Eid-ul Azha brought many bounties: copious amounts of blood pooling the streets in small towns, the pungent smell of rotted blood by the scorching sunlight of July, and packets upon packets of meat emerging from the bowels and crevices of every freezer in our homes.

Along with daily runs to far-flung areas and far-off relatives delivering meat packages carefully weighed and labelled, this Eid becomes an endless rendition of meat-town, with meat being cooked for breakfast, lunch and dinner. As such, this Eid does not invite as much cause for celebration as it induces dread.

The first of many courses is usually kaleji (liver, either goat or cow, varying from household to household), cubed and fried or sautéed, to be presented to the entire household while meat is still being sectioned. This is usually either breakfast, for the late-risers; brunch, for the obnoxiously late-risers who slept through the Eid namaz as well; and lunch for those who missed it by God’s true miracle.

The problem with newly quartered meat on Eid day has more to do with the unmistakably bloody smell and stringy texture for Gen Z, notwithstanding memory of the simple-minded goats and cows that happily munched on handfed fodder, deftly turning the terrace into their own humble restroom. Myself, I remain ambivalent to meat under normal conditions but I must admit that there is hardly any spice on earth that can make the first few meals of Eid-ul Azha palatable to those with a more sensitive nose. It is possible that this is more of a problem in houses that tend to their sacrificial animals personally, and prefer to be at the mercy of a two-timing qasai, rather than availing the services offered by the likes of Shaukat Khanum.

There is hardly any spice on earth that can make the first few meals of Eid-ul Azha palatable to those with a more sensitive nose. It is possible that this is more of a problem in houses that tend to their sacrificial animals personally, and prefer to be at the mercy of a two-timing qasai.

Other complicated preparations include paye (the hooves and adjoining joints of goats) and ojhri (stomach of cow or goat), usually served after wrapping up the beheading, skinning, butchering, distributing and mopping. Paye preparation involves steeping goats’ skinned feet for several hours at low heat to extract a flavourful broth and scarce meat that, with some imagination, does not resemble hooves and their vicinities much. Still, many prefer to lap at the broth with torn kulcha rather than risk finding a goat hair ensconced in the twisty bones.

Ojhri requires an even more laborious process, involving multiple steps of soaking in acids and boiling to render the stomach safe for human consumption. As such, those who’ve witnessed the wringing of a stomach membrane to extract its contents, or the manual scraping away of impurities are loath to go near the rather delicious gravy.

Such are the trials of Eid-ul Azha, forcing us to confront the intimate manners of our meal-making and meat-consuming.

The writer is an interdisciplinary student of literature and sciences at Lahore College of Arts & Sciences. She can be reached at fajr.rauf5@gmail com