|
For
those
of
you
who’ve
never
had
the
pleasure
of
sipping
at
a
hot,
spicy
bowl
of
menudo,
you
don’t
know
what
you’re
missing.
Menudo
is
a
tripe
soup,
renowned
as
a
Mexican
soup
but
enjoyed
all
over
the
world.
Tripe,
the
secret
ingredient,
is
the
muscular
lining
of
a
cow’s
stomach,
or
the
occasional
pig,
sheep,
ox,
what
have
you.
Simmer,
throw
in
a
calf’s
foot
or
pig’s
knuckle
to
taste,
add
chilies,
spices,
and
sorpresa!—you’ve
got
menudo.
Why
the
cooking
lesson,
you
ask?
Because
while
to
some
the
thought
of
tripe
soup
may
be
as
appetizing
as
a
bowl
of
old
dishwater;
to
others,
menudo
is
a
culinary
delicacy
renowned
for
it’s
rich,
red
broth
and
sure-fire
ability
to
cure
a
hangover.
The
lesson
here
is
about
differences
between
people,
cultures,
and
even
cuisines—and
what
we
can
learn
from
these
differences
when
we
travel.
But
first
we
must
dare
to
taste.
So
many
people
travel
to
other
countries,
countries
rich
in
foreign
traditions
and
flavors,
only
to
return
home
with
ten
rolls
of
film
and
the
top
“Must
Sees”
crossed
off
their
list.
They
stay
in
hotels
with
other
tourists,
take
bus
tours
with
other
tourists,
eat
at
restaurants
that
look
safe
(i.e.
have
other
tourists
already
eating
inside),
and
would
rather
ask
another
tourist
a
question
than
stop
a
local
on
the
street
and
try
to
break
the
language
barrier.
Oh,
so
sad.
Traveling
is
about
experiencing
new
things,
not
just
seeing
new
things,
marking
the
moment,
and
moving
on.
Sometimes
these
new
experiences
can
be
intimidating
and
scary,
full
of
unknowns
and
what
if’s,
but
it’s
just
these
circumstances
that
allow
you
to
learn
something
about
the
country
you’re
in,
and
yourself.
Sure,
the
restaurant
packed
with
tourists
and
featuring
menus
in
English
with
set
prices
may
be
the
easy
way
out,
but
it
may
not
be
the
best
way
into
the
real
adventures
that
await
you.
I
had
one
such
adventure
in
Havana,
Cuba.
My
friend
and
I
met
a
local
gem
by
the
name
of
Russeo.
When
Russeo
first
came
up
to
us
on
the
street
and
started
talking,
our
first
instincts
were
to
shy
away,
that
this
stranger
surely
must
want
something.
It
turned
out
all
Russeo
wanted
was
to
be
our
friend.
He
wanted
to
talk
to
us,
practice
his
English,
learn
about
us
and
talk
about
his
family.
He
ended
up
taking
us
on
a
tour
of
his
city,
and
all
three
of
us
zipped
over
potholed
roads
and
around
banana
vendors
on
his
little
two-stroke
motorcycle,
sans
helmet.
He
gave
us
the
unedited
history
of
the
town
and
showed
us
his
favorite
places,
far
off
the
tourist
map.
After
hanging
out
with
Russeo
all
day
and
even
meeting
his
family,
we
asked
him
if
he
could
recommend
any
good
restaurants,
we
were
having
trouble
finding
places
that
fell
within
our
budget.
He
told
us
of
a
great
little
place
where
he
and
his
brothers
always
ate,
down
the
street,
on
the
left
side.
It
had
no
name.
We
just
had
to
look
for
it.
And
look
for
it
we
did.
We
walked
up
and
down
that
street,
looking
for
this
fabled
restaurant.
The
only
place
we
found
was
a
tiny
hole
in
the
wall
packed
full
of
hungry
men
eating
with
their
fingers.
As
we
stood
outside
on
the
street
looking
in,
everybody
sitting
inside
was
looking
at
us
looking
at
them.
It
was
rather
intimidating.
This
wasn’t
the
type
of
restaurant
we
had
in
mind.
There
were
no
forks,
no
menus,
no
travelers,
and
(gulp)
no
women
in
sight,
but
we
knew
it
had
to
be
the
place.
We
walked
right
in
like
we
knew
what
we
were
doing
(or
so
we
thought),
smiled
at
everybody,
and
sat
down.
Immediately
someone
was
at
our
table
welcoming
us.
Our
waiter
spoke
no
English,
so
we
ordered
Pepsi
(universal
language),
and
looked
around
at
what
other
people
were
eating
and
pointed
at
what
looked
good.
We
then
sat
back
feeling
a
bit
nervous
because
we
were
quite
the
spectacle
and
being
stared
at
rather
intently.
Plus,
we
had
no
idea
what
we
had
just
ordered.
When
the
food
arrived,
five
minutes
later,
it
was
fresh,
hot,
and
by
far
the
best
meal
I
had
in
Cuba.
We
ate
with
our
fingers
and
washed
our
hands
in
the
sink
when
finished,
like
everyone
else.
The
owners
kept
checking
up
on
us,
making
sure
everything
was
okay,
I
think
our
visit
made
their
day.
When
it
was
time
for
the
bill,
we
ended
up
paying
a
fraction
of
what
we
would
have
paid
at
a
tourist
restaurant,
the
food
was
ten
times
better,
and
the
experience
priceless.
So
the
lesson
here
is
not
about
Cuban
food,
or
even
food
at
all.
It’s
about
going
out
of
your
way
when
you
travel,
smelling
the
local
roses,
tasting
the
local
flavors,
doing
as
the
locals
do.
Imagine
if
you
took
a
local
bus
across
town
instead
of
hailing
a
taxi.
First,
the
bus
fare
is
fixed
so
you
don’t
have
to
haggle
for
the
price,
although
you
may
have
to
ask.
Second,
when
you
ask,
you’re
already
breaking
the
barrier,
making
contact
with
someone
outside
the
tourist
industry.
And
third,
when
you
cram
yourself
into
the
bus
with
all
the
other
local
folks,
chances
are
people
will
smile
at
you,
talk
to
you,
maybe
even
invite
you
somewhere
you
never
thought
of
visiting.
The
fact
is,
you’re
immersing
yourself
in
the
reality
of
the
country,
not
just
seeing
the
easy,
shiny,
tourist-package
deal.
Sure,
the
sight
of
that
overcrowded
bus
spewing
exhaust
may
seem
as
daunting
as
a
hot
bowl
of
cow
stomach
soup,
but
you
should
at
least
taste
it.
You
just
might
like
it.
|
