10 Years Ago: Antigua, Guatemala: Yogurt and Bread

 

My typical food menu remains the same today as it did 10 years ago, as do my prejudices about food trends that purport to perform miracles of super-health. Fortunately, I'm a person who feels satisfied with the same foods day after day. Maybe that's because my daily food is sexy to me, so I don't lust for paramours. OK, well. There is kettle corn, a long-time lover with which I pass a little time maybe twice a year. 

I rarely have bread. Revisiting this 10-year old post on bread sends me into reveries of delicious memories. 

About that blackberry yogurt in Antigua: While in Quito this past year, I sought jugo de mora, that magical potion that I experienced in Quite decades ago, the memory of which is permanently embedded in my brain, but the closest I could get to it were packets of powdered blackberry drink, which I bought at every opportunity. They were quite good. Sadly, I abandoned my accumulated packets in Lima, Peru, under duress, a story I will likely tell sometime soon. Months later, my regret at their loss remains palpable. 

Monday, May 2, 2016

Antigua, Guatemala: Yogurt and Bread

Generally, I live on a pretty straightforward menu, which consists of some protein, bread, lots of vegetables and fruit. Strong-flavored cheese at times.

No worries, I'm not about to embark on a litany in adoration of the latest trend based on junk-science, whether it be paleo, blood-type, gluten-free-for-everyone, raw food, whole30, or whatever else the shit is out there being hawked by modern-day snake-oil sellers these days. Also, I'm not a foodie, at least not in the sense of being a gourmet.

I'm just offering a preface to get to today's topic: yogurt and bread.

Because although my dietary regimen is pretty boring by most measures, I love the food I eat. And when a particular item on my usual menu surpasses my expectations, I get a little swoony.  Don't even get me started on the wonders of the snappy, sweet, jumbo carrots you can get inside Antigua's cavernous municipal market.

Or how I practically licked the plate at an Italian restaurant in Antigua, where I lapped up the pasta in an Alfredo sauce with such enthusiasm, a dish I hadn't had in maybe a year or more, that the gentleman I was with appeared a little alarmed at just how much I enjoyed that meal. I looked him straight in the eye and smiled without shame.

But anyhoo, on to the main point of this post.

Yogurt. I don't remember if I stumbled on the yogurt at Doña Luisa's little storefront bakery adjacent to the well-known restaurant, or if someone recommended it to me, but Goddamn, that yogurt is good! I tried the blackberry (mora) yogurt first, as a bit of nostalgia from my trip to Ecuador in my youth, where the memory of whipped, frothy blackberry juice I bought there has stuck with me ever since. The texture of Doña Luisa's yogurt is thick and a little granular, so in addition to a delicious flavor, it has a luscious mouth feel.

It's more expensive than any of the other yogurt  I tried in Antigua, but exponentially richer in flavor and feel.

Bread. By pure chance, on a certain day at a certain time on a certain stretch of sidewalk near Central Park in Antigua, I bought a bag of rolls from a woman who sat on said sidewalk. I am rolling my eyes heavenward just thinking of them. Round, kind of flat, with a bit of chewiness, and just a little sweetness. 

Sadly, after I consumed all of the rolls, I couldn't find them anywhere again. Anywhere! I didn't even know what they were called. In describing the rolls to just about everyone I met, someone would offer a name for them, and I'd hie myself to the multitude of bakeries in town and ask about them. I tried a couple that were similar in looks and shape. No!

Eventually, after some goose-chasing leads, I got a couple of new name possibilities from my Spanish teacher: "pan de Patzún" or "pan de maxtate." Bingo. The reason I couldn't find this bread in any of the bakeries is because it isn't sold in any of the bakeries in Antigua (at least not that I found). It is a local bread from the countryside, let's call it a farmer's bread, perhaps considered too rustic by city folk.

With the new intel, I continued to ask around where I might find this bread. A new lead came to me, I think it was from the guy who sells bus tickets to Lake Atitlan in the cafe across from a local supermarket: "If you go over there (pointing to an area outside the supermarket) on Tuesday afternoons at about 3:00, no, maybe 4:00, you'll find a woman who sells this bread." I learned from this gentleman, or perhaps another informant, that the bread is normally sold inside the massive Antiguan municipal market, brought in from the countryside only on the big market days.

Guatemalan bread: Pan de maxtate or pan de Patzún. Antigua, Guatemala. April 2016.

I couldn't find this woman on the designated afternoon, so to the municipal market I went. I asked this vendor, and that vendor, and the other vendor. "Pan de maxtate? Pan de Patzún?" No, no, no. Then someone pointed deeper into the darkness of the market, "Back there." I kept asking. Finally, a woman indicated she knew where I could find this bread, and she led me there. Aha! A woman had baskets of it! The holy grail!

I bought a huge bag of the rolls to hopefully last me the duration of my visit. And it did.

Guatemalan bread: Pan de maxtate or pan de Patzún. Antigua, Guatemala. April 2016.

Guatemalan bread: Pan de maxtate or pan de Patzún. Antigua, Guatemala. April 2016.

Sigh. Mission complete.

Bluewater Lake State Park, New Mexico: Vienna Sausages

 

Walmart Vienna sausages. July 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.:

Yes, processed foods are of Satan. 

Nevertheless, all because of a visit to the village store just outside the Bluewater Lake State Park entrance, where I camped last week, I embarked on a taste comparison of Vienna sausages: 

• Great Value
• Libby's
• Armour

The store played a role because its shelves included Vienna sausages and other canned meats, including canned roast beef, which I will talk about another day. 

Because the temps, day by day, had been in the 90s, taxing both my ice chest and my limited creativity in finding protein that interested me and didn't require refrigeration, I paused before these baby-food hot dogs. 

I call it baby food because I associate Vienna sausages with highchair fare, vicariously picked up by the chubby fingers of a floor-crawling lil tyke, pushed by a not-so-steady fist into her drooly mouth, which she often shapes into a heart-melting, mostly-toothless grin.

Libby's Vienna sausages. July 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.:

 

My reviews: 

• Great Value (Walmart): Silky, reminiscent of my family's culinary heritage of braunschweiger-and-Miracle Whip-on-Roman Meal-bread lunches, a veritable paté. I liked it. 
• Libby's: Inferior to Great Value - one of those taste experiences so bland, it would be better to have something that tasted bad. 
• Armour: I ate it, but the memory of the act slid right off my brain pan, it was so forgettable. 

 

Armour Vienna sausages. July 2023. Credit: Mzuriana.:

 

Mobile, Alabama: Salt-Clumping Season

 

 

COVID salt. Tucson, Arizona. March 2020. Credit: Mzuriana.

Yes, it arrived about three weeks ago, I reckon. Salt-clumping season. Which some might call the rainy season or the impending hurricane season.

When the salt crystals in my shaker decide to organize into a unified group against their customary freefall onto my waiting dish, upsetting the proper order of things.

When I must introduce a union buster to show 'em who's the boss. A cracker. Some rice grains.

Other seasons

2011: On Mangoes: The Mango Season is Here (original source in Cock and Bull Stories by Ngishili here from the Wayback Machine)

2012: Caucasus, Georgia: The Tutebi Are Here

2013: The Seven Seasons of New Mexico

2013: New Mexico: The Windy Season

2014: Lafayette, Louisiana: The Mardi Gras Season Begins

2016: Antigua, Guatemala: Ant Season is Coming

 

Mobile, Alabama: Rutabagas

 

 

An altar of rutabagas. Mobile, Alabama. November 2021.

When I was a teen, I enjoyed several weeks-long stays with my mother's mother, May. She liked to cook me lunch. May introduced me to two vegetables, boiled, that I'd never had at home.

A turnip. 

A rutabaga.

Each was a curiosity and mildly pleasing in an almost-sour sort of way. Alt-potatoes, you might say. 

May prepared the exotic-to-me vegetables one time only. Since those two experiences, decades ago, I may have experimented with a boiled turnip once, but otherwise, I never ate either again. 

But now I'm in Mobile, Alabama. And in the last two months, I estimate I've eaten a pound of rutabaga a day. 

This is because I have become accustomed to do my weekly produce shopping at the Mac's Produce Market over on Old Schell Road. There is a bin of rutabagas there. Fifty-nine cents a pound. 

I slice the wax-and-skin layer from this graceless, blobular root vegetable, chunk up the yellow flesh (which requires some muscle), boil it, then sear the chunks in my skillet to put on a little char and coax its inherent sweetness out some more. I season the rutabaga with salt, pepper, cinnamon, and some Splenda.

Because of the weekly pile o' rutabagas at Mac's, I thought there was a connection between Alabama and rutabagas, but I find no evidence of same. 

How long will my rutabaga run last? Dunno. Prolly til the local supply disappears or the price jacks up.

Sidebar: Note my little herb garden of rosemary and basil. 

Related posts

2019: Tucson, AZ: Food Rescue

2016: Antigua, Guatemala: Inside the Municipal Market

2016: El Paso: Back in the Kingdom of Ants

2013: Lafayette, Louisiana: Oil Center Farmer's Market in Winter

2012: Istanbul: Larceny and Spice (and leeches)

2011: Rustavi, Caucasus Georgia: At the "Big" Market

Word of the Year: Joy 9: A Tomato and Onion Sandwich

Tomato and sweet onion sandwich. August 2021.

 

Is there not something joyful about a simple tomato and onion sandwich? 

Especially if the tomato is from a home garden. 

My descendant does not like tomatoes, but she has them in her garden. I was the lucky recipient of a day's harvest. 

When an earthy, red tomato rests momentarily on your tongue, it is the warmth of a summer afternoon sun that rests there. This is mighty fine. 

Add the crunch of a sweet onion, the soothing scratch of toasted bread, and the black pepper kick, well, now you've got some joy. 

 

Related posts

• September 2011: An Evening in Tsalaskuri, Georgia 
• December 2018: Mexico City: My Daily Eats

 

Birmingham, AL: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 888: Landing and Time Travel

Lunch at Red Sea Restaurant. Birmingham, Alabama. July 2020.

NOTE: My COVID-19 posts are all over the chronological map for now; I'll number them down the road. 


I landed in Birmingham on Sunday, just before lunch time. I had no idea where I'd be sleeping that night, other than it'd be a place with good internet so I could resume work the next day.

When I research new cities, I look for certain little things that perk me up in a place, and which also serve as markers for a city's demographic and cultural life. One of these markers is the existence of an Ethiopian restaurant. (Tucson has four Ethiopian/Eritrean restaurants.) If a city has an Ethiopian restaurant, I infer two desirable characteristics:

1. There is at least a small habesha community in the city, which suggests the presence of a larger international community (from additional countries); and
2. There is a large-enough community of non-Ethiopian diners who know about, appreciate, and keep afloat the Ethiopian restaurant, which suggests at least a fair number of residents with broad tastes in life's offerings.

I'd learned there was an Ethiopian restaurant in Birmingham, and that seemed as good a place as any to serve as my google map destination, rather than just "Birmingham."

The universe is a whimsical place. How else can one explain that the Red Sea Restaurant has two menus: Ethiopian and ... Cajun(Creole)!

Dining in

It was actually possible to dine in on my landing day, and I did so. This was risk-taking behavior, and I ain't gonna try to sugarcoat that. I did take measures to mitigate some risk by wearing a mask before and after my meal and washing my hands carefully before and after my meal. The staff also wore masks. At any given moment, there were fewer than five people in the dining and counter space.

Still. I acknowledge the risk.

The chefs

The Ethiopian chef is Gini, and her hometown, it excited me to learn, is Harar. Oh, wild and crazy Harar, how I loved thee.

OK, now get this: The Cajun (and I always add the name Creole when I say it to myself or others because to only recognize one cuisine's parent and not the other, that is playing a role in disappearing a cultural heritage) chef is from .......... Ghana.

I love this.

Because the birthplace of gumbo is West Africa, a Ghanaian Cajun/Creole chef is poetic. Does it matter that the chef has never been to South Louisiana (and to New Orleans only once, if I recall correctly)? No. At least he thinks not. He has the confidence of a chemist (in one of his previous lives) and a cook in the skills he learned from a Cajun/Creole chef.

Time and place travel

The juxtaposition of an Ethiopian and Cajun/Creole menu enchanted me! To be in Birmingham - my present - and eat at a place that references two of my past lives - a bright omen! 

Tucson, AZ: COVID-19 Unfolding, Part 4: A Second Kindness

This morning I went to the food rescue at St. Demetrios Greek Orthodox Church on Fort Lowell. I arrived near its 8:00 opening, thinking there wouldn't be many people there, at least not at the start. Hoo boy, was I wrong! A crowded parking lot and a long line.


OK, then.


I gave the people in front of me and behind me a generous portion of space for their protection and mine. I brought gloves with me. Exact change ($12) so neither the intake guy nor I would have to handle any more bills than necessary. I inserted my paper "account" card into a plastic ID carrier so I could clean it later. Prepared to read aloud my card's number instead of expecting the intake guy to hold it so, again, neither of us would have to handle this stuff unnecessarily.


Waited in line. Did some stretches.


And you know what? When I arrived at the front of the line, I learned that someone way up ahead had paid for FORTY people behind him! Just to save you the math energy, that's almost 500 bucks!!! As each of of us approached, we had the option, of course, to continue paying forward or to accept gracefully the gift. I happily paid it forward because, damn, I still have work, I don't have a lot of bills, and I don't have young'n's at home.

The intake guy wore a mask and gloves, and the usual taking-down-of-the-card-numbers was in abeyance for this week.

I was grateful to bring home good vegetables for the coming week:

• Grape tomatoes
• Roma tomatoes
• Baby acorn squash
• Green beans
• A honeydew melon
• Mini red bell peppers
• English cucumbers

 In other shopping news, the shelves are still bare of these items:

• Toilet paper
• Paper towels
• Bleach
• Hand sanitizer
• Gallon water jugs
• Eggs

In the event I come down with the crown, I laid in a supply of some symptom-relieving meds. As my liquid hand soap supply is running low, I'm transferring to bars of soap, and I bought some of those today.

For my comfort items on Survivor Island, I bought a two-liter bottle of diet ginger ale and one of diet root beer.

Tucson, AZ: Giant Squash

Big squash, Food City, Tucson, Arizona. November 2019.

I was on a jicama run at the Food City on Flowing Wells when my eyes grew wide, and maybe my mouth opened in awe. A large bin of big, big squash.

Big squash, Food City, Tucson, Arizona. November 2019.

GIANT squash.


For scale, I propped my Dollar Tree reading glasses on these big bodies.

Big squash, Food City, Tucson, Arizona. November 2019.

I thumped 'em, smoothed 'em, pushed one around a bit, just to get the feel of the massiveness. Considered buying one, then didn't. Maybe another time.

Instead I stocked up on some zucchini.



I  believe it's cushaw squash aka Mexican hard squash aka ha:l. Another person's experience here, along with recipes.

Tucson, AZ: Food Rescue

Food rescue, Tucson, Arizona. August 2019.

Soon after I landed in Tucson, I learned about the food rescue program, where one could pay $10 or $12 and receive up to 60 or 70 pounds in produce. This hit all of my buttons: Frugality! fruits and vegetables! doing a good deed!

One of my housemates in my temporary Tucson base was a devotee of Tucson food banks, and perhaps also the food rescue. He made several forays each week to his hunting grounds, bringing back massive quantities of food. Once he brought home grilled salmon!

The food banks, appropriately, have income ceilings, but the public food rescue programs are for anyone who plops down their 10 or 12 bucks.

One of my students from another country expressed some surprise at this, saying: "Shouldn't this be restricted to the poor"?

Well, no. Reasons why it's good to offer food rescue to the general public: 

1. Stigmas about food banks keep some eligible folks from using a food bank; by paying for the produce, there is no stigma
2. Furthermore, when you see consumers who appear to be of every socio-economic group at a food rescue station, it further validates that food rescue is for everyone to participate in, not just low-income folks
3. Besides: Why should low-income folks only get stuff that might otherwise be considered undesirable?
4. Because it is not uncommon for some of the produce to be, shall we say, "elderly," many members of the general public will self-select out of the food rescue stations, as they prefer to pay by the pound for fresh produce at their favorite grocery stores
5. Someone who pays something for food is more likely to find a way to consume it (or share it) rather than letting it go to waste because there was no cost
6. Less food goes to waste

Food rescue, Tucson, Arizona. August 2019.

The operation in Tucson I've become familiar with is Borderlands' Produce on Wheels. It operates in several Arizona cities, and in Tucson, at least in August, it has two stations that volunteers set up each week, which sometimes move from one location to another during the month.

The first week, I received:

• Tomatoes
• Butternut squash
• Spaghetti squash
• Anaheim peppers
• Cucumbers
• Small watermelons

The second week:

• Tomatoes
• Red grapes
• Butternut squash
• Spaghetti squash
• Pumpkin
• Red peppers

The third week:

• Eggplant
• Green grapes
• Tomatillos
• Pumpkins
• Spaghetti squash
• Acorn squash
• Cucumbers
• Mangoes 
• Serrano peppers

Food rescue, Tucson, Arizona. August 2019.

 Here's a 2016 Borderlands video about its program:

Another advantage of food rescue is the introduction of unfamiliar vegetables and fruits to consumers. My daily diet is rich in fruits and vegetables, yet I'm naive about some items.

I experimented with the Anaheim peppers I received my first week. I roasted them in a skillet, then inserted them into a two-egg omelette. Holy moly, that was good. Like a chile relleno experience, only healthier. If any appear in a future rescue event, I will mentally clap my hands together like a little girl.

The serrano peppers I got in yesterday's harvest - tasty, but too much heat for me to enjoy in my everyday world.

I had never roasted a pumpkin until yesterday. Beautiful, luxurious orange flesh; roasted up just fine in the oven. Glad for the experience, but it was more liquidy than I like, thus squashes such as butternut, acorn, and spaghetti still have my heart.

Tucson, AZ: Tohono O'odham: Tepary Beans

Tepary beans and tortilla, Waila Festival, Sahuarita, Arizona. May 2019.

Yesterday a friend and I went to the 3rd Annual Waila Festival at the Desert Diamond Casino in Sahuarita, which is a town not far from Tucson.

The Waila Festival brings together various elements of the Tohono O'odham communities in the region, such as music, food, jewelry, woodwork, and other artisanal products.

My friend and I shared a bowl of tepary beans and short rib meat, paired with a tortilla.

Before we ordered the dish, the festival vendor gave me a spoonful for tasting. Not much spicing, but the bean itself had a flavor new to me. It carries a bit of its own spice in its little body, which I was curious to investigate further. There were about as many tender morsels of short-rib meat in the mix as one might see in one's childhood kitchen in a large family, and mom is stretching the expensive stuff so everyone can have a little.

The tortilla was thin-thin and fried, wilty from its weight in oil, with a hint of sweetness, I thought.

I'd never heard of tepary beans, so when I got home, I looked them up. National Public Radio's, The Salt, did a piece in 2018 on tepary beans and their connection to Tohono O'odham's heritage: Arizona's Tepary Beans Preserve A Native Past, Hold Promise For The Future. A related video below from KJZZ in Phoenix:

KJZZ also did a cute video about tepary beans here:

Tepary beans "taste like the desert."

Las Cruces NM 2019: Squash Body

Butternut squash. February 2019.

My photos of this butternut squash bottom do not satisfy me.

But not one to be wasteful, I will present them anyway because it is the essence of squash that does satisfy.

The butternut holds its seeds in its uterine space, cradling them in a sinewy net, swaddling them within thick, soft-strong flesh, finally enveloping them with a thin, sturdy shell.

Butternut squash. February 2019.

The butternut shell deflects crawling and flying marauders, too much cold and too much heat, too much rain and too little rain.

It cracks open to my knife.

I roast this butternut.

I eat its softened shell.
I eat its butterscotch flesh.
I eat its crunchy seeds, salted and shiny with sprayed oil.

All that I leave are strings of sinew and that hard nub which once connected my meal to her green matriarch, rooted in the earth.

Stuff: Lingerie Vegetaria

Peaches, pears, and jicama in lingerie. February 2019.

I bought a trio of reusable mesh bags for bagging produce at the grocery store.

Peaches, pears, and jicama in lingerie. February 2019.

Placed my peaches, pears, and jicama in the soft folds of the bags.

The round fruits and fresh-skinned jicama peeked like brides from their wedding veils.

Or cheekily from white-netted lingerie.

Peaches, pears, and jicama in lingerie. February 2019.

Peaches, pears, and jicama in lingerie. February 2019.

Being green can be sexy.

El Paso 2019: Mexican Fusion

 

El Cuartito, El Paso, Texas. January 2019.

On Sunday, couple-friends of mine, “Laura” and “Wayne,” picked me up so we could go to Sunland Park Racetrack and Casino to listen to mariachi bands.

Laura and Wayne met at one of the hiking meetups in the area a few years ago. They got married last year! Shortly before I moved away from El Paso in 2017, they took me and a mutual friend to White Sands for an evening hike. What a gift that was.

At Sunland, the three of us watched little girls and boys practice their burgeoning dance skills to the mariachi beats.

Mariachi at Sunland Park, El Paso, Texas (sort of). January 2019.

While chatting with Laura and Wayne, nursing a drink, there were so many visual tapas to savor: the mariachi band within, and outside: mountains, the race track with running horses, an ambulance that followed the horses on an outside track, a lagoon with a fountain, and a sapphire sky.

For dinner, Laura and Wayne took me to a Mexican ramen restaurant – a fusion of Mexican and Japanese cuisine. Scrumptious. Come in!

My first gif! The opening door to teeny Cuartito, El Paso, Texas. January 2019.

The restaurant, called El Cuartito (the little room), is aptly named, as it is in a tiny room with a small bar; the entire place might seat 10 people.

El Cuartito, El Paso, Texas. January 2019.

El Cuartito, El Paso, Texas. January 2019.

Do I remember the name of the ramen I had? No, but you can look at the before and almost after below:

El Cuartito, El Paso, Texas. January 2019.

El Cuartito, El Paso, Texas. January 2019.

El Cuartito, El Paso, Texas. January 2019.

Mexico City: My Daily Eats

My typical fare in Mexico City. November 2018.

In my early days here, I had my share of tacos and gorditos deliciosos, but then I settled down into more typical eating for me.

Most days, I boil eggs or make an omelette for breakfast. Day-to-day, my lunch, dinner and night-time meal are a variation of:

• Bread from my preferred panaderia;
• Hard, salty farmers´cheese from the Saturday market;
• Tomatoes;
• Fruit;
• Carrots;
• Jicama.

In the photo above is a giant, angry-red orange from Michoacan. It is sweet with a fragrant, sharp note.

Also above is a clutch of variegated rosemary, which I add to my tomato sandwiches or omelettes.

Mexico City. The Prosaic and the Profound

Pupusas being born. Mexico City, Mexico. November 2018.

Today, this is what happened:

A refugee Salvadoran family of four, some of my housemates, invited me to a dinner of homemade pupusas and curtida. Delicious! Served with the curtida, a sort of cabbage slaw, and a drizzle of thin salsa atop the pupusa, one eats it with one´s hands, tearing off a portion of the puposa and folding, then embracing a bit of curtida, then bringing it to your mouth for a smooth, crunchy, tart, bean-y, fatty bite.

The pre-dinner conversation among the Salvadorans at the guesthouse was of how flavorfully important pupusas are in the culture! It was a passionate conversation. Not just anyone can make a great pupusa!

 A young woman from Honduras, refugees from one of the caravans, will give birth in about two weeks. Where? She does not know. She and her husband have a cheeky, chortling one year-old who loves to kick a ball in our community room. Can you even imagine what would prompt a young couple with a small child and another due, to leave everything they know behind, to walk into an uncertain future?

After dinner, I learned how to say fart in Spanish. And what you call someone who farts a lot. (BTW, that someone is a "pedorro.")

A woman I know told me of something she did that was so emotionally brave, it kind of blew me away.

Earlier tonight, while I lay in bed, I listened to the young father of the one year-old singing in the shower with a confident, operatic voice.

One of the young Salvadoran women here witnessed a man outside the Revolucion metro station assaulting a woman who was presumably his wife. While other witnesses stood by watching the assault, my housemate ran for the police to get help.

El Paso: Don't You Hate When People Post Pics of Food?

Me, too.

So here I am going to post a couple. I don't even know why I took this pictures, but I did, and I sure don't want them to go to waste.

Not because of any lessons to expound upon, but like Sally Fields said once, sort of, "Gosh darn, I just love the fuck out of these things." Well, she said the word "like" that one time. Oh wait, I see that I didn't use the word "like" at all. Let's just say Sally Field's speech inspired what I said.

So, roasted zucchini. I don't coddle these vegs. I just slice 'em rather haphazardly, spray some spray on them, and drop salt, pepper, and whatever other spices I want on them. No parmesan cheese or other fancy stuff. No olive oil, chaste or otherwise. I roast them in the oven for about an hour at about 425 degrees. All of the sugary sweetness comes out. On this particular day in November, I probably threw some Cajun/Creole spice on them, hence the orange color you see.

In the cooler months of the year, I eat probably a pound of zucchini a day. On some days, two pounds.

Then here's my new El Paso go-to --> jícama:

The above is not a particularly fine specimen of jícama (no disrespect to Melissa), now that I know a thing or two about what I like in this root vegetable. But it's the picture I have on hand.

On the jícama, I sprinkle Tajín promiscuously. Tajín is a brand of dried chiles and lime juice and salt. I eat about two pounds of jícama a day.

Below is a sexy picture of Tajín: 

And now, to complement my soft-porn food pics, here's a picture of a cat, specifically the Holy Cat of Opelousas:

Toronto: More Organs

Pig intestines. Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.

Mmmm, pig intestines.

It's funny how tourism works. Oh, right, excuse me: traveling.

We take pictures of things we find extraordinary, but which local folks find ordinary.

Like, ooh, pig intestines! Or toe-biters!

Nothing wrong with this, just human nature. Animal nature, in fact. We stare at or draw closer to that which is different and curious to us.

Toronto seems to like its organs. Like those brains.

And these uteri:

Uteri. Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.

I'm sure uteri must be tasty, but I don't know. Kind of primal, like a new mother eating the placenta of her newborn. Does a woman feel the same about eating a uterus as a man feels about eating a uterus? Maybe this question also applies to eating fried scrota.

Is there a different flavor between a uterus that has never carried a fetus versus one that has?

Below is an excerpt from a Village Voice article on pig uteri:

The reproductive organs are slippery and crunchy--again, not unlike overcooked squid. But, like beef penis, uterus doesn't have much flavor, except a whiff of very wet dog, and an aftertaste of musky, murky piggishness.

Pig tails. Toronto, Ontario, Canada. June 2016.

The above pig tails don't fall into the organ category, but I've got to put them somewhere. Consider them a lagniappe. Brings back memories of the Step 'n Strut Trail Ride in Plaisance, Louisiana, a few years ago, at which fried pig tails were available. I regret I didn't try them then.

Fried pig tails, Step n Strut, Plaisance, Louisiana. November 2014.

While we're reminiscing, and speaking of brains, I remember those sizzling brains in Kutaisi, in Caucasus Georgia, which Sandy and I visited together.

Brains, Kutaisi, Caucasus Georgia. March 2012.

Lake Atitlan, Guatemala: A Candelight Dinner

Just up a little bit on the steep road from La Iguana Perdido is a second-floor café of the mom and pop variety. I drew an arrow to point it out in the photo below:

Santa Cruz, Lake Atitlan, Guatemala. April 2016.

A Santa Cruz travel buddy - Jane -  and I entered to have dinner there. It was getting dark and we weren't sure the restaurant would be open, but it was.

The señora we'd spoken to earlier in the day wasn't at the café, but a young girl, maybe between 10 and 12, was present. Another little girl appeared. They took Jane's and my order, then hustled into the tiny kitchen on the other side of the ordering counter, which was behind our table.

Santa Cruz, Lake Atitlan, Guatemala. April 2016.

There was no electricity in the cafe, and one of the girls lit the candles on our table. I don't remember what either of us ordered, but it did require cooking. We could hear the young girls talking and moving around in the petite kitchen, and working with a gas oven.

I expected the café matron to appear, but no, these little girls were both our servers and cooks. Well, some of the food had been prepared previously, so some of the work involved heating it up.

Nevertheless, the level of responsibility at play here --> Greeting us, seating us, setting the table, lighting the candles, taking our orders, preparing our dinners, serving them, accepting payment. The quiet discussions and occasional giggling behind the counter.

The señora arrived as we were preparing to leave the restaurant. She explained that one of the girls was her granddaughter. If I remember correctly, the other little girl was the señora's hired helper.

The food was tasty - neither superior nor inferior to the food I ate at La Iguana Perdida.

When encountering children who work - and who maybe go to school and maybe not - it sets up debates in my mind.

My Spanish teacher and I had a conversation about the young kids who worked at the market in Antigua. I wondered if they weren't required to attend school? Theoretically, education is mandatory between ages 7 and 14. But setting aside the theoretical requirement, my Spanish teacher countered my indirect judgmentalism with this argument: By working every day in the market, don't the children gain an education? Such as learning about real-world math in their money-handling transactions? Communication skills via salesmanship, networking, and negotiations?

On one level, sure. And there are centuries of history in many cultures, in which children have matured into educated, skilled adult artisans and merchants who live very well by dint of apprenticeship.

And it is not intrinsically bad or harmful for children to work, assuming the work is safe and does not compromise other quality of life issues.

On another level - well, my Spanish teacher's daughter is going to school. Private school. With an expectation, I believe, of going on to university after she completes high school.

And speaking of girls: Research shows a strong correlation between girls' number of years in school and girls' age at first pregnancy. In other words, the longer a girl stays in school, the older she is before she becomes pregnant the first time. Education also has ramifications for the girls' lifetime health, the health of their children, and by extension the overall economic welfare of the girls'-to-women's families.

When it comes to questions in which it is difficult for me to see the line that divides mere cultural differences and cultural dysfunctions, I ask myself if the tradition supports or denies an individual's right to self-determination. Some definitions of self-determination below: 

• The free choice of one's acts without compulsion. (Merriam-Webster Dictionary)
• The individual’s right to live his life as he chooses, as long as he does not violate any other person’s right to life, liberty, and honestly acquired property. (Foundation for Economic Education)
• We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  (Declaration of Independence)

So. These two young girls in the mom-and-pop restaurant in Santa Cruz. And for that matter, the señora.

What are their stories?

Antigua, Guatemala: Meat Delivery

Meat delivery to the Bodegona, Antigua, Guatemala. April 2016.

Meat delivery to the Bodegona Supermarket in Antigua.


Some articles on beef in Guatemala

• Cattle Today: U.S. Beef Takes Root in Guatemala (2007). I'm trying to imagine a cow taking root, but I'm having difficulty.
• Puyaso and Lomito Are the Most Popular Beef Cuts in Guatemala (2013)
• Better Livestock Management in Guatemala (2011)