Unless I've Been Drinking

I can't roll my r's unless I've been drinking. But in a constant relaxed state of mind, I've found my r's roll.

I've become a part of an international family it seems overnight. Hecho in San Luis Potosi, Mexico, my husband came to the U.S. to study for his MBA. We met, fell in love and next thing I know I'm sitting at a table watching him order pig's feet. People eat this stuff? Its fatty, chalk colored meat is clinging to the bone and it couldn't look less appetizing. I concentrate on my Coca light in the glass bottle.

We just arrived on the 11:00 plane. Our decent was measured in prayers as I clung to my husband's hand. Something about landing in the middle of the night, bouncing your way through a storm allows you to make peace with God and His mercy. After many pleas for safety were answered, we were sitting down for a late meal with my husband's parents in downtown San Luis Potosi.

Mexico. It's my second trip but only the third day in this country where the rules vary from where I'm from. People riding in the back of trucks down the highway at 80 kilometers is a normal scene here. And if the light is red, but no one is coming, it's ok to pass.

The people are generous. My house is your house. This is the only Spanish translation other than 'gracias' I actually knew before coming here. "Mi casa es su casa". This is the phrase spoken to me most often. His parents said this when I entered their home. At first I thought it out of courtesy, but now I'm truly beginning to believe it.

My husband's childhood friend greeted me in his family home and said, "Anything you want, you can have it. Mi casa es su casa". I was also greeted with a kiss on the cheek. My first greeting by kiss encounter took place in Italy. One kiss on each cheek was enough to keep me blushing. Especially when this was from an Italian man. In Mexico, the pleasantry is one kiss on one cheek with a short embrace. As an American who shakes hands when introducing myself, I dare say I have yet to warm up to this custom.

My husband's father usually repeats things in either Spanish or English to me so in case I didn't understand he followed the phrase with, "This is your house."

There's a commercial my mother-in-law referenced to me. A foreigner arrives and begins working in Mexico. His co-workers say, "Party at your house next week." So the foreigner gets his home ready, buys food, alcohol, the works. When no one shows up, he is crushed. His co-workers meanwhile wait for him at the party they have prepared, nodding their heads and questioning why he didn't show up.

At our Saturday lunch party, I was in for a culture shock. Lunch was scheduled for 2 p.m. Though different in appearance, the overall attitude of the meal was reminiscent of the Italian culture I have grown to love. Good food, great company, fine wine and fresh air to accompany the feast.

We sat at a big table with my husband's immediate family including two lifelong family friends. All in all there were 8. We looked out onto manicured gardens with peacock keepers. The breeze fluttered through the windows and the sun made it's way from behind leftover clouds that caused alarm the night before.

For our first appetizer, handmade salsa was served with baked tortillas. The waitress first made the spicy sauce beside our table then we were invited to try. The salsa immediately caught my mouth on fire, even my teeth burned. My Coca light and red wine did nothing to appease the inferno so my husband offered some advice. He shook salt onto his hand then licked it. Normally I would find this behavior detestable at the dinner table, but I proceeded and the flames were quelched.

If you've ever had tequila then you know exactly what the next appetizer looked like. Yes, those little worms cooked and served on a large plate. Lots of them. I could only watch for a second but you can either spoon their little white bodies with their little black heads into a warm tortilla con salsa e lime or eat them with a fork. I chose to simply divert my eyes.

Where's the cheese dip? Turns out white cheese dip or yellow cheese dip or any kind of dip you think Mexico gave the Tex-Mex world doesn't exist in Mexico. Or at least in this dog shaped state.


The next treat was none other than bone marrow. With a mushroom looking texture the marrow is served where it grows, in the bone itself. I think it was a cow's bone but I excused myself to go get a closer look at the peacocks.

While I was warning the peacocks to steer clear of the kitchen, I was called back inside to dinner. My corn soup had arrived. I could have chosen grilled meat and potatoes like everyone else but the chowder-like soup with pieces of yellow kernels is very tasty and also filling.

After dinner, digestive drinks were served. I ordered Bailey's on ice in lieu of the scope colored mint agent that my husband's father recommended. I'd had enough of new ventures. Even if I hadn't tried all the food, looking at it was quite an adventure for my liking.

This meal was unforgettable due to its Survivor-like menu, (did I mentioned ant eggs were also available for order?) but the meal plays more in my mind like a Mexican version of Thanksgiving without the turkey, add the peacock.

One need not try long to roll their r's, even after the alcohol has worn off, in this land. Though I do not yet speak the language, I can feel the warmth of its people inviting me to their homes and into their hearts.