By the way, I’ve found a local published author (who is also the mechanic who fixed my water pump). He gave a few tips that helped him write his first 2 novels, one being to find the time of day I’m most creative and write during that time. So here I sit at 12 noon straight up, and in an attempt to find if now is my time, I shall attempt to write something off the cuff. What follows is that attempt. Please feel free to critique and tell me if it just sucks or what..
I just got home from the new panaderia they’ve built in my hometown. The Mexican family that runs it are quite friendly indeed. I’ve known them for years, and in fact knew the owner’s wife when she was a mere child of 8. I truly hope for them their business is successful.
Now in the little town of Podunk, any new business means crowds of people for miles around for the first week it’s open. In order to avoid said crowds, I held my well-wishing and patronage of this establishment until after that crucial first week had ended.
I entered the store to be surrounded and enraptured by the heavenly scent of bread being baked, combined with the faint hint of cooking meat in the air, wafted lazily towards me by ceiling fans everywhere. The walls were covered in posters written entirely in Spanish. Old bull fight advertisements, bills for motion pictures and public announcements, and soccer matches depicting various stars from the family’s favorite football team. Then came the cacophany of red, green, and white on each product which lined the shelves. It seems this wasn’t a mere bakery after all as the name had said, for bags of chips, sodas, grocery items, makeup and beauty items, and medicines also lined the shelves. In the back there stood the racks which were my real reason for coming. Taller than I am, these delightful shelves housed the most delicious looking and succulent Mexican pastries, breads, cookies, and even little cakes decorated with roses and Mexican flags. I smiled as Rosaria came out of the kitchen smiling greeting to me and asking in broken English of my health and family. I answered in broken Spanish, as is our usual way of talking, and told her Trish was doing fine and I as well.
Then came the offer of Heaven itself. Rosaria had acquired, through dubious means, her Great-Grandmother’s recipe for homemade tamales! She informed me that they were prepared daily along with the rest of the breads they offered, and they were just finished as it was nearing lunchtime. She didn’t even wait for me to ask for some; she simply smiled and turned to the kitchen telling me quietly “wait here a moment.”
I stood dumbfounded at my good fortune. I glanced around me at the ice-cream freezer and took note of the aunthentic Mexican ice cream which stocked it to overfull. Rosaria emerged from the back, with a plate in one hand and a very large bundle of foil in the other. Upon the plate was a corn husk, and I knew the treat it contained inside. I hastily peeled away the husk, and delighted in the beautiful yellow that marks a fresh tamale. I didn’t sauce the first bite. I wanted to taste the tamale for itself and not the wonderful green salsa that accompanied it. The corn taste was shadowed by a hint of hot pepper within the mix. The beef was heavenly, stringed not ground, and tender to the point of melting on my tongue. It was magnificent. Then I tried the sauce and burned my sinuses beyond recognition. Her homemade green sauce hadn’t changed a bit. I knew from eating it in the past that it contained habanero peppers, but she wouldn’t tell me anything else about it. It’s common knowledge in the |ce household that this sauce is the hottest concoction known to mankind.
Rosaria already knew I’d want a pound of the tamales to take home with me, and this was what she’d bundled into the foil as I was tasting her delightful creation. I asked the price and was told that normally they were 7 dollars a pound, but for me today they were free since I was an old friend. I refused to take them gratis, and paid her instead, telling her that a customer’s first visit was good luck to the store, and I’d rather bring her luck than take her food. I then invited her and her family to a nice dinner of smoked brisket at our home tonight and bid her farewell.
Ok, that’s it – my noon creativity spurt. The story was 17 minutes in the telling and I’m sure quite worthy of improvement. Suggestions? Comments?
Written by l3lacklce