Downtown Tavern

Author: Pig Tastic

The whole bunch of them were overpaid and lived like kings compared to the native workers. As such, they enjoyed a life of luxury and one Friday decided it would be fun to lord it up and go cash-rich downtown to get completely rat-arsed and freaky.

They packed themselves into the local bus and set off en masse. Some of the group had never ventured out so far, so it was exciting to watch the plush houses and restaurants change slowly into a much more lively, if not filthy, facade—and so the night began. Slowly, from one bar to the next, from one snackery to the next, as the night progressed the bunch grew smaller. Some just wanted to go back to luxury; some were too ill on cheapo booze to walk; some were just focused on the ladies, now that they had enough enriched bravado to chat to them. Smaller and smaller the group got, until there were just five hardened drinkers left.

The next eatery would be the final, end-of-night splashdown. It was a good one to finish the night, as it was still lively at 02:00, with the locals cheerfully drinking the night away. There were no real chairs or stools, just beer crates with cushions, and a menu handwritten in chalk at the back of the bar. The five ordered a beer, French fries, tomatoes with mayonnaise, and fried chicken. Clink, clink, chin-chin for a wonderful night.

As they continued, the group, now reduced to three and too blurry-eyed to read the menu board, asked for a written menu for the table. The owner obliged, and one of them, perusing the menu, saw a few oddities that would challenge each other’s stomachs. He suggested they should all order for each other from the lesser-used part of the menu. He ordered the chicken liver; his friend on the left ordered the garlic cod roe; and his friend on the right, mashed kidneys and black pudding. They were just about ready for the next round of orders when the owner came to their table and started to speak in a language they could not understand. The man at the neighbouring table told them he was offering them the chance to do the seven-dish challenge.

The challenge was to eat all seven house special dishes, and if they could, their food and drink bill would be paid. If they failed, they would be expected to pay everyone’s bill. They looked at the menu in front of them and thought, what could be harder than what is written down already? The man at the neighbouring table said they should be careful, as it would be harder than they thought.

The challenge was accepted, and the owner went to add up the cost if they failed. It came to 300, so they all dipped into their pockets to prove they had the funds. That was apparently not good enough, and they were obliged to hand over the money, which was put in a jar on a shelf behind the bar. Not that they minded—300 was barely an hour’s work for them. What they failed to notice was two rather large men reseating themselves by the exit. No one else was getting in, and no one was getting out.

The neighbouring man came and sat with the three men and said he would be the judge and tell them about each challenge. The rest of the customers were very cheerful and seemed to be adding to their bills in anticipation that it would all be funded by these three drunk outsiders. The waitress came with seven bowls and placed them in a circle at the centre of the table. The men were told each dip was for a separate dish: Tomato Ketchup, Mayonnaise, Fish Sauce, Salt, Sweet & Sour Chilli, Mustard, and Frothy Lemon (a kind of white froth like whisked egg).

The first dish arrived. Two rather large testicles, deep-fried and sliced so they could be shared by the three of them. They dipped them in the mayonnaise and quite easily enjoyed the taste, if not the description of the snack. The men thought, this is going to be easy. Next came roast heart and apple sauce, which was complemented by mustard. Arriving soon after were six skewers with a kind of crispy skin ruffled up along them, one much thicker than the others. The thinner skin was that of the penis, and the thicker of the scrotum. They dipped them in the tomato sauce, and once again it was a challenge of the mind rather than the taste buds. The scrotum skin was more chewy, so it needed a good bit of mastication before it could be swallowed.

Not really being able to tell what animal they were eating, they enquired, and it was a local animal that is hunted at night called an in-no-bu-bu. A kind of pig, but without the belly of a normal pig. The men ordered some more drinks, and so did the onlookers from the other tables. The smell of roasting was wafting through from the kitchen. After the men had finished the challenge, the rest of the roasted animal would be served to everyone no matter what the outcome. It was obvious no one wanted to leave. The two large men at the door we purely for latecomers.

Next came a thick grey shake of blended liver, lung, kidney, and brains. Very thick and difficult to suck up the wide straw provided. Salt was the recommended accompaniment.

Then a very tiny dish, like a small black bean sliced into three. This should be dipped into the sweet & sour chilli, but not swallowed. It was very important to chew it in the mouth until it just melted down the throat. However, as soon as they placed the small morsel in their mouths, the acrid, almost impossible-to-eat morsel was a lot more difficult to chew than expected. Their mouths would not produce any saliva, and the temptation to just swallow was great, but a second warning came: if they swallowed, it would cause a blockage lower down and possible death. They could spit it out if they wished, but the challenge would be lost. This small, almost impossible-to-spit bean was the prostate gland, quickly dried and smoked for flavour.

The men worked slowly, chewing and circulating the gland until it dissolved and they could move on to the next challenge, which was to be heated blood with mandarins—a red, jelly-like substance that could be enhanced by the lemon froth. It seemed to the men the challenge was easier than the one before, and they were down to the last dish: a boiled meat dish of two large chunks, one each for two of the men, using the fish sauce. Apparently, the hind of the in-no-bu-bu. A lot to eat, but tasty flesh, and the realisation that they had beaten the local challenge cheered them greatly.

The other customers did not seem too bothered, and neither did the owner, as he handed the men back their 300. The men at the door remained seated at the exit, and all that was left was to wheel out the roast in-no-bu-bu so everyone could feast on it.

Two tables and their chairs were moved to the side, and the roasted animal was brought from the kitchen, at which point the whole room roared with laughter and jollity as they saw the three men take a second look at the animal and realise it was not so much a pig, but one of their fellow drinkers who had entered the restaurant with them. The large men at the door got up and cheerfully hugged these three for a job well done…