Enjoying a Holiday Meal ... of Goat Liver

NEW DELHI, India, Dec. 21, 2007 — -- I had one of the better meals of my life today. It's a good thing I didn't know what it was before I ate it.

I spent the day in the narrow alleys of Old Delhi, the historic capital of India and the Muslim area of India's current capital, New Delhi. It is a poor neighborhood with a majestic mosque, more bicycle rickshaws than cars, and on this day, camels walking through the streets.

Today was the final day of Eid-ul-Zuha, one of the most widely celebrated festivals in the Muslim world. It commemorates the moment when Abraham agreed to sacrifice Isaac (Ishmael in the Koran); Allah allows Abraham's son to live, replacing him with a goat at the last moment.

After that day, animal sacrifice disappeared from the Abrahamic religions — the only sacrifice one needs to make is to God.

Except for today.

In the middle of Old Delhi, a normally nondescript dirt field becomes a goat market. Baby goats, adult goats, some decorated with colorful holiday tinsel, some looking a bit sickly — all for sale, some for as much as a few hundred dollars.

And right outside the goat market gates sits Cartis, who is selling knives for as little as 75 cents.

He says business is good. Why? Because Muslims are supposed to buy and kill the goats (or the camels) themselves — by hand. And so for 18 straight years, Cartis has spent his Eid's sharpening and selling on the side of the road.

"My knives are the best," he says, smiling.

I witnessed only one sacrifice today. A crowd had formed around a group of men holding down a camel. Violently, one of the men sawed away at the camel's neck. It eventually bled to death. No one arrived to clean up the mess.

The people who sell the goats have a good deal. The sacrificial animal must be in some way significant to the family, which today translates into pricey. Families are supposed to buy the best animal they could find, or afford.

"This holiday is about sacrificing for Allah," one seller told me. "Price is no object." Easy for him to say as he counted his money.

Eid falls on the final day of the Hajj, the annual pilgrimage to Mecca in Saudi Arabia required of all Muslims at least once in their lifetime. This year more than 200 million people performed rituals that repeat the experiences of the prophets, including throwing stones at pillars that represent the devil — winning forgiveness for sins in the process.

Eid is also about prayer. Families in this area attend the Jama Mahid (Friday Mosque) twice. It is a beautiful, historic structure built 350 years ago that used to host the Muslim emperors who ruled this land. It can hold 25,000 people — making it the largest mosque in India — and includes a collection of Muhammad's relics.

This morning and afternoon, entire families sat around a pool outside the mosque, cleaning their feet, faces and hands before prayers began.

After prayer, the day is devoted to food. First for the poor, who sit diligently outside Old Delhi's restaurants waiting for the owners to distribute food. It's a Muslim's duty to give a portion of his goat meat to the people who cannot afford to buy and sacrifice their own animal.

Afterward, it is family time. Inside Old Delhi's small apartments, brothers and sisters and uncles and cousins come together for celebration.

I met the Hassan family between prayers and dinner. They were, as so many people here are, elegantly gracious when greeting a foreigner.

In all, three brothers, their wives and their seven children prepared for dinner in a modest home. Everyone was happy.

"Spending time with family today is ordered by Allah," Romajarin Hassan told me. "We give food to everyone, including our Hindu brothers and sisters."

They knew I wasn't Hindu, but after a tour and an interview, Rizwan Hassan insisted I try a dish called kaleji.

I asked what it was, but all that emerged in the various translations was "goat."

I dug in. It was delicious. It tasted like tender lamb with a rich masala pepper sauce. I ate the whole bowl they had put in front me with the help of a little chapati — local Indian bread. And then I ate the apple and the dessert they also offered me.

Only as I relaxed afterward, totally sated, did I discover what I had just eaten.

Kaleji is not just goat. It's goat's liver.

All I can say is this: Sometimes ignorance is bliss. And it turns out that sacrificial animals — and their organs — can be delicious.