Posts Tagged ‘butcher’

I have a little more than a week in India under my belt. Yay!

No friends yet but I’m really okay with that for the moment.

Totally chilling after a very busy and sometimes trying year.

The other day I planned to make lamb chops for my husband.

Are you sick of the same old “blah” lamb chop/pork chop dishes? This one is so easy and so delicious. Here it is. I’ve used it for pork and lamb.

http://www.grandbaby-cakes.com/2015/06/balsamic-brown-sugar-lamb-chops/

Anyway, I went to a nice grocery and the meat department didn’t have the cut I wanted.

So, I was taken to a very local butcher by the driver. Place was totally real.

Before you get all, “Oooh, Mary has a driver. She must think she’s something else! Isn’t she a lucky duck!” please remember that this is India and a lot of companies do not allow their employees or families to drive here. So transportation is usually provided. You’d only need to be in Delhi for five minutes before realizing this is a very safe and sound decision on the employers’ part.

Back to the local butcher shop down a Delhi side street.

I walk in and ask for lamb chops. Try not to look around too much because I don’t want to see too much by way of a butcher shop. Like blood or extras if you know what I mean.

The butcher, who is sitting, understands and has his assistant grab the meat from behind a counter. Young guy hands it to the head honcho who then asks me how much I want. I tell him.

He has his butcher’s knife firmly planted between his feet. Yes, that is correct. Knife between his two feet.

Then he takes the meat with his hands and brings it down toward the feet clamped knife and slices the lamb chops for me.

Okay, that’s not something you see every day.

I pay him and am soon on my way back home.

There is no way I am telling my husband the butcher feet story. He’d never eat the meal.

I clean the meat and make my lamb chops.

My husband keeps saying how good it is. Happily chewing away. And it was really good. If I do say so myself.

All of a sudden, he’s got a funny look on his face and is taking something out of his mouth. It looked like a bit of bone.

Oh my gosh. What bit is it? I knew this butcher thing probably wasn’t a good idea.

It ends up being his temporary partial bridge! Poor guy! Must have been the slightly sticky (although yummy) brown sugar sauce.

Ingredient related. Age related. But not butcher related. Whew!

Just the same, I think I’ll hold off on any future butcher shop visits.

At least, for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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I was at the butcher’s the other day with a friend. It’s a thriving family business frequented by many in the area. They supply restaurants, hotels and groceries with their meats. They also allow the public to purchase from their store.

Nothing against them but it’s not a place I really enjoy.

There’s always that smell of fresh meat and blood permeating the rooms. Even if it’s not a strong odor it’s still there.

It’s not a bad place. I’m aware someone has to do the job. It supports families. Provides an honest living. Allows customers nice pieces of meat. All good things. 

And while I might not be the biggest fan of these types of shops I am also totally (and strangely) fascinated by the place.

They are currently renovating so I was watching an older Chinese lady working behind a new glass enclosure. She was at the machine cutting the meat. I almost have my nose pressed up against the glass. I can’t look away. Like a kid at a candy store. Except not. 

Her fingers are going a mile a minute, shifting meat slices and adding more. I’m sort of nervous. I keep thinking, “Whoa, that one was close!” and “Whew!” and “Uh oh, that was a near miss!”

I am not sure what I would have done had it been a hit!

She already has a couple of digits missing. I’ve noticed this in the past but for some reason it always seems brand new to me. Like deja vu all over again. I always mention it.

When I said it (again) to my friend she said, “Not only that but she had to have her legs broken and reset. Totally bowed from years of standing on her feet working away.”

I exclaim in horror, “Oh, geez!”

We don’t always see or realize the hazards of some occupations. Or the lack of safety measures in place.

Consider yourself lucky if your job is safe and comfortable.

 

 

 

 

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