Un día de January, toda la familia fue pa’la plaza a hacer su shopping. Cuando they were all en la tienda, Grampo Caralampio nudged Grama Cuca and whispered, “¿Qué no es that lady over there la Mildred que fue a la escuela with you? Just look at qué bien preserved she still looks.”
Grama Cuca glanced over to see a su former classmate quien she hadn’t seen en munchos años. She whispered back at Grampo Caralampio, “She no parece no spring chicken. Mira nomás las wrinkles debajo de sus ojos and her weak chin. She just looks young de una distancia porque she dresses como una teenager. Yo no. I’m not ashamed to admit my true age. Yo no tengo vergüenza to say que I am 40.”
Canutito just looked up at her. He knew que Grama Cuca was actually closer to 75, pero él decidió que it was better not to hacerla remind de eso, so he just let sleeping perros lie.
La familia walked un poco más down the aisle de la tienda, still shopping for groceries. “¿Qué clase de grocerías are you looking for, Cuca?” grampo asked her.
“I am looking por algo to cook el domingo cuando it will be la fiesta de San Pablo,” she replied. “And incidentally, ‘groceries’ are either ‘comestibles’ or ‘mandado’ in Spanish and not ‘grocerías’. In any case, I am looking por un buen pedazo de carne de marrano to cook con posole.”
“Por qué andas shopping for pork cuando we have a whole trochil-full of marranitos back en la casa?” Grampo Caralampio asked her.
“Es porque you don’t want to get off your butt and go matar uno pa’la carne,” Grama Cuca replied. “You are going to get cayos on your nalgas from sitting around haciendo nada,” she concluded.
“Pues no lleves no pork,” Grampo Caralampio said to her. “When we get home yo mataré a nice little marranito and make him into chicharrones.”
La familia finished their shopping y todos jumped en la troca and went back home. Canutito followed Grampo Caralampio back to the trochil, where he caught a marranito and stuck him con un cuchillo. While the piglet was draining, grampo hizo boil agua en un barrilito that he had placed arriba de un bonfire.
“Why are you jirviendo agua, grampo?” Canutito questioned him.
“It is so that we can meter el marranito into it and loosen his skin así,” grampo said. “Entonces we will fish him out of the water and scrape todo el pelo off of him más fácil.
Just then Canutito saw Grama Cuca coming to the trochil to pick up the bucket of blood that had drained del marrano.
“¿Qué va a hacer con esa sangre del marranito, grama?” he asked her.
“Just watch,” she replied. She took the sangre del marrano and warmed it up in a cast-iron peról that was hanging outside over a fire. She worked the blood con sus manos hasta que estaba toda clarified. Entonces, she heated it up and chopped una cebolla and threw into the mixture. También, she threw some piñón, raisins, oregano and salt now that the whole thing looked como scrambled eggs. Después, she spooned todo el menjunje into some casings and tried the ends. She had made morcillas.
“Morcillas,” Grama explained to Canutito, “are homemade blood sausage that will cure en el smoke house for a couple of weeks, and then estará listo para comer.”
Canutito just wrinkled su nariz. He preferred los chicharrones que Grampo Caralampio was cooking en el otro lado del yard. He watched him reduce the lard out de la manteca con carne and roll los chicharrones into un burrito con tortilla. He thought que el burrito de chicarrones was la best cosa to eat pa’la Fiesta de San Pablo …