After the men had eaten, the mensaf was brought through for us. The others helped themselves from a large central platter, using their right hands, but Umm Tahir brought me a spoon and a small plate of my own. This may have been out of consideration for my different eating habits but, more likely, it was a way of keeping my paws out of the communal dish; Westerners are thought unclean and many Muslims prefer not to eat from the same plate.
Mensaf is delicious: tender meat in a rich, tangy sauce of
yoghurt and pine nuts, served on a bed of saffron rice. Unfortunately, there's
something about the combination that makes more than the smallest portion
swell inside me and edge me towards throwing up. Mensaf is what the
Old Testament tells good Jews they shouldn't eat - a kid seethed in its
mother's milk. It certainly seethes inside me.
I decided that throwing up would be more ungracious than pretending to have
a small appetite. Luckily, everyone else was in such an eating fever they
didn't notice what I was up to as I slipped most of my portion back onto
the main platter.
