Marinated Goats’ Balls and writing competitions.
I’ve had great fun entering a couple of short-story competitions, Furious Fiction and Not Quite Write, as I kick-start my writing again. The competitions work like this – you get a set of prompts on Friday afternoon and by Sunday night you have to submit your short story of no more than 500 words. Sounds easy, but the pressure builds over the weekend as you strive to write something clever and compelling without wasting a word. The competition is fierce, and you know that you will be up against some great writers.
I was longlisted in the recent Not Quite Write competition but sadly did not make it to the shortlist. Still, I want to share my story, Marinated Goats’ Balls, with you.
The Not Quite Write July 2024 Prompts
I was challenged to create a story, of no more than 500 words, which
- included the word TABLE.
- included the action “stealing something.”
- broke the writing rule “avoid purple prose.”
I found the last prompt the hardest as in my story I wrote more descriptively than I normally do.
You can read the winning stories here: Results of the July 2024 Not Quite Write Prize for Flash Fiction – Not Quite Write (notquitewritepodcast.com).
I hope you enjoy Marinated Goats’ Balls.
Marinated Goats’ Balls
Jody stepped back and surveyed the abundant grazing platter with pride. All week she’d scoured delicatessens and farmers markets to select the freshest and most delicious produce to create the magnificent spread in front of her. She’d chosen only the finest food for her husband’s 50th birthday. Now the table was laden with fillets of buttery smoked salmon, rounds of Italian salami, aromatic ginger and fig jam, a dazzling array of soft and hard cheeses, and succulent lemon and chilli olives. Juicy red strawberries, tart green grapes and sweet orange mango slices gave the table a pop of colour.
“Mum, I’m starving. What can I eat?”
Jody cringed, and swore under her breath, as her 13-year-old son, Jack, lumbered into the room. This gangly boy had not yet learned how to manage his man-sized body, nor his man-sized appetite. Before she could stop him, Jack had plundered the table, grabbing 3 pieces of melon wrapped in prosciutto, a handful of sesame and sea salt bread sticks and a mouthful of roasted mixed nuts. During his raid, he knocked asunder the delicately arranged plate of crisp apple and pear slices and catapulted the spoon out of the spiced beetroot chutney.
Jack lunged towards Jody’s treasured gourmet centrepiece, a crystal bowl full of goat cheese she’d tenderly marinated in wild herbs and spices. The golden virgin olive oil glistened in the late afternoon light, and the oregano, mugwort and rosemary herbs clung to the rich, creamy cheese balls. Jody had already stolen and devoured one of the luscious balls, they were an explosion of deliciousness in her mouth. She knew they were the prize of the table.
“Jack, would you like to try the marinated goats’ balls?”
He paused, hand poised over the bowl, “You mean cheese balls?”
“No, these are goats’ testicles, not to be confused with New Zealand mountain oysters, which are lambs’ testicles. The outer white skin can be a bit tough but just suck them for a while, then bite through into the sac. The soft glutinous ball inside will fall out, roll it around in your mouth and savour the strong, salty, manly flavour. In the middle, you’ll find a peppery meaty core. Such a distinctive taste!”
“Stop Mum! You’re disgusting, I’m not eating goat testicles.”
Jack staggered out of the room, making ugly gagging noises, with one hand covering his mouth. A smile, perhaps even a smirk, hovered around Jody’s lips as she restored the table to its former glory and drifted off to greet her guests knowing the grazing table would be safe from the marauding Jack.
Fact or Fiction?
There is a fine line between fact and fiction, and I enjoy playing in this writing space. I did buy a jar of marinated goats’ cheese from Rusty’s Market in Cairns and told my son Mark, who was about 14 at the time, that they were indeed goats’ testicles. Poor Mark, twenty years later and he still can’t eat marinated goats’ cheese balls and he’s a cheese lover!
