My neighbor just gave me a bag of weeds. No, they’re not that kind of weed. They are the kind of weeds that people in America spray Round-Up on. They are the kind of weeds that men of Hank Hill’s ilk won’t allow in their pristine lawns. They are the kind of weeds that we would only eat if we were on Survivor, Fear Factor, or some other reality tv show. However, here they are considered a healthy side dish, addition to a salad, or snack.

After washing the weeds, my neighbor said: “Try some!” I don’t know about you, but in a foreign culture these can be two of the most frightening words you’ll ever hear. Fortunately this time she was merely referring to weeds…. and I can handle that. I ate them and actually liked it. It tasted like I was eating a lemony salad. They were very sour and tangy. But, I stuck to the smaller leaves because they are less sour than the big ones.

When I came home, I asked the hub if he wanted some weeds. Here’s something you need to know about him: he’ll eat anything. If it’s strange or sold from a street cart or the hygiene of the person offering the food is questionable, for some reason he thinks this is a bonus. I’ve only seen him turn down one thing and that was sheep-gut soup. So, of course he took the weeds. I really wish I had a camera to capture the look on his face that followed. He squished his mouth into his nose and squinted his eyes and really looked to be in severe pain. Then, he said quietly, yet forcefully, “That is the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth. This pregnancy has messed up your tastebuds if you think that’s good.”

Therefore, I get to keep the whole bag of weeds to myself. Oh, goody.

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