Mexican Food Redux - Part III: Reflections Two Years After Leaving the States

Background: The Denver shuttle driver asked two questions. What is the biggest difference between the US and Ireland? And is there one thing that, if you could bring it from the US to Ireland, then Ireland would be perfect? That is how Guns and Mexican Food became a theme for my twenty-three day return and book tour to the United States.

Well, not guns. I gave not a single thought to guns the rest of the time I was there.

Though others did. When I answered the shuttle driver, “Guns and Mexican food—real Mexican food,” the person in the seat behind me entered the conversation. She had spent the last two years in New Zealand. She said, “Same answer. Guns and Mexican food, real Mexican food.”

After I published Part I, Portugal and Italy chimed in. Guns and Mexican food. Any other emigrants want to give your own answers—the biggest difference between the US and where you live now — and what from the US would make your new home perfect?

I continued my examination of the question. Meaning, I ate as much Mexican food—real Mexican food—as I could over the next twenty-three days.

The first meal was right away at the Denver airport.

Admittedly, it was the airport-fast food-deconstructed version: a “bowl.” But I figured it was better than the fast food-salsa smothered stuff served on the other side of the concourse. The bowl was made by women who looked like they knew what it should have tasted like. What can I say—I was on a mission and I was in an airport.

Busy, busy, busy over the next two weeks. Two readings, a new baby to meet, a quilt show, and lots of visiting. I never got to the semi-authentic restaurant in Sisters. No matter. A pretty good burrito from a food cart. I eat burritos when I am tired and want comfort food.

The real stuff in Sisters is to be found in a little corner of the convenience store / gas station on the edge of town. Horchata and Jarritos, tacos and burritos on the blackboard. But I knew to ask for a tamal. That’s where we got our Christmas Eve tamales when we lived there.

Yes, they had tamales. The young man sent a younger girl out. Evidently, they didn’t have them at the counter. I chatted with the young man while I waited.

I mentioned the guns and Mexican food theme. He was perplexed. “Isn’t there Mexican food in Ireland?” I shrugged. I said I could get salsa and what they called tortillas (flour, not corn). [Shudder.]

Then he asked why. I thought, and answered, “No Mexicans?” Which answer silenced me.

No Mexicans. What would the United States be with no Mexicans?

Seriously, what would the United States be without Mexicans?

The young girl returned with my tamal. Think about that. Somewhere, not too far away, were tamales hand-made by these young people’s mama. And I got the real deal for my next airline meal.

Well yeah, I had to sample it before I got on the plane. My mouth is salivating even as I gaze at this photo.

Next, on to Louisville, Colorado. The meal pictured above was a good faith effort, though I can’t remember what exactly it was. There’s some chile verde on that plate. Must have been an enchilada under that lettuce and crema. And they serve only soft corn tortillas. Mole on the menu. Under the circumstances, if that were available in Ireland, I would be a regular. Good guacamole.

But then in Loveland, I met Herlinda. My brother Charlie took me to breakfast. We sat at the counter, next to Herlinda. One conversation topic led to another [“guns and Mexican food”] And she was talking about the time her husband invited all the single GIs over for Christmas Eve when stationed in Germany.

I grinned and leaned forward. I knew what was coming. Yes—tamales. She served lonely GIs far from home on Christmas Eve—tamales.

I am seriously in love with this woman.

The next day, this is what arrived at Charlie’s door:

Along with pinto beans, Mexican rice, and more enchilada sauce.

And then I could go home. My trip was complete. My pilgrimage for the best about the United States. The one thing I miss for having emigrated.

Oh, I sold a bunch of books and saw some dear friends, too. Yes, in every way, a fine time.