Ben Oostdam story # 23

CHICKEN IN CAMBODJA


When I descended from the lofty spheres of high galleries, I had developed an astonishing appetite.

Fortunately, there were a few eating houses along the road, where I acquired a crispy stick of bread and one of the various colorfull and overly sweet drinks.

I also treated myself to the luxury of a chicken. While I pulled it apart and relished it, I thought of her career after death. Probably she was killed by a car a few years ago, so her owner removed the guts, inserted and stretched the pre-flattened remains in a bamboo holder and hung it out to dry for a few months to ready it for preservation. Upon demand he could then select a dried specimen from the pile stacked like books on a shelf, then hang it over a charcoal fire for a half hour to give it a smoky aroma.


Finally, he would cut the whole thing minus the burned off feathers in small pieces, and serve it to the customer, bones, head and feet included. One half of it would accrue to the customer, the other to the flies...

But I would not want to miss this adventure for a measly 20 reals.


BLO fecit 20031009 - Stories