Once again I go to my Spanish lesson, and Paul takes Daisy to the market, where she gets kissed and fussed over. I struggle with the past tense, masculine and feminine, and just about everything else as well, and have to go to sleep when I get back to the house after my lesson.
We manage to buy real bread, which is a total treat, though I’m sure everyone thinks I am a real cop-out for not loving tortillas. However, Mexican food is not the riot of burritos and fajitas that everyone expects when they arrive here. Mexicans in the south eat corn tortillas (slimey unless toasted), with refried beans, eggs, avocados and huge bits of fried pigskin called chicharron (like huge pork scratchings).
What meat there is is usually pork, which is fine as long as it is properly cooked, but could give you worms in the brain if it isn’t. Any beef is likely to be of low quality, and the chicken is good, but can lose its appeal once you have seen the Tzotzil women dangling their live chickens by their legs in the market, while the children on their hips play idly with the chicken’s feet by way of amusement.
Incidentally, fried chicken’s feet are a great hit at parties over here – kids just love to chew the tough skin round the edges. We shall, of course, be serving them for Daisy’s first birthday when we are back in London, and will expect everyone to be thrilled.
Mexican food, then, can quickly become tiresome, so I am glad we are mostly cooking for ourselves. The fruit and veg is wonderful. Right now it seems to be lychee season, and men are selling them off carts all over the city, along with corn on the cob steamed over braziers. It is heartening that the woman selling empanadas (little cheese patties) on the main street, seems to be doing better business than the brand new Burger King which sits opposite her pitch.
No comments:
Post a Comment