When I
was 18, my boyfriend and I decided to leave Long Island University, take off
across the country, and escape our parents, finally moving to Albuquerque just
in time for the '72 riots, I waitressed while studying art at the university.
One weekend afternoon, we decided with a bunch of old and new friends to drive
to Mexico for dinner.
In those days, doing 110 on the highway was nothing, so
with some Santana blaring on the 8 track, our two cars finally arrived ,at a
restaurant one of them had been to in the past . It was pitch black by then,
late, but the place was still open, a beautiful stone courtyard beneath a
canopy of trees ,surrounding a low lying adobe building, with an open interior
lit by so many lamps and candles . We were seated, someone knew Spanish, and we
were gradually served a wide array of beautiful dishes with excruciating
aromas. Each one was more delicious than the last, and while our eyes and noses
streamed and we panted and sweat poured down our faces, we still were powerless
to stop consuming the meal.
I think aside from the first dish my husband cooked
for me
(Starving Student brown rice with onions and peppers ), it was the most
incredible dish I've ever had.
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