Question: Is it true the Spanish eat all of the pig except the squeak? Answer: No, the squeak is lightly grilled as Tapas

Here where we have chosen to make our home, which the brochures like to

describe as Real Spain, high in the Alpujarras mountains, we enjoy getting to know the locals, their customs and especially the language.
The dialect of this particular village  has it's own indigenous
qualities, whereby the ending of each word is dropped, ditto the letter
's', and occasionally we ruminate on the point of learning Spanish here
at all, as one would never be understood anywhere below 1000m above sea
level.

Still, we persevere, and truly have got to know our neighbours, handily all
named Juan or Maria, (Names changed of course!) no linguistic difficulties there then. Occasionally, we are invited to sit with them in their Bodegas and partake of  the home made wine and Tapas, the latter it is considered to be polite to bring along and share. Usually we bring along a tortilla, which is generally the cause of much ridicule to the womenfolk.

With such an evening looming we went shopping to the local Butcher,
Maria of course, and enquired as to what meat she had on offer.
Pollo Entero, (whole chicken) she proclaimed loudly. Er, anything else?
Oh yes, Pechuga (breast of chicken) or........ Mulo...Mulo??? Mule???
We thought fleetingly of the proud beast that cantered past our little
house daily on the way to water, come to think of it, hadn't seen much
of him this week...
No thanks, Maria, just the potatoes today, and erm, this bottle of
bleach looks nice, we backed out and went home to make the tortilla,
again, which would of course turn out to be flat and rubbery, again.

Later, gathered with the assembled Juans and Marias, having imbibed generous quantities of the local costa wine, and eating everyones food except ours, which remained like a little flat shrine on the alter of good
food, and with our tongues twisting fluently with all the right lisping
quality, we dared to enquire as to how they could possibly enjoy eating
their loyal hardworking mules.
Silence.
A Wicker Man style uni-stare was deployed. We countered with the 'in
for a penny' approach that only foreigners get away with.
That particular penny dropped slowly on our hosts' as one by one they
started to titter, laugh, howl, point and roll around.
Our glasses were refilled, and it was explained to us slowly, and
loudly, as everyone knows foreigners are quite deaf, that our dear
butchering Maria had in fact offered us chicken THIGH or muscles,
musclos'of course pronounced locally as moo-low.....
Anyway, went on our host, please ignore that tortilla, it would give a
mule bellyache, have a nice cold forkful of these delicious snails
instead.....
Another drink anyone??