During my first trip to San Pedro Market I worked the fringes: the material, jewelry, the easy stuff. Except for the skinned cuy in the basket as I was leaving, I managed to avoid the meat section. I am a hypocrite. I would be a vegan if I had to kill my food.
Yesterday, I ventured into the meat section of the marcado. The smell made me a little sick. There were piles of a gray substance that appeared to be skin ranging from a few inches to a couple of feet high. I didn’t take a picture.
Beginning with the small critters in the bowl which may or may not be a froggy kind of critter, I was fascinated by the variety and size of heads. I remember my mom’s cousin making head cheese. The pig head bobbing up and down in the pot is a visual memory that has stuck with me lo these many decades.
Yesterday I asked an old woman if the heads she was selling were alpaca, because even with its fur gone it was recognizable. “Si.” I didn’t ask for a recipe on how to cook it.