But on the other hand, I carry a lot of killing, full of blood, and there is no difference between poultry and beasts. When I was growing up, no one taught me to be merciful, but more often told me to "turn my back to the sky and feed the people".
Many people in my hometown have very heavy hostility, rape, drug abuse, wife abuse, a fight, and even use a knife to kill. Why? I think it must have something to do with upbringing.
When I was five or six years old, I liked to eat a kind of bugs, commonly known as harvest bugs, weaver family pests. Similar in appearance to grasshoppers, green in color, a little smaller than grasshoppers, with a large amount of sugar in their stomachs, which tasted sweet.
Every year when we harvested rice, my father took me to the field to catch grasshoppers. You can eat them by pulling off their stomachs directly, or you can eat them on skewers and roast them. But no matter which way to eat, you have to eat the intestines, organs and bowels of the insects. My father also gave me to eat woodworm, bee pupa, these bugs look very similar to maggots, rich in protein.
Later he taught me how to catch frogs on rainy nights. Frogs are very active on rainy nights, hopping around in the field with sharp movements, but as soon as you shine a flashlight in its eyes, it freezes.
When it comes to the cooking part, the first step is to skin the frog, and most people skin the frog alive. Until the guts are removed, it is still conscious. The scene was as if a baboon had eaten a baby antelope alive.
I've only eaten frogs twice, because frogs are beneficial insects and shouldn't be butchered. And frog meat is not a healthy food, many people will only cook it to 8 or 9 minutes to keep the meat tender, not even killing the parasites.
When my father taught me the way to get these foods, he really looked like the adult orangutan in Animal Planet who teaches young orangutans to take termites.
Chickens and ducks are the most commonly eaten poultry. Killing chickens and ducks is the most common killing scene seen in my house.
The first step in killing chickens and ducks is bloodletting, which takes two people to accomplish. My father asked me to grab the wings and paws of the chickens and ducks, head down; he first plucked the hairs on the front neck of the chickens and ducks, and then used a knife to cut them.
The "older" chickens and ducks have a strong desire to live, and they don't die immediately after being bled. I threw it on the ground, it will stand up, the big mouth on the neck and blood out, it escaped, wobbling around to escape, looking for a safe place.
It hid in a corner, doing its best to stay standing, breathing, breathing through its slashed throat, but the air went in through its mouth and leaked all the way out through the slit in its throat. People stood and watched it, with smiles, like they were watching a circus. It looked sideways at the crowd, innocent, terrified.
This reminds me of a cat and mouse game I've seen with my own eyes. When a cat catches a mouse, it doesn't kill it immediately, but first forces it into a corner and teases it for a while. The mouse escapes, and the cat quickly extends its sharp claws to gouge into its skin and drag it back to the corner. Over and over again, the mouse's body and the cat's claws are covered in blood. Finally, the cat got tired of playing, and bit the mouse's neck.
In the same way, humans get tired of watching horseplay with chickens and ducks. Finally, someone walked up, two hands respectively hold the neck cut mouth on both sides, gently folded, completely ripped off its throat, again thrown on the ground, let it fan wings, stirrups.
Chickens and ducks have time to make a final struggle, but pigeons do not.
One year, my body is very poor, my family in order to give me nutrition to buy pigeons, used to make soup. The seller grabbed the pigeon that my family had chosen, twisted the neck as if nothing had happened, and then started pulling out the feathers.
I was born in a fishing family, and as I grew older, I gradually took on some family obligations, such as fishing to earn money for school and killing fish to make food. In the past twelve or thirteen years, I can't count how many fish have died under my kitchen knife.
The killing of carp is a cruel thing, especially the bigger ones. A carp's eyes are more intentional than those of other fish, and as I fished it out of the water, it stared me dead in the face. No matter which way I looked at it, it was staring at me.
After leaving the water, it kept puffing its cheeks and making a sound similar to the "uh-uh-uh" of a human swallowing or gulping water. It was trying to stay alive, but the back of my knife was ready to smack it in the head.
One, two, three times, its tail swept back and forth, trying to break free of my left hand on its skull. To no avail, its skull burst open, the liquid in its brain spilled out, and it was dead. Before the fish's tail stops sweeping, I've finished de-scaling, chopping off fins, and gutting it. Finally, I cut it in half and chopped it into sections.
The poached fish I made tasted fine and my family had a good time eating it. By the way, I remember a few children in the family like to eat fish eyes, but the fish eyes dug out with chopsticks have completely lost their original color.
Eyes and carp are equally divine, is the dolphin. A few years ago, from time to time, there were dolphins from the sea into the river near my home, some seem to be lost, some are injured.
One year, a dolphin was strangled by a propeller in the sea and was seriously injured, and swam blindly into the river. With its head sticking out of the water, it breathed in and out while making "whimpering" noises. This helpless cry does not attract rescuers, but rather slaughterers. An old fisherman dragged the dolphin to shore in a net and hacked it to death, slicing away its belly.
Of all the fish, the catfish was the least popular with my fishermen elders. Catfish are meaty and spiny, but few people like catfish. This involves a question that has been bothering me for some years, why do these people in front of me hunt catfish when they don't like them?
I have seen the fish, catfish is the most vital, even stay on land for more than ten hours may still be alive.
The old fisherman threw it to the ground. It wriggles on the ground like a snake as it searches for water. Some time passes and it realizes that there is no water around and finally stops writhing so as not to rub the slime off its body. Its body is getting drier and drier, and its life is becoming more and more fragile.
The old fisherman occasionally goes to kick the catfish to check if it is still alive, and it moves. He marveled, "Hey! That's awesome that it's still alive."
Until the catfish is dried, the old fisherman smiles and says, "It's dead after all," and then throws the dried catfish into the water as if nothing had happened.
The catfish is dead, so what is the point of letting it return to the river? After thinking about it for a long time, I got a reasonable answer - humans not only kill for survival, but also take pleasure in killing, and "make it return" to show their species superiority.
In 2014, my sophomore year of college, a strange thing happened in my hometown. That summer, a buffalo died for no apparent reason.
The buffalo was raised by the village headman, who could give birth to a calf in two or three years, and could always be seen in the fields during spring and summer plowing.
This day, the end of the summer plow, the village chief of the water buffalo tethered to the riverside grass sufficient place, treat it. The mayor sat in the shade of a tree and smoked a cigarette, and chatted with a few old men who watched the buffalo.
Suddenly, the village head turned around and realized that the buffalo had disappeared. He rushed out and found the buffalo lying like a ball in a mud nest. It couldn't have been humans who killed it, there were no hard wounds on it; several cows in the neighborhood were fine, they couldn't have eaten poisonous grass. The only possibility is that exertion, exposure to the sun and overeating made it die suddenly.
What next? So good meat can not be wasted, the village chief to find a few machetes, dismember the buffalo on the spot. The village chief cut a knife in the buffalo thigh root, cattle blood and mud mixed together, emitting a foul odor. The mayor chopped for a long time, until he was covered with cow blood, only to cut off a cow leg.
The story spread, and villagers gathered around the river.
"Village chief, my aunt is coming tomorrow, so weigh a few pounds for me so I can drink it tomorrow." Wu Sun said to the village chief.
"OK, sell cheap." The village chief thought, the couple can't finish eating the cow, so a little is a little if you can sell it. So he asked his wife to fetch a scale.
As the night drew on, the riverside was crowded with people, who crowded next to the mud nests and snapped up the cheap beef.
"Who wants this piece?" The village chief's wife asked, picking up a piece of beef.
"I'll take it."
"What for? I've been waiting for midnight."
"What's wrong with you waiting half the night? I was here first, get lost."
"Why are you up for a fight?"
The people gathered by the mud nest were getting more and more confused, and there was even a big fight. They didn't care about the fishy, putrid stench emanating from the buffalo's corpse, or the large number of flies that followed the smell, and did their best to squeeze forward.
Two hours passed, most of the beef had been sliced clean, and the people gradually dispersed. The mayor dragged out the buffalo's innards and threw them on the ground, and the flies quickly fell on the cow's intestines.
The village chief said to the remaining people, "The tripe is quite tasty, if you want to take it away."
They did not hesitate, squatted down one person took a tripe, first of all, inside the undigested crushed grass to dig out, and then washed with the river water. The first thing I want to do is to get out of the car and go back to the house.
The next day, only one cow's head left in the mud nest, more and more flies, more and more rancid smell.
On the third day, the cow's head grew maggots, and someone endured the stench and cut away the cow's horns.
......
These people, they really look like scavengers, vultures, hyenas.
Most people eat meat, but most of this majority have not seen the killing of dogs and cats.
Most people love dogs and cats, except for those who love incompetents, those who are allergic to dogs and cats, and those who are rabies-phobic. Persian cats, Ragdoll cats, Siamese cats, civet cats, British blue short ...... majestic Tibetan mastiffs, running up no shadow of the Lingti, extremely high IQ Border herdsmen, full of brain spermatozoa Teddy, ugly to the hair of the cute Pug, and so on.
In fact, cats and dogs, in my eyes at one time just two kinds of food, because my hometown has a diet of eating cats and dogs. But the cats and dogs that most people cook are homegrown, and cats and dogs are domestic animals, and one of the roles of domestic animals is "for food".
I don't think there's anything wrong with the people in my hometown eating dogs and cats, it's their freedom, I just want to talk about the way they kill them. The scene of the slaughter of cats and dogs is very shocking.
Let's start with cats. People usually stuff the cat into a snakeskin bag and throw the whole thing into the water. The cat screams, struggles and jumps until it drowns. But this is not the most brutal way of slaughtering cats, there is a famous dish called "boiled live cats", it is even more cruel.
The killers from the snakeskin bag to carry out, thrown into the boiling water shabu shabu, remove all the hair to reveal the white skin, set up a fire to remove the fluff, and then open the belly, throw away the viscera, remove the bone marrow, cut off the cat's head. It is said that someone once buried the cat's head under the roots of a poplar peach tree, and the original sour poplar peach became sweet. Later, people often cut down the cat's head, buried in a variety of fruit trees.
The last step is, cut into pieces into the soup pot. My grandmother loved cat soup, which she had heard had the effect of benefiting qi and nourishing blood, clearing meridians and curing rheumatism and paralysis. In fact, it did not help her treat rheumatism and post-stroke.
The cat makes the soup and the dog makes the stew.
The killers killed the dogs and butchered the cats alike, drowning them, and some were even more cruel, hanging them by a noose. Struggling, uselessly, for a few minutes, the dog finally dies through.
The rope was strangled into the dog's neck, it had white foam at the corners of its mouth, and its upper and lower jaws were so tightly closed that the killers had to cut them open with a knife.
As I write this, it occurs to me that the summer solstice is approaching.
(Photo | Westworld)