Goat head for breakfast

Classes have resumed for second semester at the Polytechnic. We are co-teaching non-ruminant husbandry, trying to communicate the joy and fascination and content of biology, but also not cramp our travel style too much, especially while Abby and Teddy are here for a month. Fortunately, a large part of each class involves week-long excursions to farms in Namibia, and the students were off working on agro-ecology and agricultural land management while we traveled elsewhere. But we met up for a day at Mashare Agricultural Development Institute, directly north of Windhoek at the Angolan border. The dinner menu for the night was goat, and the goat was standing in the back of a pick-up when we arrived. Now, these agriculture students have struggled with my emphasis on graphing and modeling skills, but I have to give them enormous credit for their hands-on agriculture. Katie and I went off to watch the goat be slaughtered, while Alan cooked the dinner we had brought along, having heard of stiff competition for food on these excursions (and also desiring a few more vegetables than the standard Namibian fare). A side note about our newest traveling meal investment: We now carry a 3-legged cast iron pot with us. In the US, it’s a dutch oven, but here it’s a … hmmm, well, the label said “potjie” at the store, but the Kleins seem to say “poikie”. You build a nice fire, let it burn down to hot coals, and meanwhile fill the pot with an assemblage of vegetables (potatoes, carrots, maybe a pepper if you have one), a can of tomatoes (African-style spicy is my favorite, but not necessary), a can of corn (not baby corn, though: Katie just eats those plain), and a can of beans or some sausage or meat chunks for protein. Put the pot over the coals, and soon there is a happy bubbling sound. A half hour later or so, Voila! Dinner. If you have a little extra juice and time and coals at the end of the evening, mix up a batch of biscuits and cook them in the poikie too. Yum! The poikie has also proved to be a great community-builder: it’s easy to invite someone to dinner if it just involves putting in another potato or 2 to stretch the poikie stew.
Okay, back to the goat. While some of the students around camp curiously wondered what Alan was cooking (or perhaps why Alan was cooking), the goat was quickly dispatched and bled, head removed, then hung from a hind leg while the entire hide was peeled off. The lower legs came off with the hide, cracked just at kneeline. Katie watched with fascination and absolutely no squeamishness. Zipppp- cut down the midline, and out came an enormous stomach (it’s not a non-ruminant!). The stomach was later emptied and washed – its absorptive surface is incredible, like a shag carpet! In the absence of a pot, the rumen apparently makes a good cooking vessel, but in this case it was cut and cooked. It was great to have Katie along, as a foil to learn a little more ruminant anatomy. “Look Katie, I wonder what that is? Hey guys [yes, all guys], what’s still hanging out of the abdomen?” A uterus. Someone didn’t make the best choice for slaughtering: she was pregnant. Then we got to see liver, kidneys encased in fat, pink lungs, small heart, pancreas, uh-oh, where’s the gall bladder – if it leaks, the meat tastes bad, so don’t simply let it go in the bag with intestine, saved for cooking. After the carcass was gutted, the goat was cut in half down one side of the spine and carried into the kitchen. That’s the last we saw of the goat except for the head and lower legs, which were roasted over the fire that evening, carefully tended and turned by one of the students at the campsite. Katie and I stopped by to ask about the process: roast on a grate – entirely intact, eyes, hair, horns give a good grip for turning – then cover with water in a pot, which is set over the fire overnight. The goat is done the next morning, and the student wouldn’t have to share breakfast with everyone else. But he said he’d let us try some if we wanted. Well, the next morning, we happened to be sitting by the fire when the goat head and ankles were removed from the pot, and, after they cooled, we were offered half a lower jaw with tongue. I didn’t ask, but I’m guessing this is the prime piece, as one of the chef’s friends came by a little later and asked “Where’s the tongue?” Katie had already eaten half of it. Additionally, she downed a substantial portion of goat cheek, really cooked to perfection: very tender, with a lovely roasted flavor. That’s my girl! She turned 3 the next day.