IMAGINE MY horror.
But first, let’s back up a bit.
It was just two weeks ago roundabouts that I was standing beside my favorite fast-food stand on our small plaza downtown, eating a shrimp cocktail.
The proprietress with the bleach-blonde tresses tossed a meat cylinder of some questionable appearance on the chopping block and proceeded to dice it with a cleaver.
What is that? I inquired, foolishly. She was chopping a cooked bull penis. Again, imagine my horror.
Part of said material landed atop a tostada with all the trimmings and served to a customer. My mind reeled.
You run into some pretty weird stuff living down here, but this one had passed me by. In the 17 years since I crossed the Rio Bravo, that was the first I’d heard of this, uh, delicacy.
I finished my shrimp cocktail and walked away.
Then yesterday I was on the big plaza. There’s a new taco restaurant near my sister-in-law’s coffee shop. I was hungry, so I stepped in and stood by the stove.
While waiting to order, there it was, a familiar sight. The cook dropped a bull penis on the grill. I knew it by sight because it’s not something you easily forget. He diced it and served it on tacos to the customers ahead of me.
Returning to the coffee shop with a couple of normal tacos — they weren’t very good, by the way — I asked my child bride and her sister if they had eaten bull dick tacos. My sister-in-law said yes and that they were quite tasty.
My wife said no, thank God. I can still kiss her.