That is if you can afford it. The popularity of eating goats has sure driven up the price.
Something about eating goat meat that really appeals to me. It’s not the taste or the texture. It has more to do with nostalgia. At Smithwick Homecoming time, at those long sheet iron pits out under the liveoak trees at the site of the old Smithwick School House (now the Smithwick Community Center) waiting for one of the men to cut off a sample is where my love of goat meat started. Fresh and hot, right off the pit.
The sop that they kept the goat meat mopped with was so vinegary, that it has given me a love of that acidic taste as well. Each piece had been salted and peppered to the extreme before going on the pit. Much more of each, along with ample amounts of corn oil went into those sop buckets that were kept on the corners of pit. After all night of slowly cooking over coals of liveoak wood, the meat was crispy on the outside and meaty, yet somewhat stringy on the inside.
More about meat goats:
But I think it would be nessecary to cut back on the amount of salt they used at Smithwick, before it would pass for a health food.
We were simple folk at Smithwick. We never called it Chevon and I didn’t hear the word Cabrito used until I was grown. It was just Goat Meat.
My apologies for the condition of the newspapers below. They are a little hard to read, but with a little patience you should be able to get through them.
Angora Chronicles 