Yeah, I said it. I hate stomach, intestines make me gag, and the next person who tries to feed me bull testicles is getting a sharp stick in the eye.
NOT FOOD.
But brains - oh, delicious brains. I am a fervent disciple of the Church of the Sacred Encephalon. I would eat that shit with a spoon. Straight from the skull, if necessary. Straight from your skull, maybe. Watch yourself.
I have not always been this way. I did not sally forth from the womb as some slavering, brain-hungry zombie child. In fact, for nineteen years, I lived a full, happy life totally devoid of brains in any form.
Picture unrelated. What?
Then I went to Mexico.
Michoacán had great food. Have I mentioned that? I cannot stress it enough. Mexico has one of the highest obesity rates in the world, right behind the U.S., and I don't blame them one bit. If I lived and ate in Michoacán full time, I would be the size of a house.
Our little city was swarming with taco vendors. My staff came to favor one near the town square, a small but efficient operation that sold the world's most delicious soft tacos for less than it cost to buy a corresponding antacid tablet. The meat was finely minced and expertly grilled, spicy and savory. I couldn't get enough.
I assumed, like an ass, that the meat must be beef or pork. In my own defense, let me remind you that I was very young, very stupid, and very, very hungry.
Anyway, it wasn't until the third or fourth taco that a fellow staff member let the cow out of the bag. "You know that's brain, right?" she asked around a mouthful of tortilla - so casual, like she was remarking on the weather or the latest project gossip. No big deal. You know your bra strap is showing, right?
I looked down at my half-eaten taco. What had so recently seemed innocent and nourishing now represented a personal betrayal on the scale of long-term adultery. I considered discreetly disposing of it via our entourage of street mutts, but I knew I'd never live it down. Besides, it was pretty tasty, brain or no brain.
So I ate it. And then bought another, and ate that too.
All told, I ate an estimated five billion tacos that summer. They were all delicious beyond the telling of it, and every last one of them wreaked unspeakable horror on my G.I. tract. Totally worth it. Besides, in the end, that little taco stand provided me with not only the best damn tacos I've ever had, but also an incomparable source of entertainment.
Let it never be said that one man's troubles cannot be made more bearable by foisting cow-brain tacos on his unsuspecting volunteers.
Sure, a couple of them said they'd never forgive me for tricking them, but I expect they'll come to appreciate my deceit in time. In the meantime, I remind you all that you should search me out when the zombies come. If I'm clean, I've got a machete and a frighteningly over-thought strategy; if not...well, I know a great supplier.
No comments:
Post a Comment