two: honey and hatalis of bir

I ’fess I’m only humun, I hab my joys an’ cares—/ Sum days de clouds hang hebby, sum days de skies ar’ fair;/ But I forgib my in’miz, my heart is free frum hate,/ When my bread is filled wid cracklins an’ dar’s chidlins on my plate.
Hog Meat, Daniel Webster Davis

Suleiman bin Saif bin Darwish bin Mohammed al Hatali might sound like a paragraph and look like a legend, but he is real. He stands perhaps six feet tall, broad shouldered, barrel chested, shaven headed and bearded, with a knife where a belt buckle could have been. Straight out of the 1,001 Nights, he looks like he could skin a goat – or a man – with a flick of his dagger. But he lowers it instead, dipping it into the bowl offered to us on the cold concrete floor, plunging it through the thick sweetness of honey and beeswax. Forget jars, USFDA ratings and spoons. You have to scoop a piece of beehive off the tip of the knife, and squish it in your mouth till you get as much honey and as little wax down your throat as possible. It’s always a bit of a compromise. When Suleiman first offered a piece to me I thought I had to chew it, so I downed everything – honey and wax honeycomb – only to see everyone else spit their pulpy remnants out.

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