I’ve become addicted to a carefully arranged pattern of tomato ketchup and mayonnaise layered over almost everything I eat. I had eggy-bread for breakfast and half a meat pizza for lunch (don’t worry, I’m under 30, my metabolism can handle it), each layered with the ketchup/mayo lattice, and then topped with Worchester sauce and Reggae Reggae. Fantastic!
I’ve developed this odd habit, pathetically, under the influence of TV. My new favourite programme is Man V Food on Travel Channel (TV Shack it). This guy travels up and down the United States eating the best in American food: barbeque, chilli, sushi, burgers, Mexican, steak... the list goes on. In each episode he also subjects himself to a crazy eating challenge: 90lb steaks, super hot chicken wings and 30 inch pizzas. It combines America’s worst and best into one goofy 20 minute show; its vicious gluttony, and its rich cultural and culinary mix – its gaudiness and its liveliness.
Everywhere I want to travel is driven by the desire to taste the local foods. Back to Japan for everything. Iceland for Hákarl (rotten shark meat), Sweden for Lutefisk. The list goes on.
Back to Travel Channel again, and another amazing programme – Bizarre Foods. A round bald fellow travels the world eating blood, brains, worms and fertilised duck eggs. He drinks cow urine in Goa and aloe vera in Ecuador. How does one get a job like this? I could leave the piss and the gooey leaf jelly, but there are plenty of exciting and weird foods on this programme I would love to try. Rattlesnake? Yep. Guinea pig? Looks delicious, and of course the reason it was domesticated was to be eaten. Locusts? Of course; land prawns! Jellyfish? Why not. Bulls testicles? Probably. Head cheese? Yes please.
Just watched a DVD of the Swahili/Koranic ceremony held in Tanzania in honour of my godson by his mum’s family. It begins with a beautiful lingering close-up of the inside of the throat of a trussed up squirming goat, as its blood is drained into a hole in the ground. A second goat is teased a little, made to dance, then flung to the floor and executed halal-style. Now the prayers and surah are recited, presumably to kill a bit of time, while the goat is made delicious.
While watching the lovely occasion I eat delicious spicy prawn curry Tanzania-style and enjoy the hospitality of Zu and Mama, and Harry looks around with his big eyes, not fully comprehending the weirdness of the DVD and too young to share the food.
Again I’ve left writing this blog to too late at night. It’s supposed to be a warm-up activity, not a late night wind-down. I’d like to write a bit about halal to sort out in my head where I stand with it. Now is not the time. Night.