Mondongo

If you know me from my pre-college years, you know me as a very picky eater. I can already envision Falco reading this and shaking her head, but I can truly promise you that my pickiness has improved greatly. I’ve expanded my eating horizons, and I am much more willing to try new foods, especially when I’m in a new country and feel that it’s part of the cultural experience. If you’re curious about Colombian food, let me give you an overview: carbs, meat, fried carbs, mystery meat, fried carbs stuffed with cheese, carbs, meat, fried meat, fried carbs stuffed with extra cheese... add in some tropical juices and ice cream and you have the full picture. Thus far, I have been a champ about not only trying everything, but also actually eating everything, regardless of whether I like it or not. To name a few, I’ve eaten unidentifiable meats, salad loaded with cilantro, buttery buttery buttered everything, and I’ve drunk whole milk, coffee, and fennel-flavored liquor (these may seem quite normal to the average person, but cilantro, butter, and whole milk are on the top of my disgusting list). The school serves both breakfast and lunch, so for two out of three meals a day I don’t get to choose what I eat. Luckily, the food has *mostly* been pretty good. The other day, however, I reached my limit and pushed a meal aside for the first time. I felt horribly doing so, and I ate quite a bit before reaching my breaking point, but I had to draw the line somewhere. It was a soup of mystery meat. It smelled like a very foul chicken soup (no pun intended), and I couldn’t figure out why I was so repulsed by a scent that resembled chicken. By the look of the actual meat, I could tell it was gooey, fatty, and disgusting, so I avoided it from the get-go and managed to accidentally spoon it into my mouth only once (I’ve become very good at sneakily spitting something out when no one is looking – quite a skill if I must say). Well after sticking to the broth and potato portion of the soup for a couple minutes, I couldn’t even handle that part anymore. I set it aside (the smell was literally making me nauseous) and ate a banana for lunch. A few minutes later, a teacher sat down next to me saying, “This is my favorite!” Another responded, “I think Sally thinks you’re crazy.” And to that, “Well she doesn’t know what it is, does she?” Eyes were on me. “Chicken? Pig’s feet?” Oh, no, no. How could I be so naïve? Cow stomach. Mmmhmmm.