Pickled Pig's Skin

I must confess, I never would have thought that not knowing Spanish would land me in this predicament. I went to the large grocery store with Juan, Cecy, and Ruth. None of them speak English very well, and my Spanish is like a heavy train - it's taking a while to build momentum.

-Como es eso? (What is that?) - I ask. There is a bucket full of white tendrils that looks like squid tentacles. Cecy and Ruth look at each other and grin. Cecy starts putting some in a bag, to purchase them. I ask if it's squid, or fish, and receive a negative answer both times. There's another bucket nearby which has white feet. I recognize the pig's feet, and look askance. Ruth buys several of those as well.

In the car (by the way, driving with Juan is an adventure as well, in the narrow streets of Fresnillo with street directions that I can't seem to pick out) Cecy explains that the white tendrils are pickled pig's skin, and you eat it right that like.

I take one, trepidation filling my mouth. I bite. Not bad, a little squiggly, tough. Salty. I swallow, and while it's definitely not my favorite, I can handle it.

Then Juan starts eating a foot. The feet are pickled too?! You eat them like that - all white and raw looking?? I decline one, looking at the fine hairs that cover the toe. They ate it like a chicken drumstick.

Back at George's house, I tell the story. Most of the other Americans have had a similar experience and laugh as I tell it. The Mexicans were impressed that I ate the entire piece they gave me. I felt brave.