James the Chop

In the cool air under the glass dish in the refrigerated display counter, lay a rump steak decorated with dill. "Stay away, stay away, let the customers see me properly," it said. The middle rib steak pushed him: "The customers don't want anything as big and heavy as you." "Stop quarrelling," the tenderloin said and made a space for the rump steak. "There's room for everyone here." "Hah," the beef said with his bull's-voice. "Customers who know what they want always buy beef." The mild, but over-weight ham wasn't disturbed by the jostling: "Just go on with your quarrelling, nothing is as good as me with mustard on." In the corner the entrecote lay silent and beautiful: "What am I doing in this vulgar society," she sighed and turned her back to the others. "There should be a separate cabinet for delights such as myself."

But there was one that didn't quarrel, namely James the Chop. He played the guitar and sang:

"A Chop is fat
Everyone knows that
Take a bite, and I might
whet your appetite."

The butcher was a fat man with a striped and blue apron. His name was Mons, and he had a large, sharp knife in his hands. When Mrs. Olsen came to him she asked: "Mons, I have invited dinner guests tonight and we will have bananas for dessert. Can you recommend something for the main dish?" Mons lay his big, fat face in thoughtful folds and said: "The neck of pork is very tasty today, you should give it a try."

James was sorry he hadn't been sold to Mrs Olsen. He would enjoy being the main dish for her and her guests. But he kept on playing and singing as if nothing had happened. In the meantime Mons recommended the liver to Mrs Hull, and said that the rump steak practically melted in the mouth when Mrs Simson asked for advice. Mons even recommended the entrecote that lay self-importantly with her back to the others. "I'm so fine that my name doesn't exist in English. Entrecote is French," she said and started babbling about how fine French food is.

"Bah, you aren't any better than the rest of us," James said jealously, because nobody bought him. But then the entrecote displayed her marbled shanks and said: "Why do you think entrecote is more expensive than a common chop, if it isn't because I'm finer and better?" Then James struck a note on his guitar and sang:

"A Chop is what you need
It will do the deed.
Don't eat an entrecote
It doesn't taste a lot
The Chop is sweet and hearty
And you can afford to party."

As the day went by there were less and less pieces of meat for James to play and sing for. Fine ladies had pointed out rump steaks and ham, but nobody wanted to buy James. The entrecote laughed at him when she was picked out. "Just sit there with your stupid guitar," she said. "It's me people want when they invite to real parties."

When James was alone on the counter he sang sadly: "Here lies a chop so sweet - miserable in his own meat."

Mons took a look at his wristwatch. He washed his knife and big hands. "Well, well, let's close the shop, my little chop," he said. James was so sad. He threw away his guitar and shouted. "Why haven't you sold me? I, who am the funniest, happiest little chop in the world?"

Mons bent down to James and smiled: "But that's just because I want you for myself. Its not too often such a fine chop lies on my counter you know." James was so glad when he heard this; He picked up his guitar and played:

"I'm so happy
because I will be
the butchers dinner tonight.
And when he fries me
I will play and sing
about the chop's delight.
That's better than jelly and cake.
Yes, better than jelly and cake."

© Martin Nygaard