I can only hope that Ernesto learned his butchering lesson last night.
When I arrived at the Institute yesterday, I told some friends about Ernesto’s meat purchase and its current location, stored in a poncho in our refrigerator. After much chuckling and head shaking, our friends stressed the importance of butchering and freezing the meat by the end of the day. I was in complete agreement.
Ernesto arrived home after dark, around 6pm. I asked him where he planned to cut the carcass, because really, there was no suitable place to cut it within the house (it is a bloody carcass, after all). Ernesto suggested our living room floor, which under normal circumstances I would flat out reject as even a remote possibility. However, given that I wanted the refrigerator back, that the meat would turn rotten by morning, and that hacking a cow to bits in the front yard would likely attract the puma, I acquiesced.
Laying cardboard, bags, and newspaper on the tile, he prepared his butcher station. He went outside to sharpen his machete and returned proud as a caveman who just slaughtered his own gazelle.
Heaving the meat out of the refrigerator, Ernesto marveled at its . . . rawness? Bloodiness? Carnal-ness? I’m not sure what he marveled at, per say, but he certainly was marveling. He was happy as a pig in poop, as you can see from the photos below.
Luckily, I’d had the foresight to purchase gallon-size freezer bags from the grocery store earlier in the afternoon, because I’m not sure how Ernesto planned to store the meat, given that we were out of ponchos.
Ernesto started with the meat that was fairly unattached to the ribs ( the loin, perhaps?) and spent a good hour and a half separating the meat from the fascia. The process was prolonged by the fact that Ernesto had to use dull knives (the machete was a bit too large for the fine details) to separate the meat. After a good 30 minutes, Ernesto proudly showed me the first cut of meat, which, I must admit, was quite clean and meaty looking. We stuck it in a freezer-lock bag and I thought “Wow, there’s a lot of freezer bag left to fill . . . this could take a while." But I didn't mention this thought to Ernesto, who was tickled beyond words at his accomplishment and who was entitled to at least a few more minutes of unabashed joy.
Ernesto continued to toil, squatting over his kill and occasionally looking quite chimpanzee-like as he circled the carcass by making small, squatting leap-like motions.
I prepared dinner. I cleaned out the fridge. I sterilized the fridge. I restocked the fridge. I ate dinner. I cleaned dishes. I cleaned the kitchen. At this point, about 7:45pm, Ernesto finally turned his attention to the ribs. Swinging his machete, he attempted to separate two ribs. I watched in horror as small chunks of meat flew across the room, landing on the floor only inches from the sofa and coffee table. This technique was not looking promising. Kaia, on the other hand, thought it quite promising.
Separating the first rib from its cage, Ernesto, still squatting, clenched it triumphantly in his fist, while thrusting his arm in the air and letting out a grunt of satisfaction. Really, if I didn’t know better, I’d have thought it was a scene out of Planet of the Apes.
He then started to hack the rib into smaller pieces to put in freezer bags. More chunks of flesh flew.
By 9:00pm – three hours after starting the process – Ernesto had only cut half of the rib cage. He asked me if we could just stick the remaining ribs in the freezer in some bags. I agreed, since I had a splitting migraine and was exhausted, on the condition that he sanitize the entire freezer once the ribs had been removed from it. Back aching and novelty worn off, he agreed.
Holding open a giant bag as Ernesto filled it with bloody leftovers, I said “Never again.” Ernesto nodded in agreement, before adding his own caveat: “Never again by myself, at least.”
To which I responded, “No. Never again." At least not in this house. The only meat that can pass through our front door will now be butchered and bagged in small, manageable pieces.
I suggested that next time Ernesto could offer to pay Ulisis double to butcher the cow into freezer-bag sized portions before delivering it to the house. I'm sure Ulisis would accept the offer happily.
I’d been ready to go to bed by 7:30pm but ended up helping Ernesto until 9pm. As he finished mopping the floor and headed for the shower, I headed for bed. Emerging clean from his shower and ready to eat his dinner, Ernesto was genuinely hurt that I wasn’t going to sit with him while he ate the two-hour old dinner that sat on the kitchen table.
As Ernesto and I lay in bed, he expressed his surprise at the small amount of meat that came off such a large portion of cow. "Yup" I said, "it's a lot of work for the meat."
"Maybe if a more experienced person cut the meat, it would yield more."
"Perhaps," I responded. But really, I don't care how much meat anyone can get off a carcass, unless that meat is delivered to me in pre-sealed, labeled, freezer-ready bags.
Today, at the Institute, I relayed the experience to friends. Alex, one of the girls who house-sat for us, said that she thought she detected a slight smirk on Ulisis' face when he delivered his bag full of cow.
I'm sure that smirk would have turned into full fledged belly-laughter had Ulisis been spectator to last night's events.
Stay tuned for some video clips of the slaughter, which I'll try to post tomorrow. Until then, some photos . . .
LOL! Ernesto is following after his mom and sister in this photo and looking about 15 years younger than his age!
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