Tacos Conejos

After our hike to the Coba ruins, we were HUNGRY.  Summer, always on the lookout for a good taco shack had noticed a sign for tacos on the way to Coba.  So, on the way back we decided to give it a try.  Here is the shack.

It seemed pretty authentic.  They took us past this front area and into a covered area that we later named "the front courtyard".  (meaning the front courtyard of their home, since the front door to the house was basically about 10 feet from where we were sitting.)  

Incidentally, another family stopped for tacos at the same time we did.  I had guessed that they were LDS when we had seen them hiking at Coba with us earlier in the day.  Upon further observation at the taco shack, it was easily confirmed that they were indeed Mormon:  5 kids, drinking orange fanta, long pants/sleeves, the CTR rings, and well, the garment lines.

In order for Summer to be excused from missing her Spanish class, she had to use her Spanish language skills in Mexico and then do a write up about it.  So, Summer ordered for us.  Good thing.  This was the most remote place that we ate and therefore, they spoke the least amount of English.  Which really means that they spoke NO ENGLISH.  WHATSOEVER.

*I think* Summer ordered 5 of each type of taco for us. 

Here are the pork tacos.

This little hombre apparently lived at the house we were eating at.  He acted like the dining area was his playground, which it basically was since it was right out his front door of his house.

We tried to interact with him.  But, he was funny, he just rode around on his little bicycle & cart, played with his toy cow, and watched the TV which was showing Spanish version of Lawrence Welk.

We later found out that his name was Chucho. 

At one point, his "mom" came out of the front of the house and we saw her pick up a bunny.

So, later Summer asked, "Como se llama su conejo?" (what is your rabbits name?)

His eyes got really big, he shook his head, and said, "NO, NO, NO"

(Stupid Americans, don't you know you don't give names to your next meal?)

And then our server brought us out the next set of tacos and we realized why Chucho doesn't name his rabbits:  we were eating one of them for dinner.

After we finished our tacos, we checked the sign on the way out and confirmed our suspicion:  

we had just eaten rabbit tacos for lunch.  "Tastes just like chicken."

This adventure certainly gave us something to laugh about and it gave Summer a story to tell her Spanish class when she got back to school.  

We have repeated this phrase: "Como se llama su conejo?" about a million times.

And we laugh every single time.