Two Wagging Tales

The evening ended as the day had began, with two very excited dogs, my dog Joan and the Pratt’s dog Valor, each wagging their tails at near the speed of sound. As they disposed of scraps of meat and hid their bones safely around the garden, I cleaned up.
I started the day with a quick trip to the butchers, for ten pounds of choice goat. Dropping it off back at the house, the dogs were my immediate best friends, their noses glued to the side of the plastic bag, dreaming that they could have just a taste of this delicious treat. They would have to wait. I went off to work, leaving them with their dreams of muscle and bone.
I arrived back at the house after a short workday and doing some shopping around town about four hours before the vultures, Guest I mean, arrived. So, I set to work. Trimming and cutting the meat out of its recognizable animal shape, to get it ready for a short marinade then the grill. Joan sat perfectly still for sometimes ten, fifteen minutes at a time waiting for one little scrap, then would swallow it before it ever touched her teeth. I have never seen her so well behaved.
After the meat was prepared I set to work on the other Fixin’s, as we would say down south. The locals have one love when it comes to food, meat and lots of it. There were six of them set to arrive that evening and all of them had forgone lunch, already salivating over dinner, they have had my cooking before. The menu was BBQ and chili a.k.a. meat and meat soup, with a side of tandoori flat bread. Almost everything here is made from scratch so I began the process of cleaning vegetables, chopping garlic, onions and peppers, browning the meat, making Spicy Honey BBQ sauce, pulling out dishes, taking everything that could possibly be needed, outside to the garden. These hungry guys could be dangerous inside. Joan followed me around constantly during this time, hoping for one more scrap. After a short time the chili was on to simmer, the table was set, salt was out, the only really important spice for these guys, and it was time to start the grill. Sixteen pounds of charcoal fits about perfectly in the grill I had made from an old barrel, just big enough to cook half a goat. About this time the first of my friends arrived.
One thing the men here are always ready and willing to give is advice. In this relational, tribal culture it is their duty to give any and all possible advice. I have learned, it is similar to having a radio on in the background while trying to work. So, while I continued to prepare, they were prepared to offer advice.
As more of them began to arrive and the food neared the point of being done the excitement was building for this “American Kabob” and chili. However, there was one hitch, these guys are terrified and disgusted of meat with even a tinge of red, unbeknownst to them BBQ sauce will turn the meat a little red, so almost all of them with out fail, returned their meat to the grill to “finish” cooking. It was painful to watch them crisp perfectly well done meat, but they ate up and raved on the flavor. I pulled my carefully prepared tenderloin from the grill and enjoyed a delicious, honey BBQ, goat tenderloin and decided most anything can be a tasty treat with the right treatment.
When they settled down to eat, I knew it was a success, it was absolute silence… everyone was stuffing their face with bread and meat, forgoing the “comfort” of chairs for the preferred asian squat. Sitting on a bench, my dog at my feet, surrounded by friends, good food and bathed in the flickering light of lanterns, I noticed once again that beauty is a moment, and this was one of those moments. This is why I am here. Sometimes His hands and feet use grills and pots.