Cold Storage
It's strange the things that pass through your mind when you let it drift. Laying there, my skin welded to the frozen floor, I feel a sudden almost irrational surge of love for my boring military issue skivvies.
I had expected to be stripped of my boots – an easy way to stop escape attempts considering the miles of snow surrounding us. My vest was also a given after they found the equipment it contained in its many pockets. My jacket, although I had hoped not, was next removed. Then, with a sharp jab of a spear it was made obvious the trousers were to go.
They say clothes maketh the man and standing there shivering in t-shirt, socks and boxers, I decided that all they make the man is cold.
How wrong I'd been.
The sluggishly bleeding wounds are evidence of my battle to retain some dignity – a battle I lost in the face of overwhelming odds – and now I know what true cold is.
Antarctica had been a pleasure palace in comparison. There, I had layers of cloth, sleeping bags, and a captain to keep me at least, if not warm, not freezing either. The cold had slowly seeped into my broken body and the creeping enemy, death, although not welcome, wasn't entirely unpleasant either.
Now death races to redress its failure the last time.
Snap frozen like a packet of peas, I feel my breath turning to ice before it leaves my mouth. With no energy left to shiver, I wait to die.
Or to be rescued - whichever comes first, I wish it would hurry, because this time dying of hypothermia is anything but painless.
The door is opening. My team? I can't open my eyes. I think they're frozen shut.
What the hell?
Maybe they're trying to warm me up, but if I could speak I'd tell them it isn't working. Instead of rubbing me, just get me the hell out of here!
Oh crap! Being turned, my skin gets left behind on the stone floor. And, damn but that hurts.
Then red hot pain as something is inserted into each of the spear wounds – small, hard objects that stretch the cuts and left me gasping.
More rubbing, in every part - my legs, my stomach, my chest, my groin, even my face, and I shut my eyes against the smell of whatever they are smearing me with. I can't fight them, my limbs too stiff and cold to move.
Dropped to the floor again, so that the other side of my body can attach itself to the stone, I have no way to shift and nowhere to go if I could. I'm only thankful they didn't leave me belly down.
The door closes and I'm alone again.
So cold.
o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o=o
Slow Roasted Huf
1 large animal – best made with huf, but any red blooded creature can be substituted.
2 large bunches of stpril leaves
1 hand of petry
3 juy cloves, chopped.
Pinch of chruy
Overgh to taste (optional)
Place stpril leaves in large dish and place in oven with water to cover. Cook for 10 kols and leave to cool.
Pluck animal, pierce several holes in skin, then freeze as rapidly as possible. When almost completely frozen rub with petry. Insert juy pieces into holes.
Leave animal in freezer for at least 20 dimgs.
Before completely frozen, remove from freezer, cut into manageable pieces and place in prepared dish.
Sprinkle with chruy and overgh if desired.
Cook slowly until golden brown and juices run clear.
Note: It has been said that chopping up the animal while still alive is overly cruel, however the freezing numbs it sufficiently to ensure it feels no pain. This humane method of killing ensures the flesh is as tender and moist as possible. Comparison of traditional cooking methods and 'new age' ones show the old-fashioned ways of our grandmothers as still the best.
TBC
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