Murder!!! a zoology of food

1st day of trial in the trial against the "Animaleater"

The secret confession:
A man disappears behind the curtains of the confessional: Father, I have killed, absolve me of sin! Son, heavenly forgiveness needs genuine and mature repentance. Father, I do not feel this remorse and will do it again: I also eat those whom I have killed or whose killing I eagerly awaited. Father I eat animals! Son, I don't need to forgive you because you have not sinned. I also eat animals, because as it says in the Old Testament, which is still just as valid for us Christians as it is for all Jews and Mohammedans: Subdue the earth - and that includes animal husbandry as well as slaughtering and eating the flesh.

2nd day of negotiations.
interrogation of the accused.

I have eaten from them.
And, just thinking about it, that pleasant, tantalizing smell of roasting meat fills my nostrils again.
I see them lying in front of me, those crispy chicken legs, those delicious grilled sausages.
Breaded schnitzel with lemon slice and potato salad.
Your Honor, don't nobody protect me from myself - because I have to do it again.

3rd day of negotiations.
The history of the case.

3.1.
ten years. I was an only child and grew up in a sheltered home. The fly certainly hadn't hurt me. House arrest - boringly confined to myself. I felt my parents treated me unfairly. I tore the fly's wings off. My father confronted me. I was suddenly appalled and desperate at what I was doing. I had to kill her.
3.2.
The toad I found in the garden when I was 14 looked awful. Like a late Gothic grave relief, maggots came out of one eye, came out of your head, alive. Flies must have laid their eggs in a wound. Again and again the toad desperately tried to brush away these deadly annoying parasites with its front legs. I ran away I screamed and tried to erase this image from my memory. In vain - I had to do something.
I then did it with a large heavy brick, which I dropped exactly with one edge on the toad.
3.3
After graduating from high school in the wild sixties, of course, I first went south with my girlfriend.
St. Marie de la mer, situated on the Provence coast and known for its population of hippies in the summer, was an absolute must for us sheltered and well-bred would-be flower children and economic miracle revolutionaries. As we had heard, it was also a well-known place of pilgrimage for Sinti and Roma. For us, these free people, generally disparagingly referred to as gypsies, were symbols of the absolutely pure renunciation of capitalist accumulations of value and firmly rooted philistinism. There we wanted to spend a few days or weeks with like-minded people with almost no money. We were fascinated to see dark-skinned women in full, colorful clothing standing in the sea. They seemed to pluck something from the sea and then use the knife to shove their prey into their mouths. More curious than hungry, we joined them in the water. Shellfish! Mussels - of course we didn't know that back then. (For me, a few years earlier, at the age of 15, it was a special experience to be able to eat a can of herrings in tomato sauce at a friend's house. My mother only knew down-to-earth post-war cuisine with lots of cooked vegetables and on Sundays boiled meat).
The women showed us how to open the shells and use a few drops of lemon juice to kill the clams before eating them. Self-sufficient without having to work for money! How close we were to that dream!
And for dessert, grapes from the field, or some of those lovely green fruits on the trees over there! Fences prevented us from accessing the first, and the experience that soon followed that unripe figs didn't just cause stomach ache to the second.
3.4.
Soon after this experience, back home in a rented farmhouse in Reutern, we tried to survive by doing odd jobs for the farmers in the vicinity of our rural commune. Endless disgust when maintaining the conveyor belts of broiler farms with partially or half-dead animals. Again and again I had to kill these animals by hand with an axe. The motherly owners of the plant in Adelsried, as proud cooks, repeatedly provided us with any form of deliciously prepared chicken meat for weeks at lunchtime while we were working. For a long time after that, I couldn't smell the chicken.
Late one afternoon one of the ladies brought me a young kitten that had probably gotten under a car and couldn't move anymore. Miaowing pitifully and yet barely audibly, it opened its little snout again. The vet is currently on vacation and in general, could I not redeem it? But please not here in the yard, where you might still hear the animal screaming. I took it to our communard court and did my bloody work with the axe. Some of my peace-loving friends and conscientious objectors were horrified to learn of this atrocity. you are a killer With that I bore the Mark of Cain. I was marked forever.
3.5.
The dream of being self-sufficient from nature, which the Roma had germinated, still hadn't burst for me. When we traveled to other countries, we used to carry huge amounts of spaghetti packets and cans of tomato paste to feed our communards' stomachs, but the dream had already manifested itself for me. I wanted to proudly support my "family" by fishing from the sea and had brought some fishing hooks with me especially for this purpose. How stupid that there weren't any worms to stick on the hooks on the rocky islands of Santorini and the Peloponnese. Opened sea urchins were just as popular with small fish, but as a slimy mass they couldn't be hung on the line. So in the evening there was only a tiny sardine and a couple of miserable water snails to be found in the hunting bag. My thanks to the friends who prepared their spaghetti with tomato sauce rang out in malice. Despite protests, I borrowed the pan to coax at least as good a smell out of my sardine in deliciously sizzling oil and with a growling stomach. After the stupid beast had dissolved into nothing but small parts that I couldn't find anymore, the painstakingly cooked snail shells could not be opened even by constantly hard knocking with a stone, I was deeply frustrated. How nice that my friends had left me some noodles after all! who approached their spaghetti with tomato sauce. Despite protests, I borrowed the pan to coax at least as good a smell out of my sardine in deliciously sizzling oil and with a growling stomach. After the stupid beast had dissolved into nothing but small parts that I couldn't find anymore, the painstakingly cooked snail shells could not be opened even by constantly hard knocking with a stone, I was deeply frustrated. How nice that my friends had left me some noodles after all! who approached their spaghetti with tomato sauce. Despite protests, I borrowed the pan to coax at least as good a smell out of my sardine in deliciously sizzling oil and with a growling stomach. After the stupid beast had dissolved into nothing but small parts that I couldn't find anymore, the painstakingly cooked snail shells could not be opened even by constantly hard knocking with a stone, I was deeply frustrated. How nice that my friends had left me some noodles after all! I was deeply frustrated when the painstakingly cooked snail shells would not open even with constant hard tapping with a stone. How nice that my friends had left me some noodles after all! I was deeply frustrated when the painstakingly cooked snail shells would not open even with constant hard tapping with a stone. How nice that my friends had left me some noodles after all!
Hunting success brought the next day: I proudly presented the small polyp, the polpo, already at lunchtime. The only bad thing is that before I started cooking I forgot to repeatedly smash it against a stone to relieve muscle tension. Even after using a whole gas cartridge, you could neither cut this culinary delicacy nor crush it with your teeth in any way that you could have swallowed it. Since then, I've preferred to look into the cooking pots of other contemporaries and since the exchange of views with a ram's head after the trip to northern Turkey, which I was still very surprised at, I've always done well with it. Others cook and fry only what you like yourself. Were it not for our abhorrence of the unknown,

4th day of negotiations.
The confession

Like our ancestors, the rats, and our closer relatives, the pigs, I am an omnivore.
Please be careful: I am a repeat offender!
I don't shy away from eating unclean animals or disgusting animals, even considering religious or cultural requirements, if they taste wonderful when prepared deliciously. Unfortunately, this happens far too often, especially when traveling in Asia. So beware of me and your dear householders. There is this sweet little dog sitting in front of your sofa with those trustingly stupid, good-natured eyes, while your cuddly cat is slumbering, purring and unsuspecting. Help! Please lock me away! It took possession of me! I eat animals too!

5th and 6th day of the hearing:
Preservation of evidence
.
1992 - expired:
_ I ate my first dog 20 years ago and it was lovely.
To my relief: It was not a whole dog, just a kind of dog goulash in a dark brown, seductively fragrant hot sauce, wonderfully prepared in small bowls together with other samples such as water buffalo and pork and many unknown types of vegetables by the Toraja on Sulawesi in the island state of Indonesia.
The meat consistency was relatively fibrous, rather tough, certainly simmered for a long time, but the many spices provided heavenly enjoyment. Because of all the spices, I can't even remember how the dog actually tasted.
That is actually always an advantage and at the same time a disadvantage of Southeast Asian cuisine. You can eat any kind of meat well seasoned, but the taste of the meat is lost.
1993-STATED:
_ Do you know West African bush rat (Aguti), a rodent,
tastes African, ie. without many seasonings except rubbed with some piri-piri (allspice) and fried distinctly rabbit like. I was given the same thing in the Ivory Coast when I asked for monkey meat for fun.
You shouldn't do that because of the possible risk of infection from dangerous human viruses from monkeys to humans. Some say that not only the incurable hemorrhagic fevers, but possibly also AIDS were originally transmitted in this way.
Here and only there, of course, I lose my appetite.

Other points of the indictment:

_Of course you know pork. For me, what I already know, I don't always have to have again.

One should advise against pork from the earth oven, as it is prepared by the Papuans in northern New Guinea on the Murik Lakes. Hot stones are taken from the fire, placed in a pit in the ground and covered with meat, sago and banana leaves. A layer of earth on top provides even insulation during hours of cooking. But since people can't stand the wonderful smell for long with rumbling stomachs, the pit is often reopened prematurely. The meat of wild pigs often contains trichinella, which are only killed at higher temperatures and longer cooking times.
The ban on eating pork used to make a lot of sense. The singsing of the islanders was impressive, I don't necessarily have to eat the bland sago and the unseasoned cooked leaves again. Far more interesting is the dessert a little further down to the mouth of the Sepik:
lacewing cake tickles the senses. The delicate little wings of the masses of lacewings, which form a protein-rich layer over sago mush, really tickle the palate before they slip down the throat. As always on the Melanesian Islands, the whole thing is usually not even salted, let alone seasoned.
Eating in the South Seas should therefore probably be limited to the vast quantities of wonderfully exotic fruits, of which the stinky fruit is probably the most unusual experience: When enjoying the jelly, which is reminiscent of a cocktail of the very sweetest jungle fruits, you should always hold your nose early on you don't have to take the absolutely repellent stench of rotting corpses with you somewhere on the sidelines. After this single exception, let us not mention here all the exotic tubers and vegetables which, under Asian guidance, are destined for permanently tasty seduction, so that our zoology of food does not have to be supplemented by a botany. So back to the Papua New Guinean wildlife:
With large quivers made of finely plaited jungle fibers, the vast quantities of mayflies swarming out in a nuptial mood are fished off the water surface on a few days a year.
If one does not get enough of the already mentioned in New Guinea, which seems almost impossible in view of the vast quantities of tasteless sago, breadfruit, yams, and sweet potato mush eaten there at a singsing (festival) in anticipation of a narrower kitchen, one will quickly become fruit bat or Opposum offered in vita. One can happily decline this offer in view of the huge, innocent dark eyes and the bland taste to be expected due to the lack of spices and the tough consistency of both God's creatures.
However, I don't know whether I could remain committed to animal welfare in Asia.
Nile crocodiles are almost never offered, but the younger species of saltwater crocodile, which is bred on large farms in northern Australia just for its skin, is very common. The tough, slightly bitter but consistently bland pieces of meat can be eaten as a kind of onion roast, but are far better off in crocodile burgers with lots of mustard or ketchup. In the fun-oriented country, when you order a portion of crocodile meat, you can also get a free photo of yourself printed out with “Man eating maneater” written on it.
With the taste of smaller monitor lizards, which the Aborigines often pull out of their sand burrows and stew in the middle of the ashes of the campfires, you will not gain a new experience in the field of reptiles unless you have never tasted ashes.
_I had a similar experience there in Northern Australia when I enjoyed the legendary wickedy scrumps, the big and fat maggots of the paper tree beetle. This legendary food, which you should definitely try when visiting Aboriginal tribes for several days, "should" taste pleasant with a nutty aftertaste of egg. "Should," if you're willing to crush the critters raw, alive, between your teeth. Unfortunately, I couldn't bring myself to do it and preferred to eat the grilled and already killed version. The taste of ash and old coffee was predominant, since the guys had been served to me in my Manjaluk coffee cup, a necessary souvenir of Manjaluk tours after the execution in the glowing fire.
_ Quite interesting in the middle of the "get-me-out-of-here-jungle" the preparation of fat-dripping kangaroo tails, which seem to consist of nothing but fat and bones. Really delicious to enjoy tree-picked ant nests, squeezed between hands and held over mouth for a refreshing mouthful of lemon water in the heat. Considering the collateral damage to hundreds of innocent, non-stinging ants, I'm sure I'd have preferred the imported Sprite can next time. Less broadly scathing, but still disproportionately selfish is the heavenly indulgence of the subterranean honey ants, whose abdomen emits a sweet stored juice as they eat the whole critter.
_Oh, the insects anyway, but always prefer them finely fried in Southeast Asian style in spicy oil. Even the Mexican locusts refined with chili oil, grilled or fried and served with bitter black chocolate sauce (mule), sometimes appear to me in my dreams. But especially all these formerly tingling and crawling environmental artists, which you pull out of the hot and spicy oil for a quick snack everywhere on Asian markets and are offered, what a nutritious protein bomb! Well, I can't stand cockroaches because of their strong smell, which reminds me of Maggi. I don't like Maggi either, which the clever housewife of radio advertising in the 1920s, in reminiscence of former German colonies in Africa, praised as promising as well-tried palmin palm oil.
But all the other nice nutritious crawlers: crickets and caddis fly larvae. There is nothing better for the small appetite! And even bought at the dirtiest roadside absolutely compatible, because boiling hot killed any germ was rendered harmless.
Free of charge for all employees of the silk production there is also the tasty fried pupae of the silkworm, which have been removed from the wool, as a snack during breaks. Always a nice snack in my jacket pocket for me too, which then often becomes a willingly sought-after test of courage for my students in Germany. "It tastes like cruspy chips," they try to encourage each other.
Tarantulas are quite poisonous - you know. In Cambodia and other Southeast Asian countries, it is also known that frying breaks down the poison into its basic components and is therefore harmless. However, tarantulas, which are considered a great delicacy by locals and eaten with skin and literally hair, taste quite delicious even without their venomous claws. At first I imagined just such a scratchy feeling in the palate, which one also knows when enjoying okra pods, and only dared to bite into the animal's legs, which crumble into small, spicy, dry crumbs, as one might also expect from the other fried insects or the long-fried thin remains of French fries. With a swollen, fat abdomen and chest, it was a lot harder for me to prepare myself for a positive palate experience. The expected scratching and the soggy interior irritated me. Since the hairs hardly fell apart in the mouth like the legs before and the inside really reminded of a well-seasoned breakfast egg, the fried lady quickly became part of my food chain. It tasted really delicious.
_Never eat swallow's nest soup here in the specialty restaurant: it tastes a bit like salt and a hint of lemongrass, as far as the chef has tried to revitalize the absolutely clear hot water with 2 sprinkles of grass. Eat swallow's nest soup with the pickers in Borneo, who reach for the nests on swaying bamboo poles in absolute cave darkness at dizzying heights. Here, the soup is a little sticky, despite the addition of a rather large amount of dried, colorless swift saliva, and it is also much cheaper without intermediaries. Possibly 3 pieces of straw instead of 2 are now swimming in the clear water because the pickers have not cleaned the nest of admixtures down to the last grain.
_Snake tastes best fried. Commonly found in Southeast Asia is spitting cobra. They are not used for temples or to obtain snakebite serum, but are usually added to the soup in pieces. There is not much to it anyway and the little then gives a good meat taste. When fried, the pieces look like Nuremberg horse bratwurst and eat like the piece of throat at the top of the roast chicken. That means you have to grit your teeth and you don't get fed up with it. Well seasoned, it tastes at least as good as spear ribs. You won't find the head with the fangs on the plate. I was told that the remaining poison is sometimes used as a means of love, or that it is used to subtly spice up some dishes.
_The most poisonous is the lionfish. The meat of the boxfish species is also often served in wafer-thin slices in Japan. The poison contained in it temporarily paralyzes the taste buds. Afterward, it seems, you can do KO-drinking in the karaoke bars with disgusting-tasting rice liquor, or nip at disgustingly tasting whale blubber.
_Shark steaks roasted on the grill are the finest if the rough toothed skin is peeled off beforehand and seasoned properly. Shark fins are cut off alive from the primeval fish, and the actually tasty, nutritious carcass is thrown back into the sea, unable to move and further suffering, due to lack of demand. Shark fins can be seen lying around in unimaginable quantities in dried form in Chinese markets in all sizes and packed in large plastic bags. Tasteless rough skin and skinny bones with no nutritional value.
_ When I think back to my childhood after the Second World War, I think with horror of that oily, smelly liquid that you had to drink in the amount of a whole tablespoon in winter as a result of the lack of other vitamins: lecithin was the threatening one Words of the warning sign that stretched across the medicine bottle. Even pinching your nose didn't help, hours later the liquid was still bubbling in your stomach and smellingly spoke to you all the way up your esophagus. Whale fat is one of the favorite foods of the Japanese. Not only that these wonderfully clever animals are slowly disappearing forever with whaling, I can in no way understand the pleasant feeling in my mouth when this rancid taste hits my tongue.
_ Some things you really only eat once and are forever cured of further taste experiments. At some point you overeat on some and would like to give it a wide berth. That's how it has been for me for years with the standard Italian cuisine, as it is offered in most of the German Italian-run restaurants. Why aren't there more Thais, Vietnamese, Chinese, Indians, Greeks and Croats. As soon as they open, they have to close again, because our contemporaries flock to Italians with that greasy-sweet-sour uniform taste that we have found pleasant since our milk-sipping childhood.
_Ostrich meat is now in and is often eaten because of its low-cholesterol but spicy taste.
_Horse meat tastes good in the sausage, but as a horse steak it has too much acidity for my taste, probably because of the animal's increased feeling of stress during slaughter. It is often offered in French-speaking Switzerland and in the French Jura.
_Bear meat is a delicacy in Romania, Bulgaria and
you can also get it for a fair price under 20 euros in a restaurant in Skolnica in Croatia just north of Rijeka if you are heading to one of the beautiful Croatian island beaches. The Halubanski Zvonkari, a troupe dressed up in wild animal heads and bear masks, also perform there.
_You know rabbits from southern French as well as Italian cuisine: absolute taste highlight, as long as the rabbit was not the victim of a car driver and the pointed bones diminish the taste. If you think of the big eyes and the mostly peaceful nature of these children's favorite pets, then the predatory instinct is properly curbed. _It's even worse when ordering guinea pigs in Peru and other parts of South America. Although in almost every farmhouse this is brought up for slaughter just like the chickens in our country, one vividly imagines such a poor little animal with heart-rending, anxious pangs for a single, always already obese Central European, just for the pleasure of a single lunchtime meal must breathe life. I had sworn to leave it at a contract killing and in the future to reflect on my insatiable lust for the flesh by committing crimes together. I held it out without further guinea pig.
_ Prawn cocktail (as a party hit): What an eerie combination of words!
This is reminiscent of the cheerful festive character that its connoisseurs are currently carrying out in the background, while around 20 to 30 of these little animals are being stuffed into a glass, naked and desecrated. Crab meat is definitely edible, a bit boring and, due to the cholesterol content, only recommended in small quantities.
_Crayfish are larger and are eaten, especially in the United States in the greater area around New Orleans, topped off with fiery French-Indian cahun sauce. 4 to 6 lives for one dinner?
_Or even the bullfrogs, whose thighs are eaten there on the Mississippi after they have been torn out of the animals alive, only taste so good as long as one knows nothing about the nefarious murder beforehand or thinks they know nothing about it.

7th day of the trial:
Closing speech by the accused

Dear judge!
I hereby solemnly swear in court that I did not knowingly and intentionally carry out all of the murders. Some things had probably happened thoughtlessly or just out of curiosity. Many people later feel remorse, because the hoped-for tickle on the palate and the satisfaction that was possible as a result did not really occur.
Still I have to say. It is hopeless to hope for improvement. I will do it again and again. I am not a Buddhist for whom killing animals would be an unforgivable sin, an incomprehensible act. Brought up in Western civilization, I look down on my brothers and sisters the animals and continue to kill and without ostracism by my society, which is only slightly behind me. And if there are enough plants that all Asian tribes know how to prepare in a spicy, varied way, it will never be possible for me here among my tribe to feed myself on these plants without killing them, because we only ever grow them here with the addition of salt boiled down to a tasteless mush or with the addition of copious amounts of sour wine, the vinegar, to a substance that irritates the stomach skin. Mr Judge, be merciful, kill me now or banish me from this country on pain of death so that I have to end my miserable existence far from home!