OK, I’m not the most adventurous guy in the world, but I love to eat. And if people somewhere eat something, and it gets a reputation for being good, I’m not usually going to stick my tongue out and say, “Eeeew, that’s gross” without giving it a try. OK, OK, I found the boiled fertilized duck egg in the Philippines, balut, to be revolting, but at least I got all the way to the vendor before backing down. Here in Mexico in the southern states, they have apparently billions and billions of grasshoppers. I guess they traditionally destroyed a number of crops, so the locals decided, “Dang, if y’all are gonna eat my wheat, I’ll just have to eat y’all!!” And so they do. They’re called chapulines here in Mexico; other Spanish-speaking countries eat ‘em, too, but they call ‘em saltamontes, the Spanish word for grasshopper. The Mexican name comes not from Spanish but from Nahuat, the language of the Aztecs who settled here before Cortez and his merry band arrived. Hence Mexico’s version of Central Park, called the Bosque de Chapultepec, or “the forest on grasshopper hill.”
Anyway, I get an AWFUL lot of help around the apartment and the city from our building’s super, Chucho. I wouldn’t be getting along around here half as well if it weren’t for Chucho. Today, Chucho arrived back at work from his “weekend” (he works Monday thru Saturday, and lives many hours outside of Mexico City, so he doesn’t get home til Sunday morning, His weekend is one day with the wife and kids, during the week he stays with a relative here in DF) bearing gifts: guavas for Ednalyn, our beloved YaYa; granadas de moco for our neighbor upstairs (a story in itself) and chapulines for me! Here is a stock photo of some chapulines in a market; they sell ‘em by the 100 grams, and they’re very light, so 100 gr is a hot mess of grasshoppers. 
II was a bit nervous at first, of course, but Chucho told me they’re best if you re-fry ‘em a bit, to make sure there’s no gushy parts (eew), and so they’ll be hot. These were flavored with limón and salt, so all I did was dip ‘em in hot vegetable oil for 30 seconds, and they were ready to go, as you see here:
So, how were they? Well, not nearly as revolting as the balut, that’s for sure… and honestly, they tasted like something fried with lime and salt. essentially no different than a very thin and insubstantial fried pork rind. The inside is totally hollowed out by the cooking process, so what you see, the outside, is all you’re eating. It’s very thin, and gets super-crispy, and pretty much dissolves away in your mouth after you crunch it. Yeah, you’re eating bugs, but I guess if my cereal crops were devastated by locusts, I could be convinced to eat the locusts in turn. In all, a worthwhile experience, and I’ll probably fry up and finish the rest of the bag. I want to see if Ginny will try one, and Lisa has expressed an interest too. Ednalyn and I both tried ‘em yesterday, and were unanimous in saying “eeeeh – they’re all right.”
Yum Yum Grasshoppers!!
OK, so on the other gift – the granadas de moco. Did anybody look up the spanish? No? Then you missed out. Yes, granada is the spanish word for pomegranate, a very important fruit and culinary ingredient in Mexican culture; but it’s also the word for grenade. I don’t know if pomegranate is granada because it resembled a grenade to somebody, or if grenade is granada because it resembled a pomegranate to someone, but the fact remains, two meanings, one word. And moco means “snot” or “booger.” So yeah, I’ve been given a fruit colloquially known as a booger grenade. As it turns out, it is vaguely like a pomegranate inside, in that you don’t so much peel or slice it as crack it open, to reveal a mess (and I do mean mess) of lemon-seed-sized seeds coated in what looks like semi-clear mucus.
Granada de mocho: The “booger grenade”, or “snot pomegranate”
In truth, the fruit is more widely known in Latin America as either the granadilla or granada de china, and is a close relative of the passionfruit, whose taste it resembles, though a bit less sweet.
So two new tidbits to add to my worldly experience! It’s a bit mind-blowing to consider all that’s happened in my life recently. In 2003 I was 42 years old, had traveled to Las Vegas via Denver once, and other than that never been across the Mississippi river; I’d been out of the country twice; a day trip on a Spring-Break cruise to Freeport, Grand Bahama in college, and a 10-day trip to Switzerland in 1988. I was never getting married, never-ever-ever having kids, and hoping to grow old in peace, in one place, probably in that house in Roswell as it rotted around me. Then I met Lisa, and she didn’t steal my heart, she invented it. She had a travelin’ jones, so we left the country, together, on a cruise ship. It was fun, so we did it again the next year, and the year after that. Her jones was not satisfied, so she took a job that involves heavy travel. I made it to San Francisco, and had lunch with the sea lions and ate sourdough bread and Ghirardelli chocolates at Fishermans Wharf; I flew to the Philippines – The Philippines, for Pete’s Sake!!!!!! – and lived for two years in the most crowded metropolitan area on the planet. I traveled to 10 or 12 of the 7,107 islands that make up that amazing country, and made a side-trip to Singapore, where they do not spit. I got Platinum Status on Delta for all the miles I’d racked up! I had a daughter, and my life was ruined. I had children – no more late nights with the boys, no more spur-of-the-moment trips, no more fun. Oh, woe is me. And then, the daughter turned into the Fabulous GinnyBoo, who’s more fun to spend time with than all of the wonderful people I’ve ever sat in a bar with on a Friday night. We moved back to the US briefly, and some very brave and persistent people taught me very well, to speak Spanish very poorly. I saw my beloved niece Katie get married (OK, there was a ton of traffic on 295, and I was late, so I actually missed the ceremony – but I watched her get tipsy and dance with my Dad, and her new husband). My nephew David met the girl of his dreams, and threw a party in Paradise to celebrate – I went to the glorious island of St. Lucia to watch him and Stephanie tie the knot, dodging rain-drops, cruise-ships, and free-ranging beach chickens all at the same time. I moved to Mexico!! Holy Cow! Americans moving to Mexico! Is that backwards, or WHAT? I’ve learned to functionally speak and understand spanish, the key to which has been the mastering and early use of the phrase “por favor, digame como yo tenga tres años.” The Ned, my remarkable, exasperating, and utterly unique father, passed away after a full life of 94 years, peacefully in his sleep for no reason other than the fact that he’d lived long enough. The calm, cool and collected Adam joined our extended family by marrying my equally-beloved-niece Melanie. And now, I have a second daughter!! Very different than the Fabulous, but lovable too, is the Formidable Ripley Ann. I’m looking forward to getting to know her, and spending the next 18 months here in Mexico, and learning the answer to my new favorite question, replacing “How Does It Work?”: WHAT HAPPENS NEXT??
