Another dead goat, but this time we eat it.

So the job at Kalmatia is fun and packed with learning experiences. The first day was hard. I am trying to find my role in a kitchen where everyone is unsure of how to treat me. I simply want to be an equal, or rather a student to the head chefs. At first they where trying to give me special treatment. The food we made the first day was actually pretty bad and I was very scared that more terrible tasting slosh was on the menu ever night. Ok maybe I am over-stating it but there was one dish called Paprika chicken that was simply unacceptable. Bread and Saute chicken. Remove from pan. De-glaze with White-wine Vingear!? Add very heavy cream, salt, and paprika (which is more of a coloring than a flavoring). Add chicken to sauce, move to casserole dish, top with bread crumbs and terrible tasting processed cheese. End up with vinegary cream sauce. Not good. I luckily found this to be the exception not the rule.
That night I saw Her Highness Mukti before she stepped in for dinner. She pulled me aside and told me she spoke to Dieter, the owner. She told him he has 'gem' on his hands and he told her that if I come back for a few months he will give me accommodations and possibly salary. We will see how it all plays out. She then asked me to help her clean out this old cottage that she has has since 1972. She stays in Kasar Devi for a few months every few years. Of course you can't say no to her (nor would I want to) and I promised I would meet at 10:30 the next day.
On another own of those breath-less, beautiful, sunshine filled days, in the foot hills of the Himalayas, we strolled down a old dirt path that winded along the hillside. We got to the cottage and started to remove everything. She is good at making orders, especially to her husband, who appeased her with unbelievable patience. I have a lot to learn from him. I did heavy lifting and cleaned things as I packed them into huge trunks. She is going to buy a new cottage and doesn't want to have to buy all new stuff. I was amazed as King Leopold bent down and stated to hand dry plates, he has got to be the most down to earth royalty ever (not that I have meet any others haha). After finally finishing the days labor, we went back to the hotel for late afternoon tea. I went into town and bought her a new trunk, then we returned and went to dinner. After helping her so much she started to call me her Hainuman (a hindu god). Dinner was nice and before we parted she gave me her e-mail and hug and told me to keep in touch.
Back to work cooking. I feel most comfortable in a kitchen. Especially when it is busy and I am working 10 hour+ days. They must think I am crazy cause all the workers know I am not getting paid. The Head chef is amazing and speaks very good English. In between me chopping vegetables, peeling shit, and cleaning he pulls me over to the pots and shows me what he is making. He even has me run and get my notebook so I can take recipes down. He has a encyclopedic knowledge and at the end of the shit, if I missed anything, he will rattle off Indian and European recipes while I act as a scribe. These guys work their ass off. On their over-time days they wake up at 6am start cooking breakfast and work until 11 at night, only taking an hour or two nap after lunch. One day I joined them and slept in the employee quarters. The young workers barely 19 where ecstatic when I told them I was spending the night. Their English is terrible but they know enough to convince me not to make the walk home. It is a small drafty room with cots lined up on the wall. The cigarette butts, and old decks of cards showed me a glimpse of late nights bullshitting with co-workers. Cooks are the same everywhere. Just in India, replace coffee with chai and broken kitchen spanish with Hindi. These guys are are like energizer bunnies, but their batteries are copious amounts of strong chai and endless streams of strong little cigarettes call beerlie (I have no idea how to spell that). I of course forgo the smoke, even though they ask me everyday, but I have been drinking the chai to no end. I have been drinking 10-15 cups a day, which doesn't even touch the 30 or so that the head chef drinks. After taking a day off my head rang from lack of caffeine.
On the day I slept over and started work at 6, there was a happy buzz in the air. Today they would butcher a goat. It is a pretty big deal because all the innards are very valuable pieces of meat that make them strong. They took the goat to a special temple where sacrifices are given, and left the head as a offering. After skinning the animal they separate the meat, which is for the guests, and the innards which are for the workers. They prefer this trade off and think that the inside is the best part. As one guy got to work, diligently cleaning the intestines and stomach, another started cooking the spices and vegetable is a big pot. Lying in the sink was a pot full of blood. They where letting it sit so it would coagulate and turn into a gelatinous sheet that could be sliced into small bit size cubes. Right as the smell was starting to make me a gag, a plate of cubed raw heart was passed to me. I couldn't say no. It tasted luke-warm and gamey. After the cleaning, they chopped up the innards and threw the cubes of blood into the pot of spices and veggies. This was too much, I went down the hilll and took a nap in the employee quarters as the Indians savored their rare delicacies.