In my mind, pushing the squishy, black, greasy eyes out of the skull with my thumb and onto a tortilla, along with its small remnant of a brain, and cheeks, would probably be the definition of “taking one for the team.”
This was the situation . . . We were at the end of a three-day, evangelistic/commissioning/baptisim/worship extravaganza in a small church in the middle-of-nowhere Baja. Literally the middle of nowhere Baja – on the state line between north and south, the 28th parallel to be exact. The congregation had been incredibly welcoming and hospitable, keen to get to know their very foreign visitors. On Sunday, after 15+ hours of church services, they had a huge seafood feast, of clam and calamari ceviche (raw fish “cooked” in lime juice), calamari cream, fresh oysters, and fried fish. Fried whole fish. With the tails. And fins. And heads.
As in much of the world, the head is considered a bit special, the thing you serve to guests. It ended up on our plate (we had already insisted on sharing since neither of us were too keen to pick the fish off the bones and pry away the fins). Andrew refused, despite the urging of one of the elders who had struck up a friendship with him. So, it was all up to me. Just me and two black, roly-poly eyes. I figured, with enough hot sauce I wouldn’t be able to taste the eyes looking up at me from the tortilla.
The hot sauce didn’t work.
To read about the rest of our weekend adventures, check out Andrew’s post and pics on the EOC blog.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment