After our Switchfoot adventure, Seth and I had some real issues getting up the next morning. I am now willing to admit that 8 hours of sleep a night is addictive and sudden changes can lead to mood swings.
That said, I think my forthcoming analysis is still quite valid: tortillas are the most disappointing food in the world.
After the 15th of September parade, Seth and I booked back to the Parque Central to get some of the street food. It was drizzling and we quickly gravitated toward the tortillas, stuffed with cheese on the grills. The lady made my tortilla right in front of me, so I watched her knead the dough, and then toss it on the grill so it could brown and sizzle. It looked like a pancake on steroids--I was so excited. She flipped it three times before finally allowing me to have it. I was convinced I was in the presence of a true tortilla artist.
There was no taste. Even with all the salsa, it was straight-up bland. It was terrible. I can actually remember the last time I was this disappointed by food--it was mid-July of 2001--but I´ve promised my mother I wouldn´t rehash that one. There was nothing beautiful about this letdown--I even had to sit on a wet park bench to eat it.
On a happier note, we made our deposit today on a brighter room with newer beds with a family from church. It´s on the other side of town, but the food seems to be top notch. They invited us over for tamales tomorrow, served either with tortillas or french bread. I´ve already made my choice.
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