by Amanda Sakuma

My roommate is currently listed on the Czech Republic’s disease control database. However exhilarating it is to sleep 3.5 feet away from an international health threat, I have my doubts about my safety. Jane’s bout of salmonella (which she assures me is “mostly” not contagious) came after a lovely trip to the second largest city of the Czech Republic, Brno. The weekend excursion, funded by our university, was meant to introduce us to Czech culture outside of Prague. Instead, it made us wonder why there aren’t more vegetarians in the country.

The entrance to the restaurant of choice in Brno should have set off an alarm in my head that this wasn’t a traditional Czech joint. On the street, a robed man leaning on a large walking stick beckoned with dirty fingers for us to enter the medieval themed restaurant. I have no idea if the man’s job qualifications were “must have one front tooth missing” when he applied for the position or if his gapped smile was a mere coincidence, but it certainly made the atmosphere more convincing.

Once inside, bowls of lentils and industrial sized vats of ketchup and horseradish sauce welcomed us to the table. My starving comrades and I were most excited about what looked like a comparatively modest bowl of garlic mashed potatoes. While courage is commonly a revered trait, it often backfires when it comes to food­­­ — especially unidentifiable side dishes. After some misguided direction, Jane learned the hard way that it was actually a bowl of lard and/or butter filled with unidentifiable chunks. I tried not to look at the half masticated lump of lard on her plate and was almost relieved when she scooped up the former bite and plopped it back in its serving bowl.

When the priestly looking waiter brought out the tray of meat for our main course, the sparklers stabbed into the assorted carcasses caused a spectacle for the entire restaurant. The beefy man had the platter hoisted on his shoulder, yet he still strained under its weight. The fiery sparks aimed dangerously close to his eye were not the only occupational hazard – the shoulder dismount onto the table lacked the finesse commonly associated with serving a platter of explosives and food. While I doubt that sparklers were an everyday occurrence on most medieval dinning tables, the gilded sword stabbed through the meat maintained thematic authenticity.

Perhaps the sparklers were a strategic distraction to draw the attention away from the actual food. It wasn’t until after the flames died down that I realized there were at least six formerly live animals cooked and heaped on a monstrous plate. A roasted pig’s head kept a close eye on one unfortunately located girl. Two headless birds rested before another glazed eyed student — who happened to be a vegetarian, I might add. Only after ribs the size of my forearm, chicken cutlets, and strips of steak were devoured were we able to unearth the heap of pork that had been hiding under the layers of food. A large, pink, hot-dog like sausage wove itself through the platter like a snake. The only attempt toward vegetables was wilted cabbage circling the meat, serving as more of a garnish than an edible side dish.

After the unfortunate side dish incident, Jane had learned her lesson against trying new food and opted for lackluster looking chicken breast, coining it as the safest meat product for human consumption. Instead, as we later found out, her particular slice of poultry — just hers — came with an extra side of salmonella. (Joke’s on her.)

The platter contents equated the number of animals fit for a decent sized petting zoo yet each slice of meat lacked formidable taste to differentiate one from the next. Even those who treat consuming red meat as a profession were overwhelmed.

A group of drunken Czech women resembling American soccer moms were the sideline entertainment whenever the sight of the massive heap of food overwhelmed us. Every few minutes our attention would be drawn to a roll of shrieking laughter from their corner when one woman would misplace the seat of her chair. Yet every time that we would look back, the stack of protein would still be there, a seemingly larger pile than the time before.

As we reached the final leg of the meal, the meat platter before us looked like we had barely touched it. My usual clean your plate syndrome of eating everything in sight was not taken into account — there was no way that we could ever have finished it. While it was humorous that our school would agree to foot the bill for the three CZK 5,000 each unkosher meat platters to its students (Jews and vegetarians included), the experience was definitely the “something new” our university was shooting for.

Jane got a fever later that night. Since we’d ended the night punching a cork into the bottle of cheap wine to soften the traumatizing meal experience, we didn’t think much of her headache and chills the next day. But as her disoriented speech patterns and general lack of the ability to walk set in, we started to become a bit concerned. Salmonella wasn’t even on the  list of estimated causes, but after the doctor’s verdict came in nearly five days later, it wasn’t surprising. Sanitary cooking practices and obscene amounts of meat don’t always go hand in hand and they clearly didn’t come into play in Brno.

So, props to the university — the medieval-themed restaurant really opened our eyes to Czech culture. And food born illnesses.

Jane is now a vegetarian.

Ed.’s note: Amanda Sakuma and her salmonella-stricken roommate, Jane, are the editors of The Prague Wanderer.