In praise of goat: the beast behind the meat (By WW)

Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg recently amplified the conversation about sustainable eating when he killed a pig and a goat for his personal consumption—for show, some purists have insinuated. With the summer grilling season peaking, I imagine some Americans will follow Zuck’s lead to prove their independence. Go forth, America: kill the swine for show for all I care, but if you want sustainable, if you really want sustainable, I present goat.

But first, a warning: respect!

Who is goat?

Goat?…Hm. How does one begin to talk about goat?

Goat is a very special being for which you need a deep appreciation before you put to the blade and earn the privilege—and it is a privilege—to ingest.  I for one am proud to call goat a friend in life and, especially, in death. So to all you (smirk) foodies: before you go out there and order the bearded meat with your mashed potatoes and baked beans, you need to acquaint yourselves with goat. No, not the meat. The beast.

Why the beast? Because no beast raised mainly for its meat gives as much more in life than in death.  Imagine, if you will, an animal that is part race horse, part ox, part camel, part dove and tastes like filet mignon. Yes, I’m getting mythical, but goat is the closest we have.

They say if you want to become a vegetarian, you should take your time when you’re eating meat to ponder every chew, every sinew of the previously living thing. Yes, I can see that with chicken, pork, beef and so on—not so, chevon.

When I chew goat meat, oh yes, I ponder too. But when I ponder I ponder thus: here is a being which died so that I may live (with all due respect to events of 2,000 years ago).  In fact, ever since I saw James Cameron’s Avatar, I have vowed that before I transfer the life of another goat to mine, it behooves me to say, “I see you.”

And I have seen goat from many angles. Many Westerners know their meat only superficially from the way they look on a plate. With all due respect to Ruth’s Chris Steakhouse, the goat I know does not come in well and medium well. He’s just, well, Billy.

And Billy’s got personality! When I first came to America, I was surprised that people referred to their dogs as he or she instead of it. With goat, I can see why, hence my occasional reference to goat in the third person masculine. It’s not a gender thing either. It’s because I’m talking about Billy goat, my friend.

I hate to name-drop, but I know Billy on a first name basis. In fact, I grew up with goat. Lived with him, fattened him, played with him, so by the time he became dinner, I felt like I knew that animal. No, I didn’t feel guilt. I just felt our relationship had been elevated to a spiritual level.

Goat is sustainable.

The question “where does one begin to talk about goat?” is much easier to answer.

Well, Silicon Valley of course. “Silicon Valley?” you ask. Before Facebook, there was Google (you may have heard of them).  In 2009 Googlers wanted to show a greener way to cut their grass than using lawnmowers. Theoretically, they could have created a machine to…wait for it…search and destroy all the weeds (I couldn’t resist). But who did this most celebrated technology company think was best for the job? Well, goat of course.

But we already knew this about goat. Those of us from “ethnic” places have always known goat to be sustainable. To illustrate, let’s go to my beloved Ghana to talk about ethical sourcing and why Google would choose goat among all herbivores.

Fufu is a staple food of my people. Fufu status is achieved when cassava (also called yuca or manioc) is pounded into a starchy ball. Fufu is typically eaten almost drowned in a bowl of soup so that it almost looks like a white island in a sea of water and spices. Now after you peel the cassava in preparation for boiling, guess who’s hanging around, waiting enthusiastically to mop up the cassava skin? After eating the cassava skin, goat then makes it way to your cassava farm to fertilize it.

Back in the kitchen you boil your cassava, make your soup, pour it over your fufu (of course soup needs meat) and guess who’s right there on that island of fufu in the afterlife? Don’t wait for it…you know the answer.

So in one swoop, you would have fed your “waste” to this environmentally conscious animal who would have converted it to lean protein for you and your family and you would have sown the seeds for the next harvest—all in one fufu cycle. Carbon footprint: close to zero.

Goat got balls too.

Now stay with me as we go to a real island: Montserrat. Yes, they make goat soup there. They call it goat water, but that’s not the point. We’re here because off the coast of this tiny Eastern Caribbean volcanic island lies an even tinier island. It’s basically just one big rock, okay? No one goes there. It’s supposed to be haunted by the ghosts of explorers and pirates long gone. But borrow a pair of binoculars to have a look-see and guess whom you will see perched on a precipice with one foot and looking yonder as if to dare the ghost of Christopher to come hither?

Goat is versatile

While world leaders are struggling to figure out how to adapt to climate change, goats is showing leadership. If you don’t believe me, go to Marrakech, Morocco. Ostensibly in response to dwindling grounds for grazing, goats there now live in trees, where greenery is abundant. Come back in a few thousand years and my guess is that those goats would have taken flight.

Goat’s got swagger.

I recently tasted one of goat’s jungle-bound cousins, the kudu, in stew. The meat was pretty good, but in the spirit of ethical sourcing, I went into the bush to seek the beast behind the meat. Let me tell ya, hooves and horns do not a goat make. Next to goat, kudu has the charisma of a doornail.

Goat is known to have an incredible ability to reverse direction at high speed. In fact, many right wingers in Ghana’s great national soccer teams of the past were speculated to have observed goats for hours in order to learn those skills.

But warning, ladies, Billy’s horns can grow preeeetty fast. If you don’t believe me, go ask an old man in Ethiopia who has made a fortune selling goat milk to men who want to be like goat.

Goat is also philanthropic.

You will never hear a relief organization ask you to donate a pig. It’s always goat. And rightfully so, if you ask me. World Vision International has a whole program through which you can purchase a goat for a child in Africa to school. (No, she won’t be riding that goat to school, fool.) According to organization, a good goat can provide up to 16 cups of milk per day. Clap for goat.

And the meat?

Oh it’s pretty tasty too (smile). I have to admit, I love goat. I would supersize it if McDonalds had it on a bun. In Jamaica, apparently the locals sell goat meat to squeamish Americans and Britons under the more palatable name: mutton. Hahahahahaha…so all of you have probably eaten goat and loved it, but if I had told you it was goat, you would probably have gone “ewe” (get it?).

Laurel Miller, a green eater and Zuckerberg skeptic, had the right idea in a Huffington Post piece urging Zuck to not only kill the goats, but also to eat them. She lost me when she mentioned the fulfillment in the process of removing the skin. No, Ms. Miller, I disagree with you on that one. My people don’t skin goat. We believe goat is very comfortable in its own skin, thank you. Okay, you’re right. We do skin goat—with our teeth—and there is immense fulfillment in the process.

As part of a presentation at the World Bank to launch his book, The New Harvest, Harvard Kennedy School’s Calestous Juma recommended goat as a cheap, lean protein for Africa. (Imagine telling a group of World Bank economists that a goat—not they!—will save Africa!)

Wither goat

On one hand, I’m glad that goat is finally getting the due respect. On the other hand, many immigrant ethnics to whom I’ve spoken today are concerned that, as Americans discover goat, the bearded meat will go the way of tilapia and oxtails and we the true believers will no longer be able to afford it. In fact, Zuckerberg’s new hobby is part of a larger movement of locavores: people who eat locally produced meat. Personally, I’m more of a homievore, but that’s frowned upon in Arlington, Virginia. In the meantime, I know a place in Baltimore where you can sort of pick your own goat so that at least you get a chance to respectfully say “I see you.”

I hope I haven’t made you feel guilty about killing goat, an animal which gives so so much. Trust me, goat doesn’t mind being sacrificed. I’ve heard cattle have a horrified look in their eyes when they see their brother bull in front of them in the abbatoir fall before their eyes.  Not goat! Mm mm (shaking head). Goat, in its last moments, will have that characteristic poise, glazed look in its eyes and proud gait as if to say, “It is finished.”

Friends, I may have bored you with my ramblings about goat, but I leave you with the much more eloquent articulation of the goat experience from the Oscar-nominated movie, Cold Mountain. In it, Maddy, a wizened old lady says of goat: “I’ve learned a person can pretty much survive off of a goat (even as she massages a baby goat). A goat gives you company and milk and cheese, and when you need it (even as she reaches for the jugular), good meat.”