April 2008


 

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On Wild Boar –

 

In Patagonia, after the French couple asked us to vacate their slanted attic room with little porthole windows that let us believe we were falling asleep inside a ship that drifted in the mountains and stars; we moved into a tent near by. The hotel by the lake, the one that poured Grey Goose had found our wallets and various articles of clothing, they were returned in the morning, but it was clear the time had come to move on. not too much was different between the attic and the tent, not too much at all. We hitchhiked in to town nightly to eat at the fancy places that lined the creeks and lakes. Most of the delicacies were focused on the trout. The perfect trout that was less orange but just the same shape as Goldfish. They kept preparation simple, mostly just butter and some pepper, which was perfect. Trout is good, but when put on menu next to Patagonia crocodile and Ostrich, the novelty of eating fish quickly dissolves.

 

It was here that we devoured boar in all its forms; sausaged, broiled over charcoles, and raw. Boar is good any which way.

 

We never saw the boars in the forest, and sniffing around for the black mushrooms they grown down there, and so we imagined them to be fearsome nasty things. With tusks and drooling pink snouts that would take us out by the ankles given the chance.

 

This boar in India is a sad little thing. ugly with his Mohawk. But when we saw him, I still wanted to eat him. 

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