Gastronomic Tour of the Globe
One morning I was sitting in my farmhouseroom in Rani Kuwa, a small Nepalese village, reading and occasionally glancing out at the terraced fields leading down to the river. I remember that about half way through a particularly compelling passage of "Middlemarch" my concentration was smashed by a loud 'thwack'. I looked out to see what it is was. Much to my horror and excitement there lay on the floor outside a goat. A metre or so away lay the goat's head and there was much blood in between. Sensing my alarm the farmer turned to me, beaming with a bloody sword in his hand, "Today we kill goat. Take you goat Peter sir?". I realised that the goat was for dinner. Having lived purely on
rice and vegetable curry for longer than I cared to remember I was strangely unenthusiatic about the prospect of meat for supper. And, it was with a sense of dread that I awaited dinner.
Finally, the hour arrived and we sat around as normal on the dirty kitchen floor. A few men had been invited as special guests to partake of the delicate goat. My plate was handed to me and on it I saw the normal vast quantity of rice swimming in a dark goat curry. It looked better than it had in the morning and the aroma made my nostrils very happy. Without ceremony I plunged my hand into the plate and dexterously filled my mouth with a chunky handful. It was not quite like the curries I had eaten before, the meat tasted funny. It was at this stage I realised I was chewing on some sort of organ and some gristle. I looked around and saw my companions greedily devouring bone and sinew;
I then decided that it was best
to answer their anxious looks with a big smile and announced that it was delicious, grinned and swallowed.
They insisted on giving me a second helping which I could but eat. Although not a particularly pleasant experience it did have a positive consequence. After a day or so when the goat was replaced with the normal vegetable curry I was very pleased to be back on the potato and cauliflower. Indeed I got very accustomed to it and it was with a happy heart and hungry belly that I looked forward to my morning and evening meal, every day.
However, despite the goat saga it was only a few weeks before my carniverous side began to tell me that it did not wish to become entirely extinct. Having shied away from meat since the beginning of my trip the market had a fresh appeal. At friends' houses oppurtunities arose for succulent chicken, bone and all, and in the tea shops I splashed out on dried buffallo and Tibetan mo-mos; at a wedding I dined on a marvellous spread of chilli chicken, curried sour grapefruit, mutton and more goat. Meat became a luxury for me. In fact, I often went with friends from the village to restaurants, or so they were called, to fill up on millet wine and sup upon all variety of curried animal.
The restaurant we normally went to was called Ashok, and initially, to the system, it was. But, I actually became quite used to what had at first seemed a smelly old shack and many a good night was spent dancing around the tables with stomachs full of flesh.
Nepal is a wonderful country and the people really are special, if someone were to die without having paid a visit I would think it a tragedy. However, I would not recommend it as a place to go for dinner. It is possible to have some wonderful meals and priceless eating experiences but generally speaking the food is something it takes a while to get used to. That said, you'll probably never find such a large quantity of rice and curry for a mere 25p.
12th Oct 2000