mirliton (chayote squash)

"What are those things?" I asked, to engage, before looking at the label.

"We call them mirlitons ." He said facilely switching to French nasal phoneme for the "ton" in mirlitons. "But here," he touched the label under the basket of mirltons, "they're calling them chayote squashes."

Well then, mirli"ton" is how I learned them and so mirli"ton" they shall be. Chayote will be second place, no matter how they are to be labeled in any future grocery.

"What do you do with them?"

"I chop them up and add them to a white sauce.

He was taller than myself and heavier. He smiled as he spoke displaying perfectly white teeth arranged perfectly in rows like little square Chicklets that had been filed to sharpness with a slight space between each one which appeared would make flossing an ease. He elaborated unnecessarily, "You start out with a light roux, add milk and, you know, a little cream cheese or whatever, then put in the diced mirlitons."

"Is this a side dish, then?"

"Yes, it's a side dish. You know," he makes a sprinkling motion, "then you add a little crab meat."

"So you're getting crab here too?"

"Yes. I am. I'm surprised what they're charging for these here," back to the mirlitons, "In Louisiana they sell them for 35¢ (here they are 99¢).

Louisiana. That explains it. If he's disappointed by how much mirlitons cost here, he's really going to be disappointed with the crab."

"I used to live in Louisiana," finding a hook. See how I stretch a chance encounter by reaching? I really test peoples' patience if they give me half a chance. "But I managed to avoid hearing about these mirlitons, although there aren't all that many French in Shreveport."

"No, there's not. Ha ha. It's closer to Texas up there." Up there. Reminds me of a joke that Justin Wilson, the Cajun chef, used to like to say, he'd go, "A friend of mine from up north, and when I say up north I mean waaaaaaaaay UP north … like Shreveport," which of course is very silly because Shreveport is still very south but not to an Acadian.

"Must it be crab?"

"Oh no, it can be anything or nothing at all."

"Must they be cooked?"

"No. Raw is fine too, just be sure to add lime juice."

"What do they taste like?" Impossible to answer with any degree of accuracy, a thing is what it is, but I ask the question anyway just to provoke a response

"They're like an apple, or maybe a cucumber. Possibly like a jicama (hik-ama)."

All of this was surprising. I fully expected to be brushed off. Usually I don't get such eager and in depth information from young people which is why I usually don't bother prying them out.

"Thank you for all this information. You have caused me to want to experiment. Ew. This one's slimy."

"Ha ha ha. Yeah, that happens."

Mirlitons, Chayote squash if you like

Also known as shoko, chocho, tayota, alligator pear, vegetable pear, sayote, chow-chow, and christophene, all this may be useful someday in working out a stubborn corner of some future crossword, a member of the gourd family as are squashes, cucumbers and melons.

I like them. A lot. The magic starts when you add lime and salt. Gives a pleasant crunch. Mild flavor. I did not use the man's idea of a cream sauce. Would seem a shame to cook it for my first experiment.

I used packaged crab. Blue Star™, to be exact, America's favorite so it says on the package. How could I go wrong? Possibly by paying $9.00 for six ounce, for starters, that's how. Oh well. I did want to give my first mirliton experiment a good solid go.

* mirliton (chayote squash), peeled and sliced into strips.
* lime
* tomato, diced
* avocado
* diced onion
* S/P
* chipotle powder
* 6 oz. crab picked crab meat
* lettuce
* hand-made mayonnaise (at this point is there any other kind?)

All that stuff is fresh ↑, no cooking.