Monday, April 23, 2012

Lips that Touch a Kidney Pie Shall Never Touch Mine

The Premise:

If you're Greek, have lived in England for the past seven years and miss a good "sykotaria" (lamb offal including the liver, kidneys and lungs) you may have looked for some at the supermarket. And if you have failed to locate any but have managed to spot some pig kidney instead (the *should have remained* secret ingredient to the traditional steak and kidney pie) you may, like me, have decided it's worth buying some to see if it makes a suitable substitute.

The Discovery:

A few days after that fateful purchase I was innocently walking through the house when my nostrils were assaulted by an overpowering smell of piss. The likes of which I haven't smelled in 7 years of nappy changing, rabbit- hamster- and cat-litter box cleaning. My immediate assumption was that one of the pets had died, released its' bladder in the process, and was decomposing somewhere in the house. When all 4 of them proved to be alive and well, I (reluctantly) followed my nose down the stairs... to the kitchen... where my mother was found hunched over a pot of pig kidneys.

The Revelation:

Obviously the toxin-processing organ of a milk fed, grass eating animal like lamb smells very different from that belonging to 200 lbs of fully grown, omnivorous hog. Why that didn't occur to me before, I don't know. As I fled from the kitchen, retching and calling over my shoulder to my mum to please throw that away, it was clearly a bad idea, she was merrily showering it with oregano and lemon juice, saying "Well, let's see what it's like when it's cooked."

The Perennial Question:

Even if cooked piss smells better than raw piss, why would you want to eat it? MUM? WHY?!

The Narrow Escape:

Shut upstairs in the bedroom rubbing scented skin lotion around my nose, I could still smell it... clinging to me... inside me. It was like olfactory rape. Sending Peter down to tell mum again to THROW THEM AWAY didn't work either, and the only thing to do was to open all the windows and make a  run for it. Out for a walk. In the rain. It was preferable to smelling what might as well have been the incinerator contents of the incontinence ward of a geriatric hospital. Eau de Eau. (I know at this point you think I'm exaggerating for comic effect. How I wish I was. Although Peter found the entire thing highly entertaining.)
When I gathered my courage and returned to the House of Piss about half an hour later, the smell was indeed muchly improved. Which was simultaneously cause for relief and a new kind of horror. Every time I had a steak and kidney pie at a pub, just what had I been eating? 

The Resolution: 

Lips that touch a kidney pie shall never touch mine. Peter.
(And I managed to get my mum to throw it away in the end. Phew.)

1 comment:

Brady said...

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