For some reason, me and the one resthome resident who wants to die and the (Bulgarian) private aide who comes in sometimes to help her started talking about hunting the other week, and the one resthome resident who wants to die began reminiscing about her youth in Central Europe.
Venison was a delicacy, she said, and if it was ever on sale, her mother was sure to get some, and would cook it up for the family.
"Like steaks?", I was like.
"No, a roast," she was like.
Later, the (Bulgarian) private aide said that her uncle married a Slovak woman and lived in a rural area there, and that they did a lot of hunting, that everyone did in that region. When she went to visit, in fact, they had an entire room full of meat from hunting, all of it smoked.
She clarified, too, that she visited them twice under Communism, not after.
"As for me, Communism wasn't so bad," she was like. "We are a small country, it was different there, it was more quiet."
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