Sunday, June 27, 2010

Can I Be a Friend to Chorizo?

My husband has the crazy idea to make his own chorizo. He saw a documentary about how it is made in a factory and thinks he can replicate this process in our kitchen. I am supportive of this endeavor. I know he likes to cook and that he loves to eat chorizo. I, on the other hand, hate chorizo. I have actually referred to it as “devil meat” a few times and refused to let it be cooked in my presence. The smell, the very idea of chorizo, repels me.

My first introduction to chorizo was not good, I admit. I was visiting a relative who had some chorizo and decided to cook it up with some sweet potatoes for our lunch. I ate it. The flavor was reprehensible. I gagged some of it down, with large gulps of water, and have hated the stuff ever since. I still enjoy sweet potatoes though, so go figure.

My second meeting with chorizo was at Yosemite National Park. My boyfriend had been invited to join my mother, my sister and her boyfriend, and myself on a short camping trip. My boyfriend brought chorizo. He wanted to make breakfast for everyone. That was fine, it’s in the open air and I don’t have to eat it. On the last day of our stay, everyone enjoyed his breakfast of chorizo with eggs and tortillas. My sister especially enjoyed it. A little too much. She barfed it all up on the winding trip out of the park. The backseat of my mother’s car was covered in chorizo. My sister was covered in chorizo. Her boyfriend was covered in chorizo. I was very thankful I wasn’t riding in their car all the way home since it was a six hour drive. A very smelly six hour drive for them. The next time I had to ride in the backseat of my mother’s car, a few months later, I was putting on the seatbelt, and I caught a whiff of barfed-up chorizo. I looked down, and the seatbelt strap was covered with old, dried barfed-up chorizo. I leapt out of the car, shrieking and frantically brushing off the front of my shirt. My sister was laughing from the front seat and admitted she knew the chorizo was there but couldn’t smell it really anyway. I made her switch seats with me.

I hate chorizo.

My husband is determined to convert me. I say he’s lucky I’m even letting him bring it into the house.

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