The party was part of a low key Sunday
in site, but I suspect that it’s going to be one of those simple days that
sticks in my memory.
We went up to an annex of my town called
Apachico to have lunch with some relative. Though I’ll be honest, I have no
idea how they are actually related to
me. Anyway, an older Tio in my family decided it was time to kill his pig and
wanted the whole family to come partake in chicharon. As the title tells you, that
means little chunks of pork fried in their own fat…….. or as I like to think of
it – YUM. But I’ll get back to that. When
we first got up to the house lunch wasn’t quite ready so I went walking with a
group of kids down to the river. The weather was BEAUTIFUL so we played on the
river bank and searched for rocks that made different colored marks to draw
with. Then we sat in the shade to eat the oranges someone had brought from
their garden. Tasty!
When we got back to Tio’s house it was time to
eat. Lunch was a plate of fried pork bits on a pile of camote, which is
something in the corn family. I had the distinct pleasure of sitting next to a
delightful little old Quechua lady during lunch. She spoke very little Spanish
but there was another woman on her other side who spoke both Spanish and
Quechua, so the three of us got a long fine. Doña Mary won my affections by
realizing that I might like to know what parts of the pig I happened to have on
my plate……turns out tripe works in three languages so long as you change the
accent a little. When Doña Mary finished her lunch she showed me how to use the pot
full of onion, herbs and pig’s blood (that had been at her feet for all of
lunch) to stuff pig intestines and make “relleno” or blood sausage. Strangely
enough I wasn’t as grossed out as some part of my brain seems to think I should
be. She was a super interesting lady and the fact that she was up to her elbows
in pig’s blood didn’t change that.
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