On the subject of manliness the answer to the following question must always contain at least one animal: "What did you have for dinner last night?" Chicken, cow, duck, donkey, pig. They're all good and acceptable answers but,
complementary to this dead and cooked having-lived thing, variation is also important for his pledge towards valour.
Now Ireland, being boring, doesn't bear host many interesting animals, and has even fewer beasts that one would consider eating. So, the Irish man cannot satisfy his heart's need to assert his fortitude with an obscurity in his diet that would intimidate a medieval barbarian so he must seek elsewhere. But where? Where can the Irish man eat his fill of
capybara? Where may he eat a leg of snow leopard? How can he hunt his
hagfish? And where may he fish for his
mesonychoteuthis hamiltoni?
Africa? New Ireland? America? Guatemala? Asia? Australia? India? New Zealand? The Irish man is ignorant of these locations.
The common man may not notice this but these places, these countries and continents
aforementioned, they are not in Ireland. But, and again the common man, the pleb as he shall be forthwith known, may not be aware of inter-continental trade brought forth by the invention, evolution and
progression of the traction engine, the modern steam engine, and the ability of this to provide for the modern-man's diet.
The English Market is a wondrous place, contrary to its name[1], and there exists a stall where all kinds of wondrous animal carcasses may be purchased -- crocodile, kangaroo, Gary[2], emu, dolphin (maybe), and even
mythological creatures may be ordered by request.
Henceforth, hear ye all plebs, I declare Tuesday 'obscure-meat-day', where we join together with knife in hand, fork in the other, plate on table, food on plate, seasoning on food and feast on beasts slain for the good of humanity's digestion. Henceforth, we eat say we all! Henceforth we eat!
---
[1] Markets are normally chaotic. I like this one though.
[2] What's a Gary, Dave?
[3]So, I was reading my feedz the other day and came across this story. A man in Scotland was driving around and hit an eagle with his car, the eagle was diving for a rat or dog or baby or something. Anyway the eagle was dead and this man was not a waisting man, so he figured he'd take it home and cook it up. So he cooked the bird up and had it with his potatoes, haggis and veg and the next day was telling people in the bar about it, and one of the bystanders was a police man who informed the former that it was illegal to eat these birds, they are protected by her majesty's crown. To cut it out a bit he went to court over the whole incident and, fortunately, got a sympathetic judge who understood his point of view and only fined him the minimum for the crime, like £10 if I remember right. Afterwards, out of the ears of the law, the judge asked him what the eagle tasted like, and confided to the accused that he'd always wondered if it was good. The man replies with "It tastes somewhere between a duck and a swan." and walks out.
