Let them eat goat
REGULAR readers of this column are acutely aware that it is my considered, scientific opinion that humans are generally idiots. We are the only species in our entire solar system that consistently engages in behaviour that is neither good for our survival nor the environment that sustains us. This is why I have been toying with the idea of converting to Buddhism from whatever it is that I believe now. At least if I’m a Buddhist I can get reincarnated as a smart animal such as the dung beetle.
Dung beetles wouldn’t fight passionately for their constitutional rights to drink, smoke and engage in other activities designed to sauté their livers, lungs and whatnots because dung beetles know what’s good for them. And you had better believe that dung beetles would declare Imodium illegal if they were put in charge. General constipation is not in any dung beetle’s best interest.
Last weekend I drove to Durban to help a good friend of mine purchase a bride. Well; not purchase, but negotiate the transfer of wealth between two families in the tradition of the Zulus. During the festivities, the separation of a goat’s soul from its carcass was expedited. Zulu ancestors get off on that sort of thing, presumably. And this is when I overheard a fascinating exchange between the resident goat butchers. The debate was whether a goat’s gonad sac (the scrotum) was tasty or not.
I remember the first time I tasted a goat’s scrotum like it was yesterday. I was 11 and family members had congregated at my dad’s ancestral home, eGabazine in the Valley of a Thousand Hills, to separate the bodies and souls of a few mammals to appease my ancestors. My brothers and I were seated around the fire when an uncle grabbed a chunk of meat from the fire, cut off a piece, stuffed it into his mouth and immediately proclaimed, “Hheyi, liyababa isende!” (Ja nee, the testicles are bitter.) I bet you weren’t aware of that fact about the organoleptic properties of those organs. Well, they are extremely bitter. And incredibly rubbery. Whoever invented chewing gum must have been inspired by the experience of chewing on a goat’s thingamajigs for what seemed like 27 years.
The reason I’m honing in on this is that I assume that most “civilised” human beings are probably disgusted at the thought of consuming a goat’s manhood. A civilised person might be pulling a face as they pile omelettes on their plate, reading this. Yes, a person who is busy consuming a chicken’s eggs is likely to be disgusted by the thought of con- suming a goat’s nethers. Let that one swirl around a little longer than two seconds.
Look, I am no Charles Darwin by any stretch of the imagination but I’ve been reliably told that we were once an exclusively vegetarian bunch. This is why, unlike lions and other carnivorous nunus, we need to cook the flesh we consume to make it palatable. And then apparently about 2.5 million years ago a Khoi fellow by the name of Xinyama was cooking minestrone soup in a cave in the general vicinity of Sterkfontein and some rabbits fell into the broth. (Don’t
‘Whoever invented chewing gum must have been inspired by chewing on a goat’s thingamajigs’
google that.) Anyway, the rest is history. Since then humans have consumed pretty much any flesh and derivatives of flesh they can lay their hands on.
I have it on good authority that the only animals never consumed in human history are the Tasmanian platypus and Conepatus leuconotus, the American hog-nosed skunk. I think the reasons are self-evident. But other than that, humans have consumed everything from cattle and sheep to elephants, horses, locusts, maggots, ants, rats and pretty much anything else that has ever walked, crawled or flown. John the Baptist is famous for having survived on locusts in the desert. Apparently they taste like peanut butter.
It therefore boggles the mind why so many South Africans were up in arms during the donkey-meat phantom crisis of a few months ago. It makes even less sense to me why it is that the first time I travelled to the Far East people said to me, “If I were you, I’d stick to McDonalds while I’m over there,” in hushed, “I swear I’m not racist but . . .” tones. For the record, while I was there I ate every item on the menu whose name I couldn’t pronounce, especially if I had no idea what it was. And I never asked what I was consuming either, lest my messed up “civilised” sensibilities recoiled at the thought of possibly eating a hyena’s pancreas.
I think a hyena is a vile creature but if it tastes like bacon, count me in. Bacon is proof that the Almighty exists and that She loves us. And before you judge the Chinese for eating “exotic” foods such as cobra blood, consider the challenge of feeding a 1.4 billion-strong population. It’s easy to scoff at the idea of a cockroach stir-fry when you only have 50 million people to feed.
I must, however, confess that even this culinary philistine has his limits. In my travels across the Zululand countryside I was once served a bowl of delicacies in Gingindlovu, Melmoth that included a bull’s eyeball. I have never felt so judged and scrutinised by food before. So I sheepishly averted my gaze to avoid eye contact and offered my bowl to a companion.