I sat there watching TV. Spaghetti bolognese on my lap. Chowing down. Hungry. Ravenous. "Eat the plate too" type hungry. Now, like a typical man, when I got my plate, eyes became focused on my feast. No wavering gaze. If I was by myself, I may have even dispensed with the interruption of the knife and fork.
And just like a true animal, after a few minutes head down, face full, my head popped up to do a quick scan of the surroundings making sure no other hungry creature is going to attack me and take my feast. Teeth slightly showing in preparation for any challenger. I scanned behind me. Eyes widened.
My girlfriend sat there. Mouth open as wide as her head. Lowering a ball of spaghetti the size of an adult fist into her mouth.
I was impressed.
She wasn't.
She squealed as she realised I had caught her being anything less than prim and proper. She tried to hide the horror of her feeding herself quickly. She ducked. I laughed. I turned back to my meal to find the cat with a face in my plate. Laugh disappeared. Teeth showed again. Knife raised...
That was when I was 19. I will never forget the lesson I learned that day. We all put on faces. And eating correctly is one of those faces women must apparently put on. Which is fine. Civilization and civility and all that good stuff. But some of it... Shall we say it was a learning experience.
The first time I saw a burger eaten with a knife and fork. Burger came. Succulent meat. She took out a knife and fork. A little part of me cried inside.
The first time a girl didn't buy something at a restaurant that I know they like, because it's messy. I felt like I was loosing my faith.
The first time I saw a chicken drumstick eaten with a knife and fork. I turned to my Mum. I didn't understand.
I have grown, matured, and come to understand the different ways animals attack their meals. Even adopted a few techniques myself to merge with the herd. It's quite interesting from an anthropological point of view. Recently I've been coming across another breed. One that does not have quite the same feasting etiquette. One that does not care who is around when they enjoy their sustenance.
One particular lady, who can only be described as, a proud carnivore. A leg was brought before her. Her eyes, with a particular shine, locked on to the variety of dead animals who had gratefully sacrificed themselves for our pleasure. She ripped at the flesh. Face disappearing behind the tender juicy muscle. Appearing only to tear a chunk away from the bone. One look in her eyes and you could see she was in her own world. Licking the meat of the bone like big cats actually learned the skill from her. Only pausing for two things - to breathe and utter a slow sound of pleasure. One might even say it was a tender mix between a growl and a purr.
I was impressed.
She was in her own world. How it should be.
Angus D
And just like a true animal, after a few minutes head down, face full, my head popped up to do a quick scan of the surroundings making sure no other hungry creature is going to attack me and take my feast. Teeth slightly showing in preparation for any challenger. I scanned behind me. Eyes widened.
My girlfriend sat there. Mouth open as wide as her head. Lowering a ball of spaghetti the size of an adult fist into her mouth.
I was impressed.
She wasn't.
She squealed as she realised I had caught her being anything less than prim and proper. She tried to hide the horror of her feeding herself quickly. She ducked. I laughed. I turned back to my meal to find the cat with a face in my plate. Laugh disappeared. Teeth showed again. Knife raised...
That was when I was 19. I will never forget the lesson I learned that day. We all put on faces. And eating correctly is one of those faces women must apparently put on. Which is fine. Civilization and civility and all that good stuff. But some of it... Shall we say it was a learning experience.
The first time I saw a burger eaten with a knife and fork. Burger came. Succulent meat. She took out a knife and fork. A little part of me cried inside.
The first time a girl didn't buy something at a restaurant that I know they like, because it's messy. I felt like I was loosing my faith.
The first time I saw a chicken drumstick eaten with a knife and fork. I turned to my Mum. I didn't understand.
I have grown, matured, and come to understand the different ways animals attack their meals. Even adopted a few techniques myself to merge with the herd. It's quite interesting from an anthropological point of view. Recently I've been coming across another breed. One that does not have quite the same feasting etiquette. One that does not care who is around when they enjoy their sustenance.
One particular lady, who can only be described as, a proud carnivore. A leg was brought before her. Her eyes, with a particular shine, locked on to the variety of dead animals who had gratefully sacrificed themselves for our pleasure. She ripped at the flesh. Face disappearing behind the tender juicy muscle. Appearing only to tear a chunk away from the bone. One look in her eyes and you could see she was in her own world. Licking the meat of the bone like big cats actually learned the skill from her. Only pausing for two things - to breathe and utter a slow sound of pleasure. One might even say it was a tender mix between a growl and a purr.
I was impressed.
She was in her own world. How it should be.
 |
| To chow is to live |
Angus D
No comments:
Post a Comment