Armadillo. It's what's for dinner

Now for another installment of Where Your Food Comes From. Although in this installment, we're not talking your average food.

WARNING: you know where this is going... if you're not a fan of such things, skip this one.

Okay, so if you're a regular follower of my snoop blog, by now you've probably read my post on the bull we slaughtered for my friend's wedding last January. You'll know it was a pretty intense process, with the trade-off being that over a hundred people were fed from the death of one animal.

This time it was different. He was the underdog, and with chickens running around justifying their place in the world as the cornerstone of the food chain and making themselves known as only a chicken can (hopping up on the table, knocking over your coffee, shitting in your bed), one felt as though this little guy's life could have been spared. But I digress.

As with most animals killed in El Salvador, I can safely say that it suffered; it's just how we do things here. I'd love to say it was quick and painless, like my rabbits, but it sort of wasn't. He was a fighter. But know that the little guy died a noble death so that a family of six, plus three friends and neighbors, could eat well on El Salvador's national independence day, September 15th.

Alright, let's get on with it, shall we?

So last weekend, my neighbors and I killed a seven pound armadillo and ate it. Not nearly as much a process as killing and prepping the bull, but still one that I found oddly intriguing. Fasten your seatbelts. I took photos...


For starters, they're amazing looking critters. Check him out. Cute little ears, a snouty nose, and of course a fascinating armor shell that was surprisingly warm and flexible, like leather. Thought he'd be more like a turtle.

To kill one, you pretty much break its neck, make a small cut and drain the blood for a good while, occasionally washing it away as it coagulates. One thing I found interesting was that the dogs, normally diving over each other to grab a scrap of whatever Orlando is hacking up, didn't even go near this thing. It must have had such a funky flavor that it spooked even them.




Like defeathering a chicken, you pour boiling water on him and scrape off his scales. They reminded me of fish scales. Almost translucent.




Once he's been scaled, you cut off his head and gut him.






A few hacks to split him in two.




A little salt, some lime, and onto the fire!


Kate's a huge fan of armadillo, or cuzuco as it's called here in the campo.




All in all, kind of awesome. Starting to believe that clichéd saying that everything tastes like chicken.


By the way, as I was writing this post, I googled armadillos and stumbled upon my new favorite animal...

Behold the smaller than your cell phone, semi-endangered Pink Fairy Armadillo of Argentina. Kind of want to carry one in my shirt pocket at all times... and probably eat less armadillos.