The Love To Dine On Swine
Grilled bacon was once number one on the hit parade for Davis. But a few months living in a Mexican village on the Michoacán coastline certainly took its toll on the lad’s taste buds. Davis was miserable that his desire to ‘dine on swine’ had been hindered, all because of a traumatic experience that he still shudders to recall.
Davis learnt from his widespread travels the pleasure of tasting local cuisine. Freshly caught fish from the depths of the ever-plentiful Pacific Ocean at his doorstep; cleaned, salt and lime added, then tightly wrapped in green leaves from the banana tree.
To complement his diet, various cuts of cattle were on the table most days. Char-grilled beef was standard fare but a local delicacy of cow tongues tenderised in milk then stuffed into a soft corn taco was truly a memorable experience. Davis loved it all.
As Davis became even more adventurous there were bowls of scalding hot chilli beef to put lead in his pencil. The feisty chilli plant was the common thread to all meals prepared south of the border. Every meal had some hint of the little red amigo that left the back door of his body a pretty volatile weapon. Some days Davis was afraid to fart due to the fear of being caught behind.
As the weeks passed in the Mexican heat, Davis managed to take back control of his bowel and times were pretty good. But there was still one thing in his day that he could never quite get comfortable with. The toilet bowl Davis had at his disposal was also shared by half of the villagers in his adopted coastal home. Instead of utilising their tired toilet he chose to wander off secretly behind some bushes in a paddock to download his waste each and every morning.
Armed with a roll of toilet paper and a long stick, Davis would assume the position at his little spot and proceed to relieve his bowel. “Why carry a length of stick?” you may ask. Well, as Davis dropped his strides the stick was his only defence to ward off the half dozen menacing village pigs. They circled him each morning, chomping at the bit to get to his deposit. Once he finished his business, it was strides back up as quickly as possible, waving the stick around to ward off the shameless posse of swine.
Once he had escaped their wrath, the pigs would violently fight each other to shamelessly devour the mess Davis had left on the ground.
Some days he would choose a new location, but the pigs were far too clever and they continued to have the upper hand on Davis. They could smell him a mile away and consistently managed to gulp down his waste. Poor Davis was sickened by the whole affair he had to witness each day. Once he knew what these pigs were capable of eating, grilled bacon suddenly lost its shine. It gave a whole new meaning to recycling and was a real threat to his personal safety and sound mind.
Davis kept his fear very close to his chest until one day a well-disguised bacon and onion omelette was served up by his host. Following a morning surf, Davis was famished. As per normal, he proceeded to devour whatever was placed in front of him. After a few mouthfuls Davis realised what he was eating, turned sickly green and bolted from the meal area. He was violently ill, vomiting all over the place. It was two more days before he could even think to eat anything again.
When Davis’ appetite finally returned, he unfortunately had to nurse his choice of diet. The seemingly hollow existence consisted of beans, potatoes, rice and corn. Boiled, baked, grilled, stewed, salted, steamed or even sun-dried – at least he knew what he was up against.
As for his adventurous culinary spirit, it finally returned but it took him years to slowly adopt bacon back into his diet.
You are what you eat, some people may say and Davis still gets an awkward rumble in his stomach whenever he orders a bacon and egg roll. Even walking past the local butcher shop gives him an unwelcome flashback to the diet of those unruly pigs deep down in ol’ Mexico.