“What is that odd smell?” I thought to myself, stepping into the apartment. It smelled swampy, frothy, vaguely fishy. I followed the scent to the kitchen. The air was heavy and humid with the dank odor. There, standing at the stove, enveloped in the putrid steam, was my husband.

“Hey! I’ve got about ten pounds of iguana boiling here. I thought we’d make iguana tacos tonight.”

I am an omnivore. Growing up in a big family, I was expected to eat whatever was put before me. I’m a “good eater.” I am a proponent of “slow food,” local food, and sustainable practices. And, while I am not a hunter myself, I appreciate those who hunt mindfully, consuming or sharing the meat, walking humbly on the earth, giving thanks and participating in the circle of life. Also, I am married to The Fishmonger. I am used to him walking in the door with something completely random and me having to figure out how to cook it: cod cheeks, blowfish, squid, octopus, crayfish, whole fish of any kind. Being married to The Fishmonger is like being on a cooking game show. “Contestants, are you ready? Get set! Figure out how to COOK THAT!”

Bottom line: if I’m hungry enough and willing to figure out how to cook it, I’ll choke it back ...

But iguana?

Green iguanas are an invasive species in south Florida. Over the years, folks who had second thoughts about owning them as pets have set them loose in the lush, tropical environment and they have flourished to the point of pushing out the indigenous species of brown iguanas. Green iguanas are a problem. They are eating vegetation and procreating faster than they can be eliminated. The same thing is going on in the Florida Everglades with pythons. With no natural predators there, they have propagated like post WWII families and now the baby boomers of the Everglades have become a serious problem. In fact, The state of Florida pays registered hunters good money to catch and kill invasive pythons.

Which brings me back to my husband, Iguana Dundee. Not one to chill out on the beach for more than a podcast episode, Dundee will often arrange little adventures for himself while we holiday in Florida: deep sea fishing, bone fishing, checking out what the local fishing charters are bringing in. This year he was invited to go iguana hunting. With all the togetherness of the past year of Covid, the time and space apart was much appreciated, thank you. “Buh-bye, now,” I nodded as I sipped my morning coffee. “I can’t miss you until you go.”

We had encouraged my brother, sister-in-law and niece to come down to this part of Florida, enticing them with descriptions of the quiet beaches and tasty local food. I’m certain this is not what they had in mind. I peered into the turbid, roiling pot to inspect the iguana meat. Legs and tails danced to and fro in the bubbly water. Scrunching up my nose in revulsion, I snapped on the exhaust fan. “It smells like swamp ass in here.” The reptile parts in the pot were a jarring addition to this posh kitchen with its stainless-steel appliances. I exited to the balcony with my brother’s family, taking in the spectacular view of Miami twinkling in the distance and inhaled the salty air to cleanse my palate.

“My guide said to boil the legs and tails for twenty minutes, skin the meat and prepare it just like you would chicken,” Dundee said from inside, excitedly tending his cauldron. “I’ve got twenty more pounds of meat in the cooler!”

“For the record, I am not skinning anything,” I shouted back into the kitchen.

Dundee left to take a shower because, you know, he smelled like a dead iguana and before I knew it, my sister-in-law and I were wrist deep in iguana parts, picking meat off of little legs and tails. White and firm, it had the texture somewhere between frog legs and chicken. I noted that the tail meat was striped, just like the iguana skin itself, which struck me as kind of cool. Who knew?

We chopped onion, garlic, peppers, sprinkled taco spices into the pan and stirred in the iguana meat. Feeling like I was entering into a frat house hazing ceremony, I shouted out to my daughters, “Someone order a couple of pizzas as a backup plan!” I swigged my wine.

One by one, our three daughters kept circling through the kitchen, like curious sharks, sneering at the concoction on the stovetop. My brother cracked another beer and mused that this would be a great business opportunity: use the ample supply of local iguana to start a taco truck on the beach. “We’ll call it I Wanna Iguana!” he shouted, pleased with himself.

I waited for the pizza to come and poured myself another glass of wine. “What is taking him so long?” my daughter Flora cried, getting more hangry as the minutes ticked by, fervently refreshing her app.

“The hell with it,” I declared. “I’m starving and I’m now officially drunk. Let’s do this.” Setting the table for dinner, I rallied the troops. “This is no different than any other meat or fish you eat. It’s just that this animal was in someone’s backyard this afternoon, about twenty miles from here, scaring their shitso. And Dad killed it. Big whoop.” I doused my iguana taco with picante sauce and raised it to the table. “Eat local, ya’ll.”

Emboldened by wine and hunger, I pushed the image of the iguana’s reptilian mug out of mind and bravely took a bite. It was a bit slippery, kind of bland, really. Better than I feared, a little tough. It was food. It was edible. I was hungry. Nuff said. I swallowed hard and took another generous gulp of my wine. “Where the hell is that pizza?”

That night, I woke up with a fever, chills, and visions of green iguanas dancing in my stomach. Just as I was about to panic – did we consume some awful, rare iguana toxin? -- I remembered it was twelve hours after my second Covid vaccine. Bad timing for an iguana tasting party. So much for going to bed early and pushing liquids. Well, there was that wine ...

I am certain there is a better way to prepare iguana; my attempt was admittedly half-hearted. Plenty of people eat iguana. It actually is a pretty lean meat, contains more protein than chicken, and Lord knows it’s plentiful. Restaurants in New York (before Covid times) were paying $100 a pound for iguana meat. Some day, I would like to try out a good restaurant’s version of iguana tacos.

For now, it’s all too soon to think about. And besides, I’m resting up, getting ready for the next Fishmonger Cooking Challenge. God help me if he walks in with python meat.