Pig's Head Stew

Barracoa, Cuba

All right, so they looked like potatoes. I ate the bananas. I ate the yuca. I didn't eat what was obviously meaty and I ate the potatoes. It was only after I had passed off the rest to one of my new friends that I realized that I had watched them make the stew and the stew didn't contain any potatoes. I walked up to another one of my friends who was still greedily consuming the stew, pointed to what I thought were potatoes and asked "What's that?". He smiled with pigs head stew dripping down his chin, "Brain. Es good, no?" I nodded gingerly, "Uh, si. Pass me the rum."

We were in Barracoa on the far East coast of Cuba, a couple of hours northeast of Guantanomo. I had met a bunch of kids, when I was out walking, who were celebrating one of their 21st birthdays. I was took a picture of them and they invited me up to their apartment to hang out with them. They were a boisterous group, saturated in their home made rum, but really cool kids, who weren't trying to hustle me for anything. They invited me to a party the next day that they were having for the birthday boy. They were having it at a place out by the river outside of town. They promised mucho rum and comida creole. Hmmm. Creole food, I thought. To me creole food is jambalaya, crayfish pie and gumbo. So I thought sure, this will be a cultural experience. Sometimes experiences can almost too cultural.

I, along with an American and a Swiss guy that my brother met along the way, met the kids at their apartment. Before we left, they told me to look into a pot. It contained onions, bananas, yuca and other assorted vegetables all sorted neatly around a fresh pig's head. They, of course, laughed at our naive shock and we laughed with them, mainly because I don't think that it really sunk in that at some point we were going to be expected to eat this.

So off we went. We caught a horse-drawn cart. One of the kids drove, while we passed around the rum and the driver sang and played guitar. When we finally got to the river we crossed the most rickety-assed, Indiana Jones bridge that I've ever seen (and I've seen a few) and came to a clearing that had a make-shift firepit. An older couple (friends or family of the birthday kid, I guess. I never really found out who they were) showed up and started to prepare the stew. The woman washed and peeled the vegetables, while the man chopped the pigs head to bits with a machete (seriously, I have pictures). He offered me the machete, but I passed. Anyway, we were having a good time, drinking more rum, dancing with a couple of the girls that had showed up and trying to sing along to Cuban songs that we didn't know the words to. Eventually, however, the stew was finished and the woman started passing out bowls. Of course, as guests, we were the first to be served. Suddenly, though I didn't eat breakfast, I wasn't very hungry, but really we didn't have much choice. It would have been rude to decline. It really wasn't that bad. As long as I ate around the meat, and just ate the bananas, the yuca and the potatoes.

I'll be home tomorrow night. If you haven't received a personal email from me since I've been here, don't worry, the emails been expensive and slow, so I've been neglecting you all equally. Oh yeah, I lost my cell phone, so if you would like to talk to me please call or email me your number. Ciao, Moe