El Cuento de Rodger El Borrego

After venturing hugely out of my comfort zone to Dunkin’ Donuts, Chili’s and then Insurgent on Friday, I was feeling very American and was ready to go kill and eat my lunch the coming Sunday. (har har)

I awoke the next morning eager for our journey back to San Clemente. On the way we stopped by the huge Saturday market about two hours outside of Quito to haggle for presents and souvenirs. The vendors can tell I’m a foreigner from a mile away, but I got some decent prices once they figured out I knew what was up.

Finally we made it into Ibarra and then up into San Clemente (and no our taxi driver did not know how to get there and yes we did follow the wrong taxi into a sketchy looking wooded area until having him turn back towards the main-ish road). But alas, we made it and were greeted by the ever sarcastic and hilarious Martina who welcomed us warmly and showed us to our rooms. It was getting dark by then and as soon as we all settled by the fire, Martina appeared and asked us if we’d like to go see the sheep. 

The sheep. Quick backstory for those of you who didn’t read my about my first experience in San Clemente (never fear you can read it here if you wish). Long story short: a few of us played in a soccer tournament with the San Clemente community against another indigenous community nearby. We won the tournament and thus we won the sheep. We had been invited back by Martina to kill and eat the sheep we had won.

Martina led us up a short path to a small field next to her house and there he was. Right away Sarah began calling him Rodger and for whatever reason the name stuck. We were all slightly giddy but also concerned as we watched him run frantically about while still attached to a tree by his rope. Martina eventually grabbed the rope so she could move him, but not before he could go careening up the hill to where a cow and her calf were grazing. That cow wanted nothing to do with Rodger so she quickly, efficiently, and very unceremoniously head-butted Rodger off the cliff like ledge and back onto the field. Poor Rodger. Honestly it was hysterical, but poor guy nonetheless. We had a good laugh and spent more time taking in the fact that we had helped win this sheep and the next day he would be on our table. At one point while I was playing sheep whisperer the rope snapped in such a way that hit my head and left me with two welts that I can still feel. Let’s just say I wasn’t too sad when I left knowing the next time I’d see him, he’d be on my plate.

Except, the next time I saw him, he wasn’t on my plate, he was in my bowl and that was a bit more of a shocker.

But first, the next morning after a delicious breakfast Lilly and Sarah went to go watch the process of Rodger turning into lunch. I knew that if I was going to eat him later, I probably should not watch the process. As cold-hearted as my facebook posts may have seemed, I don’t think I can watch something die. I would add more opinions to that about the meat industry and vegetarianism and all that, but I’m not about to turn this into a political blog.

So! After a post-breakfast nap and then finally getting up to do homework and take a preciously hot shower, it was finally time for lunch. I walked into the kitchen and was greeted by Martina’s husband asking which of us didn’t eat peanuts. Since that person is me, he happily handed me not a plate, but a bowl. The bowl I had not anticipated. A bowl of Rodger’s intestines. Oh but no worries, there weren’t any peanuts or chochos in it, just the guts of an animal… I tried it, but I’ve already been given sheep intestines by my host family and it is just one of those foods I cannot do. More than anything, it was the smell. Oof. No, I don’t even want to write about it. It seemed as though Rodger had gotten his final revenge until when we were presented other plates. This time, it was more of what I expected: potatoes, corn, cheese, and a big ole’ slab of Rodger. 

Truth time here: despite the wonderful seasoning added by Martina and her husband, I was still not a fan. I ate what I could and then immediately went to brush my teeth. Sheep leaves a sort of dry paste all over your mouth. The cheese was delightful though!

Shortly afterwards, we thanked Martina and said our goodbyes to the lovely community once again before heading into town to get world famous Helado de Paila and then getting on the bus back to Quito.

Here is where I must say: the act of winning the sheep, the knowledge of having won a sheep, and the idea that we would get to eat it is infinitely more enticing than the actuality of sitting down to that meal. What an experience though. I never thought I’d be able to start a story with “well, one time when I was in Ecuador, I won a sheep…”