Today, I became a legit Mexican.
No, I didn't finally get my Mexican passport, I did something BETTER:
I made a tortilla from scratch.
Ok, I don't know if I can technically call it that, since I wasn't out there grinding corn and all that hoopla. Instead, I went ahead and purchased some good ol' MASECA.
I then went ahead and prepared the dough (is that what you call it in English? I just call it "masa"). Then I rolled a nice little ball, flattened it, and finally, heated it up.
I felt so fuckin' accomplished!
THIS is what it's like to be a Mexican female?! Oh my God! I LOVE IT!
The end product?
Sure, it needs a little bit of help... but IT'S MY FIRST TORTILLA!
Pretty soon I'm going to start rolling out shit that looks like dinosaurs and calla lillies.
It's funny, because I'm not much of a tortilla person. I haven't had one in well over six weeks... wait, let me correct that: I hadn't had one in over six weeks... since I caved today and ate that tiny baby I created.
I only crave them when I'm away from home, like that short month abroad. I spent the last two weeks of my stay ready to stab anyone for a tortilla.
(I should have taken a cue from Guillermo del Toro and how he had a bunch of MASECA in his luggage when he went over to Spain to film Pan's Labyrinth... although Customs intercepted the bags, and they were convinced it was coke. Poor guy had all his MASECA packages stabbed. Then again, back when I was over in good ol' Spain, I didn't know how to make tortillas, so it would have been pointless)
However, due to my lack of interest in living (I say that jokingly. Last week when I thought I was dying I was freaking the fuck out), tortillas were given up for an unusually long time.
Today was the magical day when they were once again allowed, and I do believe they're going to stay.
The smell brought back awesome memories of my summers in Mexico:
Waking up with the sun shining through the curtains, the roosters doing their thing (normal people call it "singing," I believe... kids call it "cock-a-doodle-dooing"), the sound of Gramps getting his horses ready to head out to his little farm... and I'd stretch as wide as possible, hoping to wake up everyone else (Mom and Sister. We'd sleep together on a giant bed).
Grandma would walk in at seven in the morning, and ask us if we wanted to join her to get the tortillas.
Mom, Sis, Grandma, and I would walk together to the tortilleria, something that took about five minutes to and from. While Mom and Grandma talked, Sister and I would throw rocks at the lizards resting in the sun... or we'd be trying to sneak up on giant yellow and blue butterflies.
The closer we'd get to the house where they made the tortillas, the more delicious the smell would get.
Soft, warm tortillas... wrapped in a blue cloth, stacked in a bright orange bucket.
The walk back home would be a run back home.
Huevos Rancheros, baby!!
Man... I loved those days.
I miss Mexico... I miss my childhood...
but above all... I'm reminded of how much I miss my grandparents.
They really were some of the most important people in my life. They made so many parts of life special... especially the simple shit... like the daily walk for fresh, homemade tortillas.
No, I didn't finally get my Mexican passport, I did something BETTER:
I made a tortilla from scratch.
Ok, I don't know if I can technically call it that, since I wasn't out there grinding corn and all that hoopla. Instead, I went ahead and purchased some good ol' MASECA.
 |
| Food of the GODS! |
I felt so fuckin' accomplished!
THIS is what it's like to be a Mexican female?! Oh my God! I LOVE IT!
The end product?
 |
| Fuckin' beautiful! |
Pretty soon I'm going to start rolling out shit that looks like dinosaurs and calla lillies.
It's funny, because I'm not much of a tortilla person. I haven't had one in well over six weeks... wait, let me correct that: I hadn't had one in over six weeks... since I caved today and ate that tiny baby I created.
I only crave them when I'm away from home, like that short month abroad. I spent the last two weeks of my stay ready to stab anyone for a tortilla.
(I should have taken a cue from Guillermo del Toro and how he had a bunch of MASECA in his luggage when he went over to Spain to film Pan's Labyrinth... although Customs intercepted the bags, and they were convinced it was coke. Poor guy had all his MASECA packages stabbed. Then again, back when I was over in good ol' Spain, I didn't know how to make tortillas, so it would have been pointless)
However, due to my lack of interest in living (I say that jokingly. Last week when I thought I was dying I was freaking the fuck out), tortillas were given up for an unusually long time.
Today was the magical day when they were once again allowed, and I do believe they're going to stay.
The smell brought back awesome memories of my summers in Mexico:
Waking up with the sun shining through the curtains, the roosters doing their thing (normal people call it "singing," I believe... kids call it "cock-a-doodle-dooing"), the sound of Gramps getting his horses ready to head out to his little farm... and I'd stretch as wide as possible, hoping to wake up everyone else (Mom and Sister. We'd sleep together on a giant bed).
Grandma would walk in at seven in the morning, and ask us if we wanted to join her to get the tortillas.
Mom, Sis, Grandma, and I would walk together to the tortilleria, something that took about five minutes to and from. While Mom and Grandma talked, Sister and I would throw rocks at the lizards resting in the sun... or we'd be trying to sneak up on giant yellow and blue butterflies.
The closer we'd get to the house where they made the tortillas, the more delicious the smell would get.
Soft, warm tortillas... wrapped in a blue cloth, stacked in a bright orange bucket.
The walk back home would be a run back home.
Huevos Rancheros, baby!!
Man... I loved those days.
I miss Mexico... I miss my childhood...
but above all... I'm reminded of how much I miss my grandparents.
They really were some of the most important people in my life. They made so many parts of life special... especially the simple shit... like the daily walk for fresh, homemade tortillas.
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