Disclaimer: This post deals with subject matter some people may find offensive. If you are squeamish or offended by the thought of butchering animals please do not read any further.
It was five thirty in the morning when my alarm went off today. Having only fallen asleep two and a half hours earlier, I was not happy. I forced myself out of bed blurry eyed, and anything but bushy tailed but, looking forward to what I was about to do. It was something new, something exciting, something different. What I was about to do was clean a whole goat carcass, well, I was going to watch someone clean half and I was going to clean the other half. I had never butchered a goat before, or a whole animal for that matter (other than fish and poultry) so, despite my complete and utter exhaustion, I was excited.
After having been awake for less than twenty minutes I set off for work, I use the word “awake” loosely. It was chilly out, and still completely dark. The moon shone low in the westward sky as I walked towards the metro station. I stopped only briefly to grab a coffee which I hoped would battle my fatigue. It was with pure luck that I remained conscious on the subway. The gentle rocking and the low drone of the engine called me back into my slumber, I resisted with all my might and before I knew it, it was my stop.
I went into work with as much excitement as I could muster, I admit, it wasn’t very much. I immediately downed the last few drops of the coffee I had purchased before getting on the train and began to prepare myself another one. I talked to Nick, the cook who would be showing me what I so eagerly awaited learning, and he and I went about setting up the kitchen in anticipation of the arrival of our mornings project.
After a brief interval, and at least one more coffee it arrived. A delivery man carried it in over his shoulder. He looked rough, but friendly. He spoke to me in french, I didn’t understand. I responded with a confused expression and Nick took over the conversation. After a quick exchange of signatures and invoices the man was gone and the goat was ours.
The goat was headless, skinned, and all the internal organ had been removed. I was told that the organs are usually still inside and what to do if they were. The beast weighed 33kg, and I must admit it was very ugly. I spent most of my childhood on a farm which raised goats but, they were pets. We didn’t eat them and though I had seen many, many goats, I had never saw one in this state. I imagined all the goats from my childhood and immediately felt remorse and guilt. These thoughts were quickly set aside though, for there is no room in cooking for sentiment.
Nick began. The knife moved quickly in his hand. His cuts were sure and true. He explained in great detail as he went along, allowing me to feel the bones and the odd turns the knife had to make. Within minutes the goat was in a few different pieces. He took up one of the shoulders and expertly removed the meat from the bone. He handed me the knife and the other shoulder, it was my turn.
With nervous excitement I began to move the knife along the bone. My exhaustion subsiding temporarily, as my excitement grew. I cut here and there as I had been shown. Before too long, I had done as Nick had, not quite as well, but I had done it. We continued this way, him showing me once, and then me doing it, until the entire beast had been dismantled. We made sure that not a single piece of this animal went to waste. The bones were roasted for stock, the shoulders and end bits will be turned into braises and sausages, the larger pieces and the ribs will be turned into dishes for the ever changing menu. We made sure to honor this animal, to be respectful.
We get a whole goat every second Tuesday. I have gone through the experience once and now, now it is my job. Next time there will be no training wheels, there will be no one guiding my knife. Two weeks from today, I will wake up at five thirty in the morning once again and repeat today’s events. I will make careful and true cuts with my knife, I will have thought about every cut hundreds of times by then as I will replay it over and over in my mind. This is my training, not just here but everywhere. Cooks, or at least the ones I know, live by a “trial by fire” code. In two weeks I will either prove myself, or I will mess up. Those are the only two options. I love it! I just hope that next time, I can sleep the night before.
I want to say really quickly that I am not sure if I will be able to post tomorrow. I am working a double which is from eight in the morning until around ten or eleven at night. I will try my best but I make no promises.
PROTOADVENTURE 