Sapphic Voices Romance

Breakfast

by Mary Dawn
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Copyright © by Mary Dawn 2005

I look at the plates the waitress has just deposited in front of each of us. So this is Columbian food. The sight makes me doubt there are any thin Columbians on the planet. What surprises me the most are the four tomatoes framing the bizarre arrangement of delicacies on the oval plate; the limes are a mystery to me as well. I am pleased by their presence as I have just taken up putting fresh lime in my diet coke, per the suggestion of my Puerto Rican friends who have brought me to breakfast.

The menu advertises yucca, corn meal cake, yellow potatoes, chorizo, and chicharones – fried pork skin… all of it arrives crisply fried and calls itself the Fritado plate. I check out everyone else’s platter, finding that they look much like my own with the exception of Connie’s eggs and rice, and Delia and Deb’s blood sausage. We dig in.

The yucca tastes just like French fries; the round potato balls taste like something else, I’m not sure, and they have a mealy texture. My sausage is quite dense, but good. The corn meal patty is bland, and pale as a small round moon. I eat bites of spicy sausage with it. Delia takes her limes and squeezes them all over her plate. I try a yucca, which I learn is a vegetable – sort of, with some lime. I do the unthinkable and ask for ketchup. The yucca is great with ketchup, better than fries, and boasts a pretty golden color.

The most interesting thing on the plate is the 7-inch chicharron. This is crispy bacon, thickly cut and deeply fried until the meat is crunchy. It looks like a double row of brown, stubby animal teeth. The teeth you pull off of the rind and enjoy as oily, delicious bacon, like crackling. I could just eat the leaner pieces, or bite off the whole piece with the rich fat still attached. Its so sinful, I do both, and revisit the wand of meat many times. My diet coke is swimming with fresh limes. I wish my plate had more yucca on it, and less little potato balls.

Delia continues to educate me on the specifics of what I’m eating. She allows us all to taste her sour milk drink. She always orders horchata, or exotic juices and concoctions when we dine out. Delia doesn’t offer me any blood sausage, which means it is her special treat, and for that we are both thankful.

After lots of talk, Connie collects our pork rinds to refry at home. In the car, Delia surreptitiously pulls out her pork strip, and devours it. I realize she’ll be in Puerto Rico in two weeks for the holidays and she will eat all of her favorite foods and savor them. She probably dreams of rich juices and fruits, fresh fish, good bread, desserts, roasted meats and dancing on the beaches. She catches me gazing at her while she licks the oil off of each finger. She raises her thin brows, then winks and smiles, “Want some?”, she offers. I shake my head, “No thanks, enjoy.”

I distract myself from the vision of her glistening fingertips with difficulty. The car is getting warm, or is it just me? Deb turns up the meringue music, and we all do our best chair dancing. The Sunday drivers about us stare and smile. Deb waves. I toss my head about, letting my hair tangle. “Mira, look at Julie!”, she shouts. Deb and Connie comment that I may hurt myself. “It’s the food.”, I admit, “I’m becoming Columbian!”

We pull up in front of my leaf-strewn yard. Delia , uncharacteristically, gives me a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, “Feliz Navidad.”, she says, “I’ll see you when I get back.” I agree, and wish her a safe trip. I hug Deb and Connie good-bye through their open windows.

“Wait, “ Delia calls, running to me as I open the door to the house. She hands me her business card, “Give me your number so I can call you, okay?” I carefully write down my home number and e-mail address. “Do you mind if we go out alone sometime?”, she asks, bashfully ducking her head and looking at the numbers I‘ve jotted down.

“That would be nice.”, I say, “When do you get back?”

“The tenth of January.”, she replies.

“Okay,” I say, “Just call me when you get back, or I’ll call you and we can get together. What did you have in mind?”

“I’ll practice while you’re gone.” I smile too – admiring the grace and fluidity of her movements. She can manipulate her body quite expertly.

“I hope not with anybody else?” she shrugs her shoulders, immediately bashful again.

“I think I can behave for a few weeks. Have a good trip.” I initiate the hug this time, and squeeze her a bit more that our acquaintanceship would warrant. She squeezes back, and rocks me from side to side a bit. I laugh, I can’t help it. “We have to eat Columbian more often!”

“Yeah,” she nearly whispers in my ear, “its all that bacon grease!” She makes her way back to the car, waving at me. As she opens the door, I hear Connie whistle suggestively. As Delia tucks her long legs back in the car, I hear Deb ask her, “So what was that all about?”

I smile and wave as they pull away. I decide to take a walk, and see about burning off my breakfast. I’ll want to be ready when she gets back. I anticipate meals of such decadence I may never recover.

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