The Year of the Cow

3id number three has come and gone.

Quick re-cap: my first 3id kbir occurred roughly 2 months after my arrival in Morocco. It’s fair to say that I didn’t understand, well, anything that was going on around me, so I was the equivalent of a sponge that whole day– soaking up everything without thought or evaluation (and definitely without words– I didn’t quite know any of those yet). It was an incomprehensible blur for my already-overloaded senses. I think an elephant could have been sacrificed in front of me and I wouldn’t have blinked. My second 3id happened after being able to spend a year adjusting to Morocco and to my city in particular. I felt exponentially more comfortable and actually possessed the vocabulary to ask those difficult questions (ie “What am I eating?” and “No thank you, I will pass on seconds of brain.”). Three sheep were laid to rest under my eye.

My third and final Moroccan 3id finished Wednesday night. 2 years older and supposedly wiser, my pal Melissa and I watched a sheep and a cow return to the motherland. This was only several hours after the cow (originally dubbed “Hamburger” by yours truly and later re-christened “Julia” by Melissa) attempted to come into the living room through the window and watch TV with us. My 3ids have progressed in every aspect, especially entertainment value!

A quick walk down memory lane:

L’3id 2011: Celebrating Francis Bacon’s Moroccan Legacy

L’3id 2012: Understanding the Sheep Suit Complexities

L’3id 2013: Legend of the Hidden Cow

Why the cow, you ask? Good question.

As many of you loyal readers know, I have a pending engagement party on my social calendar. There are two traditional dishes that grace the stomachs attending this function: wedding chicken (I don’t even know how to describe it, but it’s ah-maz-ing) and meat with prunes. The cow will be dedicated to the creation of the latter. At this point you’re probably asking, “But Sarah, a whole cow? How popular are you exactly that you need an entire cow to feed people coming to your party?” This is where my understanding of the whole cow purchase blurs a little, as we weighed one leg and one set of ribs and came up with 6 kilos of meat more than we needed. And, for all of you anatomical Einsteins out there, you’re right, that does leave us with like, almost an entire cow left. Hamburgers 4 lyfe! Apart from the practicality of this purchase, having a cow was a celebratory event in itself– the morning that the cow arrived, a slew of neighborhood kids came inside right along with it. After poking the cow and taking lots of pictures with it, we settled into our daily routine (with a cow in the corner). Said schedule was only interrupted by momentary reminders that, hey, there’s a cow chillin’ in here– like, for example, when I was speaking to someone on the phone and got the opportunity to actually say out loud, “Hold on a sec, a cow just peed on me.” The whole sheep-in-the-house that shocked and entertained me my first year got totally obliterated by Hamburger-turned-Julia. Especially when she tried to will herself through the window leading into the salon. Nothing makes you feel more guilty than knowing an animal’s fate that awaits her just several hours after she found you to be lovely enough to want to sit and watch TV with you.

The sheep this year, therefore, was a little anti-climactic. I named her Ted Cruz. She mostly stayed on the roof and contemplated her life in peace. If only her namesake had done the same.
The morning went along in a similar fashion to the two 3ids proceeding it. Melissa and I woke up relatively early (8:30ish) and headed over to the house around 9. We waited for the butcher to come for about an hour, drinking tea and watching the king behead his sheep on TV in the meantime. I would like to take a moment and open up the question to anyone who might know– where the heck does the king find his sheep? Those things were the size of our cow. Around 10, the butcher came by. The sheep was a breeze (I would say quick and painless, but I really doubt that’s appropriate). Literally, the butcher was so efficient, he essentially undressed our sheep. Killed, cleaned, and gutted in 15 minutes, no problem.

Next came Julia.

I will spare you all the details, but suffice it to say that it took 4 men about an hour to finish the job, start to finish. Maybe longer, I’m honestly not sure. The foyer of the house was awash with blood (Melissa had a great moment where she attempted to be hedga and squeegee all of the blood down the drain, but, alas, our American techniques are not evolved enough for that type of deep-cleaning. Mustapha’s mom, after letting Melissa have her moment, swiftly reclaimed the cleaning tool and did more work than what the two of us could have put together in less than half the time. So is life here.)

The morning was finished with the traditional liver and fat kebabs. Melissa, Mustapha, and I managed to craft enough kebabs for a small army within minutes. Washed down with sugary tea, one begins to truly understand the necessity for the super sweet of Moroccan tea along with the savory goodness of fat-wrapped-liver. It took me three 3ids, but after Julia and Ted, I finally got it.

The day was a relaxing mix of sitting, eating (meat, of course), chatting, and having family (not mine unfortunately) visit. We ended with a bowl of rice and a fond gaze at the two hanging carcasses in the foyer. It was great having Melissa– a fellow American– to hang out with and make comments to about, you know, everything happening around me. I’m not sure what my 3id will be like next year in America, but I guarantee you that this one will go down in the books– 2013, the year of the cow. Here’s to you, Hamburger-Julia!