Eat brains

Three hours ago, I wouldn’t have had much to add to any conversation concerning the taste of fresh goat brain.  Had I ventured haplessly into a social circle at a cocktail party and found the topic to be fresh goat brain, I would have quietly nodded in agreement with whatever was being said and then stared tranquilly into my glass hoping nobody would notice what little input I had to add to the dialogue.  Then, I’d discreetly back out of the circle, pretending I needed to go grab a handful of mixed nuts.  After all, what would I know about eating goat brain?  I’m a vegetarian from a country where a goat is a tuft of hair on your chin, not a meal.  But that was three hours ago. 

Three hours ago, I had never sat Indian style on the floor and shoveled mounds of rice into my mouth with my bare hands.  After all, I hate messiness, and I’m not exactly a fan of its cousin insanitariness either.  So why, when you scroll down, will you see pictures and videos of me sitting next to a group of guys as we excavate food from the same spread of rice topped with greasy goat gravy and garnished with a gaping goat skull?  Why will you see me break my vegetarian streak with panache by popping a piece of goat’s brain?

Hospitality.

Emirate nationals are famous for their hospitality.  They love to host parties, entertain, feed, and socialize.  So on Monday when my student, Mohammed, came to me with a friend who interpreted for him and explained to me in broken English that Mohammed would like to have my English colleagues and me to his home for a meal on Thursday, what was I supposed to say?  There was Mohammed sincerely patting his chest above his heart, and pleading with his piercing brown eyes.  He grabbed my hand and verbally pleaded that I acquiesce with his sole English word.  Goodt? Goodt? Little did I know that this meal would be my one way ticket out of vegetarianism aboard the goat brain train.

Back in America, if a student asked me to his home for a meal, I would politely decline without hesitation.  But this is different; to decline an invitation here would be rudely analogous to showing up for dinner, uninvited, back in America.  So, I patted my chest above my heart, and answered Mohammed the only way he would understand.  Goodt, Mohammed.  Goodt!

When we got to Mohammed's house, this is the spread his father had laid out for us.  That plate in the center is roughly the size of a kitchen table. 

 

No shoes, no forks, no problem.

Below you will see our host, Mohammed's father to my right.  He grabbed the goat skull and began methodically breaking it up to expose the brain.  He pinched off a piece between his thumb and forefinger and thrust it into my face.  

Down the hatch...I break 2 years of meat-free living with goat brain.

After I consumed brain, Hannibal Lecter style, Mohammed's father cut me out a piece of tongue.  This is the first tongue-to-tongue action I've gotten in the UAE, and it did not disappoint.  You can hear my fellow teacher Mr. Robert in the background claiming it's liver, but I know a tongue in my mouth when I feel it.

Hey, you gotta want it.