Forbidden Meat
It has been weeks since I ate meat. I was excited and thankful that my mother left me one whole week’s worth of meat in front of my eyes. It will stay for two weeks and more if I preserve it well. I’m so glad my grandfather taught me the art of butchery and preservation of meat. You never know when a skill that you learnt just for fun will someday turn out to save your life.
When I was sure that the meat was clean after all the blood flowed from its neck, I started my process by cutting its leg. Its raw form looked savoury enough. I hadn’t eaten for two days. I decided to eat a meal before assembling the other parts. The leg piece had enough flesh to fill my stomach, satisfy my hunger and provide me with the energy I will need for the next few hours.
I was madly hungry. I would have eaten the meat raw if Ma wouldn’t tell me strictly that I have to cook it on fire first. I never disobey Ma. I am going to cook a leg steak. I don’t have any herbs or spices for marinating or adding flavour to my steak, neither a pot or any other utensil to help the meat hold in its essence. Anyhow, I feel fortunate to have the luxury of meat all alone on this isolated island where no humans live.
I lit a fire with dry twigs, branches and leaves. I slowly removed the top layer of skin the same way I saw my grandfather remove the skin of lamb. That was four years ago when I was eight. You need to get a bit creative when you do primitive cooking. After lighting a fire and skinning the leg, I made two stands. Each stand was a single Y shaped twig strong enough to together hold another laying stick with my steak on it.
I obediently kept turning the meat as it roasted on the crackling flames beneath. My hungry and desperate eyes eagerly stared at the juicy delectable chunk as it changed its colour from raw red to an appetizing golden brown. I drooled like a dog. I ate like a beast.
The first bite left me enchanted with its smoky aroma and soft, creamy texture. I never ate meat like this before. It was juicy, savoury and had hints of a peculiar sweetness to it. This was not the kind of sweetness that will ruin your tongue in the middle of a savoury dish. The sweetness was comforting, nurturing, and strengthening, like that of a mother’s milk to her baby.
I tore the meat with my teeth and chewed and swallowed it until I could see the bone. I sucked the bone of all its juices until I realised there was nothing left to bite and chew. My weakness vanished. I felt some strength. My hunger vanished, my senses came back. I looked at her.
“Ma. I wouldn’t survive if you didn’t instruct me to cut, cook and eat you after you died.”
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