the urge to discover, unfortunately. “¿Marí Carmen, que tipo de carne es esto?” (Marí Carmen, what type of meat is this?) “Ah, conejo. Es muy rico, ¿no? Mi hijo lo compró en el campo, estuve muy caro.” (Ah......It's delicious, right? My son bought it in the country and it was really expensive.) We missed the whole animal thing because it was unfamiliar word to us. As we ask Marí Carmen what a “conejo” is, she explains, “es pequeño, como un perro, ¡como un perrito!” My stomach drops. (It's small, like a dog, like a puppy!) Oh shit. Where are we, Thailand? And she starts making hand gestures by putting her hands in cups over her head like ears, while I am frantically trying to think of what animal this culture would consider “like” a dog, that is in fact edible as well.
Slightly terrified, I stand up and walk into my room to obtain the answer to my worst fears. I grab my small, green, Merriam Webster's Pocket Spanish-English Dictionary and flip the book from back to front, eyeing the right hand corner, I skim through, “raddle,” “ivy,” “tostar,” “pómulo,” “despiadado,” and finally to the page I need. I find what I'm looking for and my stomach flops with queasiness while my lungs simultaneously let out a small sigh of relief. Rabbit.
I tell Courtney the news and she isn't phased. She continues to put down that carne like there's no tomorrow. I settle with the potatoes, bread, and watermelon for the remainder of my meal, while Courtney chuckles and makes bad bunny jokes, and I recall my mom's stories of her childhood on the rabbit farm that used to sell the bunnies to the “rabbit man.” Well, now I know where the rabbits go when they go to the rabbit man...
Towards the end of lunch, Courtney goes, “mmmm, well now I know why Elmer Fudd wanted to kill Bugs Bunny so bad!”
No comments:
Post a Comment