Chicken Memory
How could I possibly forget the chicken when remembering our plane trips to Guatemala? I'm talking about the fried chicken that so many Guatemalans carried on the plane with them to the United States when we adopted Anthony. Kimberly and I were baffled by that curiousity back then, and it wasn't until years later, when a Central American businessman opened a branch of a popular chicken chain in the Washington, D.C., area, that we really understood it all.
The chain in question is Campero, and the aromatic memory of that 1999 flight jumped to the forefront of my mind today when we went out for lunch. We were looking for the McDonald's but found a Campero chicken franchise instead. We simply had to eat there -- and the grub was great, for my appetite if not for my diet.
Ironically, after having just blogged about not having any embarrassing Spanish moments last night with the Venturas, I had a major faux pas when calling for the waitress to get our check. I beckoned her with the greeting senora, which apparently is a greeting reserved for older, married women. This woman was neither old nor married (at least Kimberly gleefully noted that the waitress wasn't wearing a ring), so I should have called her seniorita.
My only consolation is that Kimberly goofed again before I did. We had intended to order one bucket of chicken for us to share at lunch and no fries or other sides. Anthony and my Mom also ordered water, Elli a Sprite, Kimberly and cola and me an orange drink. I was pretty sure that when the waitress repeated the order to Kimberly, she asked if we wanted three colas for the adults. I was right. When she brought our food, we had six full meals, five colas and one orange.
If we return to Guatemala again someday, we're going to have to think seriously about paying Doris to come with us as a translator. I'm tired of giving my adopted family here the idea that Americans use bedpans all the time, bury other people's wives prematurely, think every lady is an old married woman, and can't get enough fried chicken and cola!
The chain in question is Campero, and the aromatic memory of that 1999 flight jumped to the forefront of my mind today when we went out for lunch. We were looking for the McDonald's but found a Campero chicken franchise instead. We simply had to eat there -- and the grub was great, for my appetite if not for my diet.
Ironically, after having just blogged about not having any embarrassing Spanish moments last night with the Venturas, I had a major faux pas when calling for the waitress to get our check. I beckoned her with the greeting senora, which apparently is a greeting reserved for older, married women. This woman was neither old nor married (at least Kimberly gleefully noted that the waitress wasn't wearing a ring), so I should have called her seniorita.
My only consolation is that Kimberly goofed again before I did. We had intended to order one bucket of chicken for us to share at lunch and no fries or other sides. Anthony and my Mom also ordered water, Elli a Sprite, Kimberly and cola and me an orange drink. I was pretty sure that when the waitress repeated the order to Kimberly, she asked if we wanted three colas for the adults. I was right. When she brought our food, we had six full meals, five colas and one orange.
If we return to Guatemala again someday, we're going to have to think seriously about paying Doris to come with us as a translator. I'm tired of giving my adopted family here the idea that Americans use bedpans all the time, bury other people's wives prematurely, think every lady is an old married woman, and can't get enough fried chicken and cola!
posted by Danny @ 4/12/2005 04:22:00 PM
1 Comments:
At 12/06/2005 9:49 PM,
Stacy said…
NOW I know what Pollo Camper is! My daughter-to-be said that was her favorite food, and although I'm fluent in Spanish, I couldn't figure out what she meant! I'm off to surf the net to find a Pollo Campero near me in NY!
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