Believe it or not, once upon a time I would cry at the dinner table if asked to eat pasta carbonara, sorry Mum. Luckily I’ve come a long way and can proudly notch on my wooden spoon the following formidable dishes; escargot in France, haggis in Scotland, I don’t know what but it wasn’t cake in Malayisa, potjie and springbok steaks in South Africa, seaweed in Indonesia, surstromming in Sweden and now in Colombia: fried sheep intestines and rice stuffed blood balls. As The Mask would say: Yummy!
So last weekend, after driving almost three hours we arrived, at Catalina’s great-grandmother’s farmhouse, famished. The outside kitchen was dark and warm, everyone stood around the woodfire oven quenching their thirst with beer shandies as mangy dogs wandered in and out. I was pleased to see guacamole and arepas on the menu but spied some rather dubious half beasts sizzling on the barbeque situated further from the house.
The food was casually arranged on a table in the drive way and everyone gathered around to eat and talk. Of course I went for the safe options first, but it wasn’t long before everyone wanted to know what I thought of the more delicate dishes. Of course my answer was going to be the same no matter what the experience: es muy rico! Catalina decided it was best if I didn’t know what I was eating until later, so with one eye on the dog in case my morsel needed a quick escape, I had a taste. And as you can tell, it didn’t kill me.
Dad has brought Sammie and I up to believe that the congealed fat left in the bottom of the cooking tray is a delicacy, so I wasn’t too worried about the fired sheep intestines. My verdict? True, it’s nice and crunchy but unfortunately (or fortunately if you look at it from the Adkins Diet point of view) it’s just too fatty and bland to have me lining up for seconds. And the blood thing, well, it was interesting. The rice was delicious but the outside required far too much chewing which meant far too much time thinking about what I was actually eating.