Unexpected, but Gladly Accepted

South of the Border, and Made to Order

Parched after what seems to be an endless commute to Puerto Peñasco, I stop at a gas station to purchase some Jumex, pineapple of course. As the gas station doors creak open, and the chilled juice trickles down my forever indebted throat, an aroma of cooking meat catches my primitive nostrils like a fish hook and reels me down a village street with only the golden glow of a neon sign to guide me.

I arrive at what appears to be an aged steel box precariously placed on the edge of a makeshift sidewalk. At the helm is an experienced culinista, and to the right, his apprentice, dressing what appears to be none other than a good old All-American hot dog. One last taste of my homeland before embarking on my inquisitive excursion of piquant peppers and alluring carne asada couldn’t hurt.

Before I manage to muster up enough moxie to order, a disgruntled taxi driver parks his vehicle, strolls up to the stand and places an order. But this time I observe meticulously. The master chef fishes out a searing sausage from a sea of sautéed onions, places it delicately into a taco-shaped bun and throws the ropes to his first mate.

The apprentice, with tongs in hand, loads the bun with freshly diced tomatoes, taps them on the stand for good measure, and sprinkles on a scoop of raw onion. He lifts up a beige bottle and squirts mayonnaise with zigzag precision, trades for its golden counterpart and finishes it off with a single line of mustard. With the mouth-watering creation in hand, the impatient taxi driver hastily glazes the majestic edible entity with a verdant dollop of guacamole and a thick coat of shredded cheddar.

I timorously approach the ambrosial altar, searching throughout my pockets for loose change. I’ll take one, con todo – with everything. They nod approvingly and manufacture The Last Supper of culinary feats. Twelve pesos later I experience edible ecstasy, a sensual Shangri-la, a nutritious nirvana. It’s good to be home.