Provincial Protein – A Guide to Subsistence Dining

It’s a well established fact that Asians eat dog, but then again so do some Swiss. Without dwelling too much on the ethics, choice Vietnamese specialty dining establishments and even some upmarket Korean restaurants openly tout mutt on the menu. Like it or lump it, but it’s going nowhere and those who feel strongly on the taboo topic may have their opinions changed by a never ending barrage of sleepless nighttime howling, yapping and other ‘kikilu’ noises which go on from dusk till dawn.

Things always taste better in the countryside don’t they? Not always. Some may remember the unfortunate case of the dog in Siem Reap story, bludgeoned to death in front of my eyes. That wasn’t the tenderest of main courses I’ve been served, but was prime Aberdeen Angus steak compared to what was dished out in Kampong Shitesville recently.

Our mate Bong Lim is a decent enough chap, although mostly pissed out of his face by 8am and if given a night’s notice, will come and help out with building work, maintenance and butchery skills. Best of all, he’s happy to be paid in Riel, wine, beer and diseased poultry.

I was informed Bong Lim had killed a dog and I could go and drink wine at his place. Outside his shack sat some local ‘gangsters’ (unemployed youths with tattoos and daft hairstyles rather than Al Capone or Ronnie Kray) supping palm wine and juice, waiting for a free dinner.

For an old drunk, the seeds of Lim’s loin have been fruitful, and behind a line of gawking kids, his wife and eldest daughter were stirring a pot. Sneaking a peak, I saw a bubbling curry and a dog skull grinning with empty eye sockets. Thinking it prudent not to ask questions, I waited and shared a glass of bitter palm wine from the communal cup and turned my thoughts to hepatitis and herpes.

The curry was soon ready, and I took a piece of gristle and tried to chew, spat it out discreetly and tried another. Words cannot explain how foul both flavor and texture were (although the sauce wasn’t bad). There was a bit of laughter, before I was told the dog was ‘dop pbee chnam’. 12 year old mutt, and my thoughts turned to other, more mysterious diseases. I felt a twinge of sympathy for poor Lim (and a little for his faithful companion of over a decade), as the village boys laughed and took the piss ‘Dop bpee!’ Unlike the others, I barely touched my helping and waved away offers of seconds.

More : http://www.khmer440.com/k/2014/08/provincial-protein-a-guide-to-subsistence-dining-22/