Innocent Eyes

It was my cousin's first trip to Europe this week. Escaping the cold snows of Canada, she came to Barcelona for spring break. Each new thing we did was an eye-opening experience, from the depth of history to the rapid-fire speech. But, the biggest contrast from her life at home was my morning foray to the market.

Blurry-eyed we stumbled through the doors, quiet with the early hour. I rallied with a shot of strong cafe solo. Rachel struggled through her hot chocolate, a bowl of melted chocolate instead of the milky liquid we thought we ordered--my direct translation led to a strange breakfast drink.

Soon enough Rachel's eyes grew wide; not from a jolt of caffeine or sugar but from what lay before her. Like wind chimes, legs of ham hung from the ceiling in front of us, the black hoof of the pig still attached.

"What are those?" She asked.

"That's Iberico ham. The pigs eat only acorns so the meat is nutty and sweet." I could taste the flavor as I described it for her. "They're cured for up to three years and hung like that until they are bought and taken home. People set them in a rack and shave pieces fresh when they are needed." I thought she was asking about the meat.

"No, I mean, what's with the foot still attached?" She hadn't yet looked down to the refrigerated counter below. Suddenly, she caught sight of a whole pig, less than a month old, splayed out in the case. "Ugh." She sounded like she had happened upon a murder victim.

"Oh, yeah. Umm...," I stalled for time, trying to figure out the best way to describe what she would see. "Here in Europe, people buy meat carved from the whole animal. That way you can see just how fresh it is."

We wandered on, past skinned rabbits; their eyes bulging from the head. I saw the products through Rachel's innocent eyes. A baby lamb sat propped up in one stall, its front legs sprawled to balance the body. Except for the fact it had been shorn, it looked like it were resting under the shade of a tree. Large grey tongues of cows were piled on top of each other sandwiched between a tray of white lacy stomachs and a tangle of sheep's brains. Soft squishy livers glistened in the case. The glazed eyes of fish stared at us while live langoustines crawled over shaved ice trying to escape. Chickens lay with their heads at crazy angles, their necks having been broken but not removed.

Rachel was silent. I could almost hear her contemplating vegetarianism in her mind. "They eat all of this?"

I nodded.

It wasn't until that exact moment, watching her expression that I realized just how far from home she really was.




victoria allman