Mi Casa
The nearest grocery store to our house that does not have crackwhore pee in the doorway instead of a welcome mat is Mi Pueblo, our friendly neighborhood supermercado. The sunshine-yellow shopping carts and seven-for-a-dollar corn on the cob more than make up for the g--d--- mariachi music that, as soon as I saw the Southwestern-style stucco exterior, I just knew would be piped through the overhead speakers. "I like shopping music I can dance to," Simon said, tapping down the produce aisle that featured ten variaties of chilies, the fumes of which alone were giving me a spicy headrush. "What? You can't dance to Michael Bolton?" I asked innocently.
All the signs and most of the product labels at Mi Pueblo are bilingual; the staff, not so much. Simon engaged in a lively game of charades with the butcher before he (Simon) understood that los corazons del pollos would be delivered fresh mañana (or something like that. I don't know. I took Latin).
See, Simon has this "thing," this disorder, which compels him to on occassion eat the blood-pumping organs of formerly living creatures. I don't judge. Unless it infringes on my ability to breathe freely in my own home. I'm thinking of the time he showed up with beef heart and stuck it in the crockpot, where for eight hours it simmered and stewed and made the whole apartment smell like milk-sour gym socks, if that makes any sense. Since then, he's resigned himself to chicken hearts, which are more often available not to mention infinitely more convenient considering he can buy them in fraction-pound increments according to need instead of in one big four-pound chunk to dispense with all by himself in one sitting. Cow heart doesn't keep well. Did you know that?
Chicken hearts are much less offensive in general, and whenever he can get them, he buys a pound, boils them up, and then snacks on them as if they were something your favorite chain restaurant might refer to as a "popper"--cheese poppers, jalapeño poppers, spicy buffalo poppers, poppers de la heart of chicken. To get the full effect, imagine him throwing them into the air and catching them in his mouth, frat-boy style. *shudder*
I have to say, though, that hearts weren't nearly the worst thing we saw at the market last night. There were two kinds of tripe (which is really quite pretty); both adult and baby octopus (hideous but deeelish as sushi (tastes like McDonald's filet o' fish!)); the tongues, feet, and pickled ears of various barnyard animals; and--to switch languages because I took two years of French--the pièce de résistance: a pile of semi-solid slime translated to English as "Beef Guts."
That said, the radish bunches were three for a dollar(!) and the ground beef we GeoFo'd into hamburgers last night was exquisite. Piled with lettuce, avocado, *pinkie raised* Grey Poupon, individually wrapped slices of organic American cheese (now I've seen everything), and cabbage and onions (both red) from our ridiculously bountiful garden, it was the perfect meal to reward an evening spent organizing the dining room, which now is empty of cardboard boxes and boasting a rug under the table, with all six chairs surrounding it at full military attention. Let it be known that we are fulled prepared to have a civilized meal. Of course, last night we ate in front of the teevee. Old habits die hard, me hearties.
OMG, my husband does the same thing. Only its chicken gizzards, livers, and hearts. And we grill them instead of boil, which according to him is far superior.
I've seen the frat boy maneuver more times than I can count. I'm with you. . . *shudder*
I just had supper and now I'm hungry. Except for the visual of Simon popping chicken hearts. EWWWWWW.
We've been eating our dinners on the couch since we were first married. We just sit there, watch the news and chow down (while Avelyn wails in her high chair on the other side of the house). I'm not even kidding.
I wish I had not read this post while eating my breakfast.
When my Mom was a little girl, she always thought my grandfather had a ranch when he said he was going to "Mi Rancho". I guess that means you two have a pueblo. Congratulations! :)
I love chicken livers, especially in pate form, but have also eaten chicken hearts and blood sausage. Whole baby octopuses are fine if you can get past the whole tentacle texture issue. :)
I never developed a taste for organ meat, although it was foisted upon me at an early age. Take away the mariachi music and sub in people screaming in Russian (you never speak Russian, it's always yelled) and sub out beef guts for head cheese* and tongue**, and that's pretty much my formative years of grocery shopping. A lot of the ethnic food (read organ meats and such) was cheaper, so for a lot of people, it was affordable protein to feed a family.
*I used to eat this.
** I NEVER ate this. Um, I don't think so at least.
I want Simon to make me a chicken heart shishkabob.
On skewers shaped like swords.
We are big teevee viewing eaters too. We have sat at the dining room table maybe 5 times.