every day in 2016, write a sentence or a paragraph or a poem that appreciates
taquitos
they don't even live up to their name! reading it, you'd think they were little bitty tacos. no! some jerked beef, I think, some cheese, maybe a little potato, maybe some refried beans, maybe some extra spices. all rolled up in a tortilla to make a tube with its ends sealed, then deep-fried! oh my goodness! they're one of the most sinful of cheap foods. they have to be! once upon a time, I must've been sixteen, because I remember I was driving, I think I was driving some girl home, and she cried out, "Oh! Stop here! Stop here! Stop here!" We weren't doing anything naughty, so I pulled into the drive-in, and she ordered half a dozen taquitos. oh my goodness! sweet lady, I should remember your name if only for this one gift! we split them and I learned a new idea of heaven. after we finished them, I took her home, then drove up and down Albuquerque's Central Avenue finding places that sold taquitos - not every place did - and sampling them. I may not have done that. I was pretty determined not to cross my mother about my curfew and lose the opportunity to use her car on weekend nights. but memories distort reality, don't they? in my memory, I wandered home around two ayem, as nearly drunk as one can get on taquitos. next morning I needed no breakfast - can you imagine that of a teenaged boy? - and just sat there grinning. trust this story like you would any sixty-something-year-old memory. but trust that hazy, foolish-fond introduction to taquitos. goddam!
No comments:
Post a Comment