Salmonella and E. Coli por favor

 

Chicken Quesidillas at the outdoor market

      We had it on good authority that one of the local markets got it's fresh fruits and veggies on Tuesday and so bright and early Tuesday morning we taxied it to Wal-Mart and then walked the 10 blocks to the market with Greg and Nathalie. As we ventured under the first canopied market stall I was fondly reminded of years gone by, shopping in Montreal at the Marche Jean Talon. The summer of 2004 was a summer of endings, beginnings and food- glorious food. I spent five weeks at the University of Montreal completing a french language course with University students from all over the country. The Federal Government paid for the program in an effort to integrate more Canadian anglos with the french language and Quebec culture. All I had to pay for was the flight to Montreal and the rest- lodging at the university dorms and a weekly allotment of money for groceries- was provided by the Feds. I used my money well, exploring new cuisine and trying new dishes. One of my favorite places to visit was, of course, the Marche Jean Talon. An all-season long outdoor market, it was the biggest in the city. With row after appealing row of vendors offering the freshest strawberries, crispiest lettuce and ripest melons, my mouth still salivates thinking about it. Shops lining the market grounds complimented the season's freshest wares with buttery french pastries and a seemingly endless selection of mouthwatering cheeses. I don't recall eating meat much that summer, but with wine, cheese and fruit en mass- I know I don't remember missing it either.
     Choosing a vegetarian diet in Mexico, however, is more of a health choice than a matter of taste. That was the decision I made once I ventured beyond the first nostalgic fruit stall and really got into the heart of the market. The smell alone was enough to send anyone with sensitive olfactories into the street to vomit. Pigs feet, chicken feet, feet feet feet... And any other animal part you could wish for. I know what I didn't wish for...tapeworms. Of course, we had made a meal of chicken quesidillas at a taco stand on the edge of the market before we'd actually ventured into it's heart and the prevailing sight of vats of boiling oil and pig skin made the (God I hope it was well-cooked) chicken roll around uncomfortably in my stomach. I didn't get too many pictures of the place...I was too busy trying to get to the exit. An authentic experience for sure!

Red snapper has a distinct smell but these were caught only a few hours earlier.

The lady assured me that these chickens were killed fresca esta manana (fresh this morning).