Richard Jernigan -> RE: Lard (Jun. 2 2013 0:30:09)
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When the kids were born we hired a Mexican woman to help for a couple of weeks each time. She was an absolute treasure. The second time we felt bold enough to ask whether she would prepare us a Mexican dinner. She graciously assented. I asked her for a list of things to pick up at the store. She complied, but said she would bring her own lard. The meal was outstanding. --------------------------------------------------- Returning from a motorcycle trip from Austin to Mexico City, my friend Wille McK. and I stopped for the night at Matehuala, a dusty old mining town just off the Central Highway. As we entered town, we passed an excavation in the street, a ditch eight or ten feet deep, with raw dirt piled along it. Three or four teenage boys were standing on the sidewalk. They picked up clods of dirt and threw them at us, the gringo bikers. Turning the corner a few blocks later, I checked my mirror, but Willie was nowhere to be seen. Retracing my path, I came upon Willie. His bike was on the kickstand. He seemed to be kicking dirt down into the excavation. Coming closer I saw that somehow the teenage boys had fallen into the excavation. It was too deep for them to climb out. Willie was kicking dirt into their upturned faces, while counseling them to improve their manners. I asked Willie to rejoin the search for lodging. After finding a cheap hotel, we got back on the bikes and scouted for dinner. We ended up at the bus station restaurant. The roasted kid with mole was delicious. The flour tortillas had so much lard in them they were translucent in spots. The lard had a distinctly gamey tang. The waiter told us it was a local product, rendered from mature boars. Appended to the bus station and restaurant was a funeral home. We could see a coffin on sawhorses and a wake going on. We tarried, eating flour tortillas and drinking beer, discreetly observing the gathering. Eventually bestriding the bikes, we set out, pretty well lubricated with beer and lard. For a nightcap, we happened upon a clean, well lit bar. There were groups of men at tables, dressed in clean clothes in good condition, but no suits or neckties. There was a polished mahogany bar at least 20 feet long, with a row of comfortably padded stools. The back bar was lined with bottles of tequila. Many brands were exotic even to Willie and me. The bartender asked for our order. Willie indicated the leftmost bottle. The bartender reached behind him without looking, brought the bottle in a sweeping stiff armed arc over his shoulder, and poured into the shot glasses so the meniscus stood above the rim, without spilling a drop. We downed our shots, and licked the lime and salt. The bartender asked if we would like another. Willie turned to me, and indicating the next bottle in the row, asked, "Have you ever had that brand?" I said,"No." Willie ordered.The virtuoso bartender did his stunt again. I should mention that Willie is 6' 5" (196 cm) and weighed at least 260 pounds (118 kg), all bone and muscle. We progressed bottle by bottle along the back bar until my memory began to cloud. Eventually we stumbled out the door, and got on the bikes. It took us nearly an hour to find our hotel again. The next morning revealed that the bar was only three blocks away. Had we not laid down a good base of lard before coming across the bar, we might never have found the hotel again. RNJ
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