"Oh, I forgot to tell you," the husband said casually over dinner with A., the TV producer and C., the fashion photographer. "I bought a lamb."
Not some lamb, or even lamb. A lamb.
"It's organic," he said. "It's coming next weekend. You guys get half and we'll keep the other half. Although we need to get someone to cut it up for us, or maybe we can do it ourselves."
No, I said, we can not cut it up ourselves.
A. protested, saying they had no room for it.
I myself was thinking about a freezer full of lamb brains, stomach, kidneys, liver and pancreas. Somehow, the idea of making my own haggis has never appealed to me, and I've never particularly liked leg of lamb, it's a bit too woolly for my taste. But I could see visions of lambchops and tagines dancing in the husband's head. Which immediately brought to mind a dancing lamb's head. Surely they won't give us the head...
Ecce agnus, goddamit?
I guess I'm living under delusions of gastronomic grandeur: I'm a meat sissy, when push comes to shove.
The Swedish word for the day is tjänst. It means service.
- by Francis S.