Well, it’s not a kill-only-what-you-eat diet. But please observe: the process (sort of) of plucking and preparing the meat of a pheasant. My dad does sports with a chap who shoots, and occasionally he’s kind enough to offer us a brace of (that’s two) pheasants. Of course, this way they come whole, so needs must. I see feathercraft in my near future.
When I prepare meat from whole I treat it quite differently. Slower cuts, more solicitious movements of the whole mass, conversation with the corpse. I can entertain the idea that it’s faux-spiritualism bollockery but I can also entertain the possibility there’s something truthful in anthropomophic death-food connection.
They’re pretty raggedy around the edges, unfortunately – partly because I’m not the most experienced butcher, but this poor lad was hit pretty badly by the shot.
You have to go through the bones in the wings and the legs, and through the joints higher up the legs, which I am bad at because I’m too flippin’ weak. I need to get stronger arms! For archery, too. My new-borrowed bow is much heavier.
And then, I ate his liver.
With my favourite beans and a nice keemun tea.
..Isn’t that how that goes?
I also spent a small chunk of afternoon stacking wood. Country wench, me.
Today it just might have been cold enough to warrant “dressing for the weather”. This is the perfect minimalist(ha) outfit for me – servicable + thick quality fabric + strong colour + neckerchief. Wool and silk, rolled trousers and my dear ole boots. It’s bright in a cold-weather way, and cold in a warm way.
I also really dig my hair this way.