Pigs and Tamales

Before I left for Tucson, I had to pick up something for Turner. You can’t arrive empty handed. At least La-La can’t. I decided on a straw hat in the Mercado and while I was there, I picked up some Revolution things (a red, white and green belt for a dress up day at Lockeland, earrings, etc). In case you’re wondering, Turner was too good for the hat. Oh, well; I tried.

The point of the story, however, is not the hat. As I was walking, I decided to explore the market market (where the food is), since my new goal is to cook some in the Spring semester. I always walk in in the meat section which totally grosses me out. My sense of smell is lame, but the smell of raw meat-and lots of it- is overwhelming! I scurried past and checked out the veggies, fruits and cheeses. Why we don’t grocery shop here some, I don’t know (except that it’s mildly inconvenient). As I was leaving there on search of the hat, I saw pigs. Real pigs. Dead pigs. They were in the back of a semi-like truck and were being hauled in, one limp body at a time, to the market. I didn’t stick around to see how they handled a whole pig. I imagine, seeing as how it’s their job, they cut them up quite nicely. I may not eat pork for awhile…
The second part of this entry is about tamales. Whenever I travel, by bus or plane, I pack a goody bag. No need to pay expensive airport prices for mediocre food, right? Well, in Mexico the prices aren’t high and the food isn’t mediocre, but I still do it out of habit…
When I left Tucson, I had taken whoppers (at Amanda’s suggestion to “make room for the Thanksgiving turkey in the fridge”), granola bars, a peanut butter sandwich and a bagel. Some of it was for use after I got back. We also ate lunch before I got to the bus station, so theoretically I would only need dinner and a midnight munchie or two. My lunch was salad and veggies to get in that crunchy US lettuce while possible.
I got to the bus stop at 1 and we pulled out shortly after 2. We were at the border at 3:15 and waited to cross. It took longer than it would have by foot, but no matter; I couldn’t leave Nogales before this bus made it to the bus stop. At the border we had to take off all luggage and push the traffic light that decides your fate. If it turns green, you get back on the bus with a smile; if it’s red, you must be searched. I was green. I assume most were green (I was second in line) aside from maybe one person, because we seemed to wait awhile. As I was boarding the bus, I saw a man and woman selling tamales out of a cooler and grocery cart just outside customs. This is a typical Mexican site. Selling of anything is allowed anywhere. Food is a common product. I heard the magic words: “Tamales de carne y elote.” (meat and corn tamales!) I love tamales. And like Mabel says, homemade is best; don’t buy them at a shop. I wasn’t hungry, but I figured I would be at some point. And since we were waiting, I hopped off and got one of each. I really only wanted elote, but I took one of each because I can never seem to find them in Culiacán. I must admit: they were delicious, and I wasn’t even hungry! They were 10 pesos each, so it was highway robbery (no pun intended). I was a satisfied, stuffed customer.