Cuy.
It means Guinea Pig and many on the west coast of South America regard it as a delicacy.
It came to the table in a variety of forms – casseroled, fileted and most disturbingly of all – deep fried. Western palates generally like their meat to arrive in a neatly packaged block of protein and certainly not to bear any resemblance to the creature from whence it came.
The tradition of Cuy is to present it in a way that removes any shred of doubt that this was – and probably still is to be regarded as a Guinea Pig.
The only concession is to skin and gut the poor creature before immersing it in boiling fat. The rest arrives at your table, crisp and sizzling and still bearing the recognizable shape - and the reproachful stare that even a deep fat fryer cannot remove.
Sander promptly ripped off the head and stuffed it in his mouth, looking light a startled John Hurt with an Alien that took a wrong turn on the way out.
Ben tossed his head around the table after attempting ventriloquism.
Shanyn pushed the little creature around her plate and grazed on the side order of fries.
It was, of course, Sharif who broke down in tears and tried to coax life back into the crispy carcass. The trauma of losing his Guinea Pig ‘Moritz’, just a few short years ago was too much and the memories came flooding back in maelstrom of emotion.
The wardrobe of mini clothes hanging unused since Moritz left – the tiny bandana his little friend used to wear when they went to the gym together – the San Moritz ski resort that Sharif carefully fashioned out of papier-mache and icing sugar for his tiny friend…
You could almost see the light of comprehension starting to shine in his tearful eyes – Moritz could never be replaced, but perhaps…just perhaps?
The general consensus is that Cuy was not a success.
Except for Sharif.
He took a new buddy back to Bavaria.
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