Bulls on the menu

At least once every year, I go to see a bull fight. I'm not an aficionado by any means, but I go with people who are. They're not what you'd imagine. One of them is a dedicated conservationist, a man who makes his living protecting the natural environment. Another is a veterinary surgeon. Go figure. I took these photos at the last fight I went to, earlier this year. I was down in the ring behind the barrier, just a few feet from the action, and it was terrifying. Next time I go, I’m toying with the idea of doing something different. I want to watch a bullfight and, once it’s over, I want to buy some bull meat, cook it and eat it. Wait, don’t recoil! There’s more to this than meets the eye.

Let’s start with the fight itself and let’s make no bones about this: It is a cruel spectacle. The bull fight is about life and death, about pain and mortality. It is a carefully-choreographed, violent theatre with a set outcome. Watching a bullfight is a sad experience, but it is one that invites you to confront that emotion, to experience the terrifying beauty of a close call, overshadowed by the lingering inevitability of the final outcome. Of course I can understand why people get up in arms about this. It's not nice. The animal rights group People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals describes it as “a ritualistic slaughter" and a "tradition of tragedy". But for me it goes deeper than that. The buttress of history weighs in behind the bullfight and its symbolism is ingrained in the psyche of many Spaniards. In Spain, the bullfight is considered an art form. Indeed bullfighting critics write in the arts pages of the major national dailies. (Now, you can buy all that, or you can leave it. It's fair to say that most people - even in Spain - choose to leave it. In this context, it's important to note that there's a growing body of public opinion in Spain that wants the bullfight banned.)

To properly experience this spectacle, you need to have at least an inkling of what's going on, of the varying degrees of difficulty of each move as the matador engages with the bull. You need to at least be aware of, if not understand, the connection between the man and the animal, to look beyond the blood and follow every flinching muscle, every smooth turn, every calculated sweep of the red cape. You also need to understand that it takes a big pair of cojones to stand before 600 kilos of pure fury, and that although this guy is about to kill this animal in close combat, the relationship between them is intimate, close.

Remember, too, that it's not just bulls that die in bullrings. Men die too. And very occasionally, a brave, honourable bull that fights well is allowed to live. It is allowed to leave the bullring, not to be shot in a yard out the back, but to spend the rest of its days in wild countryside sowing its proverbial oats. It's rare, but it happens.

And consider this. On average, a Spanish bull lives wild for five or six years before it is fought and killed. It lives in herds, roaming virgin fields and forests that are left untouched and undeveloped purely to breed bulls, an existence as natural as you could get. Contact with humans is kept to a minimum. Now compare that to the short, constrained life of your average farmed cow. You know, just like the one in your burger.

So, despite some reservations, I think I’ve made my mind up. I'm going to try this at least once. In anticipation, I've dug out my Spanish cookery books in search of a recipe for bull meat stew. I’ve found a few, all centred on copious amounts of red wine to produce a thick, rich stew. We’ll see which one I go for, but it’s going to happen soon. In Algeciras, starting on Sunday, it’s feria time. There’ll be bull fights most days for the best part of a week. I have a press pass that will let me watch the action at ground level from the callejon, which is as close as you can get without actually having to wear sparkling pants. The day after each fight, specialist stalls in the market will sell the much sought after meat. The next question is, who do I invite to dinner?