Callos in Cal Llop

We woke up to rain, and the sound of voices below the balcony, fiddling with the front door. After the mishap with Fredi's car, we were trepidatious. I hung my head out the balcony and called out "hola", only to find Angel (the chef at Cal Llop) and Maria (a neighbor who is more like family) trying to unlock the wooden entry door. Still in my pajamas, I was, needless to say, startled to see them, as I thought Angel was still in Menorca with Waldo and Cristina. But there he was, with a grin on his face, and a bag full of innards, come to cook up a monster bash of callos, which in English translates as callouses. It is a typical Spanish dish made from the parts of cow we Americans never see: honeycomb tripe, feet, knuckles, cheeks, stomach. He was ecstatic, as he had, for 20 euro, purchased enough tripe and such to make callos for twenty people. So to the kitchen I went, to watch and learn. I am not particularly fond of entrails and tripe, but one cannot expect to enjoy fully if you don't jump in to the pool.
Imagine a cow foot, a cow knee, a cow stomach, a cow face, and what's left on a ham bone, thrown in to a pot, cooked so it all comes off the bone. You then take a pair of scissors and cut it all in to uniform pieces, pulling extra hair off with your finger tips, all the while being assured that what you are preparing contains no cholesterol, and that the magic of the dish lies in the variety of textures inherent in the multiple stomachs of a cow. Not for the faint hearted. Nor for the prima donna, as who are we to make the seemingly less attractive parts of such a noble creature taboo? If you are going to eat the animal, shouldn't you show some respect and eat it all? And I must say, after adding some salt, pepper, garbanzo beans, and sweet paprika, it was most delicious. Especially when accompanied by a glass of dry white wine. Life is a banquet.