In the Dark

Thanksgiving

They said the taste depends on what it ate. The oils from the fat dripped. The meat was tender when poked with the ends of the fork. Just the way I liked it. The smell of cajun and pepper also brought out a distinct aroma that was almost intoxicating. You probably thought I was greedy and ravished it like a starved caveman.

However, I took my time.

I recited my prayers in full and made sure that the plate was well-arranged. This was going to be a great night. You see, my disappointment was not unwarranted when the first bite tasted like shit.

What was its name again? I was so sure that I researched every single information about this animal. It only ate plants. Good. It was bred in the countryside. Fresh air. Okay, good. It was mature but not too old.

Good.

What had I done wrong?

I tried to recall how I prepared and cooked it. I discarded the head first. There was nothing tasty about eyes. I feel like only those fucked in the head would consume it. It was just simply unethical. No matter how much strange an animal is, an eye is something linked to its soul. I would feel like a sinner if I even touched it. I had cut away the loins and the ribs. Those were the meatiest if you ask me (not that you would.) 

I gently sliced them off with a sawing motion and kept the rest of its body in the fridge. Patience was a virtue.

Now, you probably think it just tasted shit because I sucked at cooking.

To tell the truth, I was no master at cuisine. But I had learned to cook early in my life. I was five and barely even knew how to read yet I could already be left in the kitchen. Of course, if I did not, I would not have survived living alone as a child.

So I knew enough of the right amount of heat, the right amount of time, and the right amount of spices.

This has never happened before. My dishes would always be perfect. Just as I was about to give up, I heard a cry in the other room. I knew it! Usually I would not have let my animals be woken up before I butcher them. I'm not that heartless.

"Please!" It spoke. "Let me go!"

They only taste good in a stress-free environment--why did I just now remember this?