Eating seasonally

I pulled up to the cemetery on my way back to the molino the other day, and ran into José María, our contractor, with one of his Romanian assistants. At first I thought he had come to collect the bill for the tiling, but then I saw the bulging plastic bags he and Vlad were carrying. This being spring, I had of course noticed that the cemetery walls were, well, crawling with snails. But I hadn't realized that anybody else had noticed. Nor, to be honest, did I realize that these things I tried not to crunch underfoot on my daily walk with Levon were somebody else's lunch.

José María opened his bag somewhat sheepishly to show me his haul, as if he had been caught with his hand in someone else's cookie jar. What could I say, but buen provecho?