From the vantage point of a rational human with functioning gustatory papillae, the lamb
meat in all forms is the gastronomic equivalent of getting kicked in the testicles.
Imagine, if you
will,
meat that tastes like it’s been marinated in
dirty old sweaters, perfumed with a hint of petting zoo after a spring rain, and garnished with the toxic secretions of a cane toad. The consumption of lamb is less a meal and more an elaborate prank gone wrong.
The texture? A true
paradox. Somehow it is both sinewy and gelatinous, as though the animal was full of despair and sadness before its untimely demise. And the smell, how in tarnation can it smell that foul? The stench wafts through a home like the
ghost of livestock past, clinging to drapes, walls, and assaulting the olfactory senses of every poor soul who is in the vicinity.
Supposed connoisseurs
will wax poetic about its “earthy richness” or “
rich, robust, and well-balanced flavor” which, when translated from nonsense speak to to honest English, means “
sweaty mutton disguised as fine dining”. It is not “delicate,” it is despicable; it is not “robust,” but a belligerent assault on the taste buds.
Lamb should only be served if your guests have wronged you terribly or if you have lost all hope in the potential of food bringing you, or others, joy.
In conclusion, a lamb as a
dish is
best served NEVER. It is a betrayal of the palate, a disgrace to the kitchen, and a compelling argument for vegetarianism.
Jacob: You should come over for dinner tonight.
Patricia: That sounds lovely, what are we having?
Jacob: A lamb dinner, I was thinking a roast leg of lamb.
Patricia: I just threw up in my mouth.
Jacob: Lamb Souvlaki?
Patricia: I would rather starve.
Jacob: Lamb chops?
Patricia: Que distinguida.
Jacob: Lamb kofta?
Patricia: Que feo.
Jacob: Lamb Shank Ragu?
Patricia: Ohhhh, you know what? I just remembered, I am busy tonight, sorry.
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Fact: There is literally no version of lamb that is not completely disgusting
