Courage

Remember what it was like to be young? In our youth everything is eminently fascinating, especially things we're not supposed to know about. Who among us hasn't thumbed through their dad's Playboy, made a fake ID, or stolen the keys to someone's liquor cabinet? Skipping class to smoke a cigarette, anyone? I myself have been guilty of dabbling in the forbidden from time to time. Unlike others, though, I eschewed the usual teenage vices. Instead I sought out something even more dark and illicit. When no parental figures were in sight, I would snag my father's copy of The Golden Bough.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with James Frazer's exhaustive work, The Golden Bough is a collection of superstitions, arcane practices, and the occult. Within its pages are accounts of witches and harvest gods, sex totems and rain charms, tribal rituals, cannibalism, mythology, and magic. (Soooo much cooler than beer.) Oddly, it was this youthful fascination with mysticism that kept me from missing out on my first real experience with organ meat, but more on that in a moment.

Fortunately, Frazer was kind enough to include a section on the folklore of food. Here you will find descriptions of yam-eating ceremonies, tales of Aztec priests consuming images of the god Huitzilopochtli made of dough, seeds, and the blood of children, and many other highly bizarre narratives.

Some of the more interesting tidbits are stories about eating certain animals, or parts thereof, in order to gain their qualities. For example, in some cultures it is believed that to eat a deer is to procure swiftness and wisdom. There are animals that make you clumsy, animals that make you timid, and animals that bestow all manner of attributes, both good and bad. The people of Darfur even believe that you can enlarge your soul by eating an animal's liver (incidentally, they also forbid women from eating it as, according to them, women have no souls).

The acquisition of courage is the really nifty one, though. The Miris of northern India suggest consuming tiger's flesh to secure bravery. The Chinese, on the other hand, believe courage to be located in the gall-bladder, presumably any gall-bladder will do. The Italones of the Philippines are so keen on getting courage that they are actually willing to drink the blood of their enemies and eat their entrails and the backs of their heads raw. Another tribe from the Philippines devours people's brains for this purpose, and the Zulus believe that 'by eating the centre of the forehead and the eyebrow of an enemy they acquire the power of looking steadfastly at a foe'. There are many ways of getting it, most of them pretty grisly, but one of the most common courage-attaining tactics is to ingest a heart.

With all of that in mind, we now return to the real story for today.

It started off as a fairly typical evening in my seventeenth year. I would once again be dining with my neighbors, Sid and Judi, as was my usual habit at the time. The food in my home tended to be of somewhat inferior quality (after awhile even my dad took to calling it toxic waste) so I avoided eating there as much as possible.

In contrast, Sid and Judi always had a wonderful spread of delicious rustic fare, and we're not talking supermarket here. There were fresh vegetables from the garden they tended and meat from animals they had raised themselves (with help now and again from yours truly). In short, damn good eats.

This meal was a special treat. Thanks to Judi's skill with a shotgun, I was informed that Bambi would be making an appearance as the featured entree. Again, fairly typical . . . except that it wasn't. I approached the table that night expecting a platter of venison steaks or deer burgers. Nope. What confronted me instead was a large pottery bowl containing the creature's grey and glistening heart, not really the best thing to whet my appetite.

At this point, though, I wasn't too concerned. Everyone present was aware of my somewhat vegetarian proclivities (don't worry, it was only a phase) so I had my out. I'd turned down meat many times before in this house, and I knew no one would be bothered if I took a pass on the offal. So I sat down to dinner, loaded up on the veggies, and when the offending bit of flesh came around to me I just quickly passed it to Sid and started poking at some lima beans, expecting it to continue on its journey to the other side of the table, there to trouble me no more.

However, just as I was about to start eating, I noticed that Sid was still looking at me. Now, Sid is very clever, and he knows me all too well. I turned to face him in time to hear, 'Are you sure you don't want any of this?' But just as I was about to politely decline the offer, Sid spoke again . . .

'It's stag's heart, you know. It's magical.'

Aww, crap! Crap, crap, crap!

Now, I was trapped. I surely didn't want to eat it, but who says no to magical meat, I ask you? After experiencing a fearful little shudder, I slapped a bit on my plate and gave it a try. What, did you think I'd lose out on a chance at being imbued with awesome woodland powers? Think again. The best part is, in addition to any great spiritual benefits that I may have received, god damn if it wasn't delicious. My gratitude to Sid.

So, the next time you're faced with a plate of liver and onions, don't run for the door. Just remember the people of Darfur and dig in because, who knows, you may be missing out on more than protein.