The place is half market, dominated by a long display cooler holding tray after tray of meat and meat products, and half kitchen, with walk-in coolers behind heavy wooden doors, massive commercial stoves and maybe a dozen work tables total, surfaced with maple, marble or stainless steel.
Instead, you're kept going by the myriad treats that pass under your nose at various points throughout the day: dipping a rogue splinter of pork crackling into anchovy gunge, or soaking some freshly baked sourdough bread in a nearby roasting tray of meat juices.
Trays of meat ranging from tissue-thin slices of rib-eye to tripe arrive, and after a brief grilling you use chopsticks to dip the meat in sweet soy or sesame sauce and eat.
"Hey little girl, is your daddy home?" it goes, presumably because there isn't already enough in this film to make audiences pull a face like they've just sniffed a tray of putrid meat.
"You should just worry about your grades," reprimands Marina Aniskin good-naturedly, returning from the kitchen with a tray of cold meats.
It was full of forklifts and plastic-wrapped couches, and youthful entrepreneurs milled around tables displaying trays of smoked meat.
Below, however, in the steaming galleys, sailors had hastily set up production lines near the trays of sliced meat and pans filled with fried chicken wings.
Around two o'clock, trays of braising meat come out of the oven, but there is no place to put them, so they are stacked on the first available surface — a waste bin, the pasta freezer, somebody's lunch.
While school lunches have never approached haute cuisine, some of us can recall a time when trays of mystery meat and creamed corn offered a sort of bonding experience, something we suffered through together, like showers after phys.
He begins by drinking the puddles of the stuff that collect in the polystyrene trays of supermarket meat, then he's licking raw lamb chops straight from the fridge, and before long he's biting the head off next door's chicken.
For the first time ever, I was approached by naked big-bellied men carrying trays of barbecued meat and offering me vodka and a puff of a joint after commenting on the state of my pubic hair.
