This lamb has an old taste, not rotten or anything, just beyond gamey. It’s a putrid flavor, something garlic and oregano can’t disguise. Maybe I should have baked it longer.
Vonnegut told me the creative brain’s baked by 55. That’s the right side I guess. That means my mind’s already half-dead and years past gamey.
I apply mint jelly—that gives the lamb a snap of freshness. I think of a playful creature as I chew, one springing up a bright green hill to greet its mother.