Meat Grinding, Mouse Hunting...

I love tacos. Especially in Congo where Mexican food is a rare treat. This Saturday night I decided I wanted to make tacos for dinner. I had my imported spice pack of taco seasoning, a fresh avocado for guacamole, tomatoes, lettuce, and cheese (not cheddar, but one must not be too picky). All I needed to do was whip up some home made tortillas. Oh yes, and meat, I needed meat. Clara had gone to the market earlier and bought some lovely chunks of cow meat. But the best tacos are not made with chunks of cow meat, but with ground beef. Therefore, I endeavored to grind the meat myself. I went to the convent to borrow the sister’s meat grinder and cut up all the meat into reasonable sized chunks. I put the machine together and started grinding. Well, grinding meat is hard. I didn’t get too far by myself. As is turns out it is VERY important to remove every bit of non-meat (fatty stuff) from the beef in order for the grinder to grind smoothly. I had about ¼ inch of ground beef and was struggling for more when Matteo came in offering to help. As much as I wanted to grind beef all by myself, I didn’t put up much of a fight and he took over. Well, Matteo was not afraid of the fatty stuff slowing the machine down, oh no, he just powered right on through. Do you know what happens when you power through with the meat grinder? A cow explodes in you kitchen. I mean, cow blood everywhere. All over the floor, the table, everywhere. It was awesome. All the carnage was worth it in the end when we had delicous tacos for dinner.

After Saturday came Sunday. We eat breakfast a little later on Sunday mornings (I enjoy sleeping, others go the early mass or do other stuff that I don’t know about because I’m sleeping). We all gathered for breakfast and were having a pleasant time when something ran across the oven and behind the cabinet. A mouse!! **Side note: we had seen this mouse before but had been unable to catch it. You might wonder why we didn’t put our cat Etienne on the job. As it turns out, in Congo the cats are afraid of mice. Furthermore, our dog is terrified of our cats.** Matteo, who loves mouse hunting (it seems Matteo enjoys the nastier parts of Congo life) sprung into action with the broom and Clara followed closely with a shoe ready to spring. They chased the mouse around the room a bit and finally succeeded in stunning it into oblivion. Matteo then gave it to Etienne who devoured it with joy (He’s not afraid to eat it if it’s already dead). It was really lovely entertainment for Sunday morning breakfast. So you can get in idea of what a Congolese mouse looks like, I will leave you with a picture of Sr. Angela with a mouse: