Channeling Anthony Bourdain I bought a smoked sausage Wednesday. Now some might question the wisdom of such a purchase from a third world roadside vendor when a language barrier prevented even the possible discussion of ingredients and animal parts.
Throwing caution to the wind - go big or stay home - I had my lunch ready. Without going into details, suffice to say that Thursday was spent in quiet reflections of my gastronomical shortcomings. My dear, sweet wife was by my side, at least during the rainy part of the day when she could not go hiking.
By Thursday night I was ready to risk again. De Anne and I visited a local resturant. By local I mean for locals. No english spoken, no sub-titled menus, and a group of locals whooping up the Mexico/Panama soccer match. After a quiet dinner, marred only by having to administer the Heimlich maneuver on De Anne because of a large piece of gristle, we decided we had found another place not to eat again.
Two bad meals in a week. I've done worse in the USA.
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