epiphany

Dogs taste good.

Back in December I was talking with Maxwell, one of my Chinese friends (the guy who spent several days with me while I was in the hospital last fall), and mentioned that I would be interested in trying dog. In fact, before Christmas several of us foreigners had planned to go to a shop bearing the subtle English name of "Li's Dog Meat Restaurant" that we've seen along the bus route. I don't think any of us actually went; I certainly didn't. Anyway, Maxwell said that he would find a better restaurant for us to go to after winter break.

Sunday, February 15, was d-day.

I met Maxwell at 11:45 in front of my apartment. He picked me up in a tiny minibus, one that could have been made by the Polish Fiat company, if that helps you size-wise. When I tried to put on my seatbelt, he told me that I didn't need to worry about that because he was a very safe driver. I told him that in America, we always put on our seatbelts; it was just a natural reaction to getting in a car. Well, the seatbelt was stuck, so I didn't put it on. Maxwell said that the police will make you wear a seatbelt if you're traveling on the highway between cities but indicated that wearing a seatbelt in a city was for girls.

We drove down to Maxwell's neighborhood, which I'd never been to before. He normally takes a couple of buses to work because his dad uses the car on weekdays. Earlier this week when we were making plans, he said that his parents were very surprised that a foreigner would want to eat dog. "Isn't it against his religion?" Maxwell thought that was very funny and told them that I could eat anything I wanted to. On the way to the restaurant, I was starting to think, well, maybe it should be against my religion. He also said that the restaurant is normally very crowded, so he had talked with the boss to make sure we would have a seat. The boss, like Maxwell's parents, was very surprised that a foreigner would want to try dog.

Arriving at the restaurant, the first thing I noticed was a strangled howling coming from out back. Some tufts of matted fur tumbled up the alley on a light breeze. In the window naked carcasses hung on chains with meat hooks through their chins. "I will see if we can get that one," Maxwell said, pointing to what might have been a German shepherd.

gotcha ;-) Arriving at the restaurant, I never would have known that they served dog since I'm not so good at characters. The sign could have said pig or horse for all I knew (I do recognise the characters for cow, sheep and chicken). There was an alley to the right of the shop, but I didn't hear any kind of barking, howling or even scratching. When I walked in, no particularly strange smell greeted me. The most disturbing thing was being seated beside a large bottle of snake wine. Maxwell asked me if I wanted any, but I told him that one new food would probably be enough for today. Although I'm sure it would be good for me (like every other unusual Chinese dish), I'm not yet prepared to drink something that has the body of what looks like a four-foot long venomous serpent lolling about inside it.

Maxwell ordered and kept asking me what parts of the dog I'd like to try. [Sensitive readers, please skip the following quotation.] "You want dog dick?" Um, no. "How about dog feet?" "Dog tail?" I told him that I really didn't know what would be good, so he should order what he'd like.

We ended up with a plate piled high with shredded chunks of dog meat, a soup with dog and tofu, a plate of large dog feet, a plate of spicy clams (Maxwell's favorite), some yellow beans that looked like corn, and boiled peanuts. We drank tea.

I started with the shredded meat. Maxwell had ordered some dipping sauces, but I tried an unadorned piece first, followed by a piece dipped in garlic and soy sauce and another dipped in red pepper sauce. I had a clam, which are bizarre to eat with chopsticks, though Maxwell's very skilled at it. The soup was quite tasty. Maxwell had ordered it because foreigners generally prefer hot meat and dog is often served cold. Although the feet were very plainly feet and I could see where the toenails had once been, I did try a piece. Unfortunately, feet are mostly thick, chewy skin, and skin is not something I'm accustomed to eating. I nibbled some meat out of one of the toes but couldn't bring myself to eat more than a bite of skin. It didn't taste bad; it was just the thought of it. I think I might have had an easier time with the snake wine.

Maxwell had ordered a lot of food, and we had quite a bit left over, including most of the feet, which I noticed that he hadn't touched at all. He told me that he doesn't like to eat skin even though it's good for you and makes your skin nice. (The Chinese believe that eating an animal body part strengthens the corresponding human body part.) In fact, according to what he's been told, foreigners wouldn't have as much hair on their bodies if they'd eat more animal skin. I asked him if that would mean that you'd go bald, but he said that no, it doesn't affect the hair on your head. Then we got some boxes, and he took the meat home with him.

He had chosen this restaurant because it has a very good reputation even though it's small. They kill two or three dogs each evening and prepare the meat the next day. So it's never been refridgerated at all. Judging from the size of the feet, I'd guess the dogs had been pretty large. I asked if they were guard dogs or something, and Maxwell told me that they wouldn't have been because guard dog meat would be too tough. He thought that they might have been from a farm. The restaurant's name did indicate that the dogs could have come from the countryside.

So, now we come to the real question, the twisted little thought that's kept you reading thus far: how, exactly, does dog taste?

The shredded chunks had a smooth, tender texture, like a nicely cooked pot roast. The meat in the soup was soft, almost as soft as the tofu. The feet were, well, feet. The little meat I got out of the toe was decent though not quite worth the effort to a foreigner. If you're into skin, it was probably great. Overall, the meat was just about as greasy as the dark meat of a chicken or turkey, maybe a little less so. It did have a strong and lasting aftertaste.

People had told me that dog meat makes you warm inside. I didn't know quite what they meant by that, thinking it was some kind of poetic Chinese description of the emotional or medicinal effects of dog. However, they were being quite literal. About an hour after we finished eating I noticed that yes indeed, I did feel genuinely and unusually warm inside, kind of like I had just finished a Blenheim ginger ale. But this warmth was down in my stomach rather than in my throat/esophogus, and it lasted significantly longer than Blenheim does. It wasn't a sick feeling, just a warm (temperature-wise) feeling.

Now, I have to admit that part of my reluctance to try dog was influenced by one of the teachers who had lived in southern China last year. He had eaten it once and said that it tasted like wet dog smells. Fortunately, my experience was markedly better than his. As I said, I didn't smell anything particularly unusual upon entering the restaurant, and had I not known it was dog meat (or seen the feet), I probably never would have guessed that I was eating dog. Because whether you want to believe it or not, dog tastes like, . . .

you guessed it . . .

Ostrich.

(which tastes like beef)

Posted by at February 16, 2004 7:20 AM