The last time I looked at a taco with my hungry eyes on was in the searing heat of Mexico City about three years ago. Two weeks later, what I thought was an unconditional love of these tasty tortilla snacks, soon fizzled away like any other holiday romance. After one too many visits to the street-side taco stands, I needed a break… you can eat too much of a good thing but also, could anything else, anywhere else, ever compare? Despite eating more tacos than I’ll ever need in a lifetime, I have very fond memories of those tacos al pastor!
To keep hold of those memories, I’ve just avoided tacos ever since that trip. I thought I was blissfully happy in my taco-free existence until a couple of cocktails and my ravenous appetite conspired against me, then before I knew it, I was salivating at the sight of all the taco options at Barrio Central.
When I was a foot loose and fancy free single lady, I didn’t really care for Valentine’s Day. That silly little cupid with his overpriced red roses and heart shaped chocolates can move right on because this lady was not falling for it. However, in the last couple of years, the 14th of February has held a special place in my heart… but probably not for the reasons you’re thinking!
If I’m being really ambitious I can claim to be trilingual. I have a firm grasp of one language (hopefully you’ll agree it’s English) and a passable conversational grasp of the others- Mandarin and Cantonese. Much to a certain someone’s amusement, conversations in my family are a mish-mash of the three languages in a strange symphony of accents. You might think that this, combined with my love of travel means I have quite the knack for picking up languages but you would be wrong. Any German or Japanese I learnt during high school has deserted me; I could barely order a beer on our recent weekend in Nuremberg and let’s face it, my Japanese is sadly now limited to types of sushi.
We attempted to learn Spanish before our trip to Mexico and Cuba but that plan was swiftly abandoned after only 2 lessons from a ‘Learn Spanish’ CD. There were some accusatory conversations over who was practising the phrases too loudly and therefore making it hard for the other to hear the CD; we stopped for the sake of our relationship. We did pick up some basics by the end of our month long jaunt but that wasn’t before some taxi-ordering difficulties in Havana, and that time in Mexico City when our ‘enchilada’ was not rolled and covered in mole as expected but tacos filled with the spiciest of porks. But when it really came to haunt me was during a long weekend in Barcelona when all my orders of ‘te con leche’ resulted in cups of scalding hot milk with tea bags in them. I’m sure we can all agree that milk is not great for brewing tea.