On the strength of success my last bull story had, I thought I’d share one I heard from my grandmother years and years ago.
An American man goes to Spain to visit some friends, and while he’s there they take him to a bull fight. They run with the bulls at Pamplona, and then go to the arena for the fight. The battle is epic, and the toreador emerges victorious. The raucous crowd carries the matador on their shoulders through the narrow, winding cobblestone streets to a local cafe, where a huge celebration ensues.
The American’s friend immediately calls a waiter over and orders Huevos de Toro, and tips the waiter a huge bill. A few minutes later, the crowd cheers the steaming dish coming from the kitchen, and the man is presented with two large, breaded and fried balls, which he eagerly digs into.
“Try this!” he urges his foreign friend. “They’re delicious!”
The American takes a small sample and is immediately smitten. “My word! Those are delicious! What are they?”
His friend smiles, and gives him a cunning wink. “This is Huevos de Toro, mi amigo – the bull’s balls! When the matador slays the bulls, this is the delicacy of the carcass! We eat to honor the toreador and his victory!”
The next day, the American is on his own and again tries to visit the bull fight. The stadium is packed, however, as the heroic matador battles the bull. Unable to find a good seat, and with the matador clearly moving in for the moment of truth against his bovine opponent, the tourist decides to rush to the restaurant ahead of the throngs to have a good chance at the Huevos de Toro.
He takes a seat close to the kitchen, and after a few cocktails, the cheering, laughing crowd again descends upon the cafe. After the chaos, the American quickly gets the attention of the waiter and orders the Huevos de Toro, and slips the waiter a huge tip.
“But … Señor, are you sure?” The waiter is concerned, and seems a bit disturbed.
“Yes, yes! I love them! I’ll have them!”
The waiter shakes his head and shrugs. “Si, Señor, as you wish.” He vanishes into the kitchen.
After a lengthy delay, the waiter presents the tourist with a tiny replica of the dish from the day before – two small battered balls, smoking and steaming. It came without fanfare this time, and the waiter watched the man’s face carefully.
“Is everything to your satisfaction, Señor?”
“Well … yes,” the American said, and popped an entire breaded orb into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “But … these taste different, and they’re … much smaller. Was today’s bull very young?”
“Did you see today’s match, Señor?” the waiter said, perking a brow.
“Well … no, I left early to get here. Why?”
“Well, Señor… sometimes, the bull wins.”
Related articles by Zemanta
- Man gored to death in Pamplona’s running of the bulls (gadling.com)
- British matador set for return to bullring (nationalpost.com)
- Man fatally gored in running of the bulls (cnn.com)
- 4 injured in last Pamplona bull run (msnbc.msn.com)
- Ban bullfighting (isiria.wordpress.com)