He Ate, She Starved, He Ate Her Portions

I’ll eat everything. If you know me, you know this to be true.
I will not eat everything. If you know me, you know this to be true.

It has been said that the Spanish eat everything on the pig except for the oink. I’ve joined them. I’ve eaten my way from the hoof to the hip with fine slices of jamón serrano. I’ve gotten all up in the pig’s face with tasty bits of carrillada, or pork cheeks. I’ve lusted in the loins of lomo de puerco.

I’ve picked my way around the bacon in “vegetarian” quiches and I’ve swallowed a croquette whole to avoid chewing the ham, whilst still getting its flavor. I’ve been turned off from fish after biting into a singular bone. I’ve eaten meals that consist solely of garbanzo beans that were unavoidably stewed in chorizo.

I ate that chorizo.

I’ve begrudgingly eaten salmorejo—delicious as the tomato-based soup may be—peppered with bits of chewy bacon, just to feed my starving body.

Oh, but you begged for a bite of my bacon-wrapped dates!

You weren’t supposed to tell!

Now, we’re off to a “vegetarian” restaurant. I’ll likely order the ham.

And I’ll have the bread basket.