Fast food, this was not.
This is the second in a series of four posts: (1) Sourdough bread: Flour and water. That’s it. (2) Abraham and his guests (3) Hospitality in ancient times (4) Deuteronomy has no interest in an afterlife.
The most famous incident of breadmaking in the Bible comes from the story of Abraham and his visitors, in Genesis 18:
18The Lord appeared to Abraham by the oaks of Mamre, as he sat at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. 2He looked up and saw three men standing near him. When he saw them, he ran from the tent entrance to meet them, and bowed down to the ground. 3He said, ‘My lord, if I find favour with you, do not pass by your servant. 4Let a little water be brought, and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree. 5Let me bring a little bread, that you may refresh yourselves, and after that you may pass on—since you have come to your servant.’ So they said, ‘Do as you have said.’ 6And Abraham hastened into the tent to Sarah, and said, ‘Make ready quickly three measures of choice flour, knead it, and make cakes.’ 7Abraham ran to the herd, and took a calf, tender and good, and gave it to the servant, who hastened to prepare it. 8Then he took curds and milk and the calf that he had prepared, and set it before them; and he stood by them under the tree while they ate.
Note that he says “cakes,” not “bread.” So this may not have been yeast bread; Sarah may have used some other form of leavening; one kneads dough for biscuits, also.
This visit had to last several hours, at least. I am focused on the tasks the servant faced to “prepare” the calf.
We city folks today are generally squeamish about killing animals.
In contrast, in ancient times, everyone, or at least every man, had to serve as his own butcher. The word “butcher,” as a noun, does not appear in the Bible. And the same was true all along the American frontier.
This servant had to kill the animal; cut it open from head to toe; separate out the edible parts; cut out the entrails and throw them in the refuse heap; cut the meat from the bones, and then roast or boil the meat, while the guests waited. Fast food, this was not.
My mother made the best fried chicken. I loved it. My father, not so much.
Whereas she grew up in a city in eastern Pennsylvania, he grew up on a farm in western Ohio. In his teenaged years, whenever the family was to have chicken for supper, the task fell to him to go into the barnyard, find the largest bird, take it into the barn, and chop its head off. He hated doing this.
He had no such compunctions about killing swine.
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