April 15, 2008 - The Chicken Place where everybody knows your name.
Miriam took me to a place to pick up a roast chicken the other day. For a little more than $5.00, we got a very tasty roast chicken fresh from the grill, a small bag of chopped cabbage, and a large bag of freshly made chicken soup.
The operation was set up in the large front room of a woman’s ramshackle house. It was not particularly on the beaten path, but it was a very popular place. In fact, we had to wait about half an hour for the next chickens to be ready from the grill. While we waited, we learned a lot about another man who was waiting. He was 84 years old, he brought his own pot for the soup because he didn’t like getting scalded when he opened the plastic bag, and he’d just had a malignant tumor removed from his abdomen that weighed more than 3 kilos, and he didn’t want any chemo or radiation treatment. (He didn't look like he needed it either.)
Another old man had grown up in California and lived in Massachusetts as well. He spoke fondly of New England.
And of course, there was the hand lettered sign above the counter that was reminiscent of small shops in Liberia. Loosely translated: “We don’t sell pollo pavos (or was it pavo pollos?).” Basically, “We don’t sell big birds.” (Guinea hens?) “We don’t work here for fun. Be prepared to pay.” (In Liberia one version was, “Mr. Credit is dead!”)
And of course, there was the woman who was working her tail off by herself because various members of her family were not helping.
A different day in Merida: I was hanging out in the front room at the Guest House where the wi-fi signal reaches. As is not uncommon, Enrique and Miriam were off running errands and had left the place to us. In the course of about 30 minutes, I answered the door 4 times. Once for the drinking water man (17 pesos-about $1.60 U.S. for 20 liters), the newspaper man, the housekeeper, and the garbage survey man. Then I answered the phone and spoke with Enrique and Miriam’s elderly Tia Carmen. (Miriam is her power of attorney and collects her social security for her about this time of the month.) I was even ready for the taxi driver who didn’t show up. The poor guy had arrived on two previous occasions looking for his 40 peso tip for delivering some guests. Unfortunately, each time he only found me and I didn’t know Miriam had left the money in the bottom of the pencil holder. But now I’m ready should he ever return.
And, what does an occasional afternoon look like at Casa Alvarez? Well, it doesn’t happen every day (and it hadn’t happened in a while!) but R.u.t.h and Miriam excavated Enrique’s kitchen the other day. I joked that I wanted to take a picture of an archeological site.
And J.i.l.l introduced Alli to Webkiz.
Miriam took me to a place to pick up a roast chicken the other day. For a little more than $5.00, we got a very tasty roast chicken fresh from the grill, a small bag of chopped cabbage, and a large bag of freshly made chicken soup.
The operation was set up in the large front room of a woman’s ramshackle house. It was not particularly on the beaten path, but it was a very popular place. In fact, we had to wait about half an hour for the next chickens to be ready from the grill. While we waited, we learned a lot about another man who was waiting. He was 84 years old, he brought his own pot for the soup because he didn’t like getting scalded when he opened the plastic bag, and he’d just had a malignant tumor removed from his abdomen that weighed more than 3 kilos, and he didn’t want any chemo or radiation treatment. (He didn't look like he needed it either.)
Another old man had grown up in California and lived in Massachusetts as well. He spoke fondly of New England.
And of course, there was the hand lettered sign above the counter that was reminiscent of small shops in Liberia. Loosely translated: “We don’t sell pollo pavos (or was it pavo pollos?).” Basically, “We don’t sell big birds.” (Guinea hens?) “We don’t work here for fun. Be prepared to pay.” (In Liberia one version was, “Mr. Credit is dead!”)
And of course, there was the woman who was working her tail off by herself because various members of her family were not helping.
A different day in Merida: I was hanging out in the front room at the Guest House where the wi-fi signal reaches. As is not uncommon, Enrique and Miriam were off running errands and had left the place to us. In the course of about 30 minutes, I answered the door 4 times. Once for the drinking water man (17 pesos-about $1.60 U.S. for 20 liters), the newspaper man, the housekeeper, and the garbage survey man. Then I answered the phone and spoke with Enrique and Miriam’s elderly Tia Carmen. (Miriam is her power of attorney and collects her social security for her about this time of the month.) I was even ready for the taxi driver who didn’t show up. The poor guy had arrived on two previous occasions looking for his 40 peso tip for delivering some guests. Unfortunately, each time he only found me and I didn’t know Miriam had left the money in the bottom of the pencil holder. But now I’m ready should he ever return.
And, what does an occasional afternoon look like at Casa Alvarez? Well, it doesn’t happen every day (and it hadn’t happened in a while!) but R.u.t.h and Miriam excavated Enrique’s kitchen the other day. I joked that I wanted to take a picture of an archeological site.
And J.i.l.l introduced Alli to Webkiz.
posted by The Lambersons at 6:59 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home