Well, funny story: was in Auckland with my cousin who mentioned to one of his co-workers of the time that he'd been out hunting goats. This perked up the ears of one of the gentlemen over the way who was working at this outfit, who promptly enquired if we could get him goat. Cousin was like yeah, guess so - what do you want, kid, nanny? No no no no no, and then with a lot of waving and hands spaced out we worked out that he wanted old, stinky billy goat (or that's what I was thinking him pinching his nose meant). Turns out what he was after (with a bit of translation from the young lass who didn't say much to anyone until directed) is literally a dirty old stinky billy goat, and why that was important was for this one ceremonial curry dish the way to tell if it was done properly to tradition was by cooking a piece of billy belly piss strip. And when you couldn't taste the piss, the curry was ready (and probably capable of powering a small urban centre...). I'm still not sure that I have the right end of this story - and I was there...
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