Writing | Art By Logovend.com

Meat

Hannah Crawford had spent eight incredible, uninterrupted days with Graham Kelsey. Her business trip to New York city had turned into a missed-flight romance.
   She had been finding out about him and discovering the city at the same time. Until, on the ninth day, an unavoidable, boring board-meeting separated them.
   Together they'd drawn up a list of errands, agreeing it was a great way for her to see yet another side of the city. Theo, Mr Kelsey's driver, was left at Hannah's disposal.

“George's is the building with the glass front, up there on the right. I'll ride round the block until you're finished, Miss. This towns sure ain't one for parking.”

It wasn't what she'd expected from a butchers. The flesh was presented in a bloodless minimalist way and was devoid of labelling. Etched in the glass door were the words - George's. Gifts from God's Gracious Larder.

The gentleman behind the counter greeted her with a smile, “Good day, madam. How may I be of service?”
   “Good day. The weather's delightful today, don't you think?”
   “Very agreeable, yes, indeed. A little cooler than yesterday, which is most preferable.”
   “I'm Miss Crawford, here to collect Mr. Kelsey's order. Graham Kelsey.”
   “I'm sorry, you must be mistaken. We don't take orders. I'm the proprietor here and I can assure you in the last 12 years since I opened this emporium, we have never taken orders. I’m George. Nice to meet you, miss.”

She looked down at the list they'd drawn up that morning over coffee and it clearly said - George's - Meat - Weekly Order Waiting. But being a woman of confidence and intelligence wasn't going to let such a trifling matter spoil her day's adventure.
   “Maybe you could tell be about your lamb?”
   “We don't stock lamb.” He answered curtly.

This threw Hannah. She thought for a second, “How about some of your Pork belly cuts?”
   “No pork either.”
   “Your fillet steaks then?” She asked.
   “I'm terribly sorry.”
   “No lamb, pork, nor Beef?” She asked.
   “Correct. George's.” His colonialist accent slipped into something which she thought sounded a little more wise-guy.

“Okay. So what may you recommend?” She persevered.
   “How about dog, madam?”
   “Dog?!” Hannah exclaimed disgustedly.
   “I assure you our my meat is of the highest quality.”
   “So you cater for all international tastes,” she tried to conceal the embarrassment of her shocked outburst.
   “Every continent. We have some very succulent bitches in at present. Have you ever tasted a sweet bitch?”
   “I'm sure it's to some people's tastes. But ...”
   “I understand ... If you haven't tasted bitch, and you're reluctant to try, how about pussy?”
   Hannah couldn't believe what she was hearing, “no! I don't really like the sound of that either. Cat. No.”
   She'd heard of the Koreans eating dog but never cat. Or was she really being that gullible.
   “Okay. How about something of the domestic variety, then?” He offered.
   “Fine. Good.” At last.
   “We have some lovely beaver at the moment. Fresh in today.”
   The fact that he kept such a straight face whilst serving-up these double-entendre morsels made it impossible for her to protest although. She was starting to get angry.
   “NO!”
   “How about monkey, fresh from the tropics? The most-tender, juicy furry-monkey you've ever tasted?”
   This was one step too far. Furry-monkey was the expression she used when she talked of her most intimate of places.
   But before she had chance to protest he quickly produced a parcel and a smile.
   “Mr Kelsey's order Miss Crawford and if you allow the liberty of proffering a little advice, you're going to have to be a touch more resilient and empowered if you are to truly survive New York. A lesson, maybe. My entertainment, definitely. I bid you a good day.”

Back to Writing