If I See Another Tortilla Chip...
Somehow, “I’m gonna fucking stab someone if I see another fucking Mexican dish within a month,” still doesn’t convey the kind of strong feelings I have against eating Mexican food after eating it nonstop for over a week during my stay in Houston. Outside of participating in a food-scoffing contest, I never imagined anyone could eat as many fajitas, burritos, and tortilla chips as I have during the course of a week. Instead of “Super Size Me,” I should go make a movie called, “Give Me More, Ese,” where I document what happens to me physically after eating nonstop Mexican food for a month. I’m sure I won’t be suffering the same kinds of health problems the dude from “Super Size Me” did, but at the same time, you can bet on the fact that I will be laying the ill atomic bombs in the bathroom before long…
Don’t get me wrong; I love Mexican food, especially when members of my family down in Texas do their thing in the kitchen, but c’mon, to have that stuff everyday? I mean, I didn’t even SEE a pasta dish or a hamburger anywhere. It was all about the tortillas and the fajitas. Not even salad, unless it happened to be avocados handily sliced to place on a fajita. Even when we went out to eat, we went to a Mexican restaurant. I don’t know about you, but if I’m cooking my people’s cuisine every night, I’m not going to go out to a restaurant to order the same exact thing I could’ve cooked myself under normal circumstances. Then again, the dining situation in Houston is so horrible; those “Houstonians” don’t know what good food is if it slapped them in the face. In comparison to everything else, Mexican food seems like Heaven when compared to the musty selections people from that city are used to. So I guess in Houston, you really have no choice BUT to eat Mexican. And by the end of my trip, I felt so bloated and sick from the monotony of eating the same food, that the first thing I did was head to White Castle to rid my system of all that “chicano-ness.” It felt like the best fucking meal of my life; my brain was screaming, “Finally, something different!!!”
While my tummy said otherwise, overall, I had a wonderful trip out to Houston. I got to see the fam and catch-up with them and all their drama. A few fights here and a divorce there didn’t stop me from having a decent time. I got to see my Abuelo, and chilled with my cousin Raul during his 24th Birthday. I had some fun beating the crap out of my little cousins, and I even got to witness some Jerry Springer-like stuff when I saw my uncle’s wife try to get with his twin brother in FRONT of the twin brother’s wife. (Confused? So am I.)
For the first time, I was able to celebrate Three Kings Day with my uncle and his Mexican in-laws. Basically, the way they celebrate it, as according to Mexican custom, so I’m told, is to prepare a feast, invite everyone over, do a bit of praying on the Rosary, and then whip out this huge piece of circular bread called, “Roca de Reyes” (King’s Bread) that’s lined with all kinds of sweet stuff on top and is stuffed with a couple of plastic mini-baby figurines. So, my uncle Angel and his wife invited over members of his wife’s fam, and got to cooking up a nice little feast. (guess what kind of food) While some of the meat was on the grill cooking, Angel’s wife led the prayer session, which my side of the family respectfully declined to participate in. (I find it funny that the people who were raised in Catholic school are the ones that turn out to be the non-religious. I guess we all saw first-hand the kind of brain-washing religion can do to people.) Instead, my uncle and I kinda sat around talking about female issue and sipping on ice-cold beers, definitely not praying material, while my momma spent some time with my grandfather, who wasn’t in the physical condition to participate in the festivities. When it was all said and done, we ate, chatted a little, and then got to the highlight of the night, dicing up pieces of the Roca. We all took turns slicing a piece of the bread, and whoever sliced a piece that contained the little plastic baby was obligated to throw the so-called “last party before Lent” Of course, who else got the baby but me. I was like, “well, the only party I’m going to throw is by throwin on some music, handing out some drinks, and calling it a day.” Now of course, I’m not going to throw a party for them all the way from Syracuse, but I will do something rather interesting…I just have to figure it out.
I couldn’t leave Houston without the annual ritual of being asked to move to Houston permanently from the rest of the family. And once again, as per ritual, despite the fact that I know deep down that I would be unhappy in Bush Country, I somehow escape the place thinking that I can make it all work somehow. I guess the Texas heat creates some kind of “reality distortion field” but, in either case, I get to thinking, “what would life be like if I were over there with my family?” In my mind, I have some pipe dream of all of us living amongst one another in somewhat of a harmony, but I know deep down inside, it wouldn’t last for long. We have too many issues for that to happen. I have confidence that, as the future patriarch of the family someday, I will be able to get past all the drama and bring some sense to all of our infighting, but, right now, I want to live my life, gain some experience on the outside, and then possibly come back to the family, wiser, more well-rounded, and certainly better positioned to lead. (And I’m talking 25-30 years from now, lol)
However, we’ll see what opportunites spring up during the course of my life. Who knows? Maybe I’ll move to Houston someday, and get used to eating Mexican food.
But if you show me another tortilla chip right now, put up your dukes. ☺
Don’t get me wrong; I love Mexican food, especially when members of my family down in Texas do their thing in the kitchen, but c’mon, to have that stuff everyday? I mean, I didn’t even SEE a pasta dish or a hamburger anywhere. It was all about the tortillas and the fajitas. Not even salad, unless it happened to be avocados handily sliced to place on a fajita. Even when we went out to eat, we went to a Mexican restaurant. I don’t know about you, but if I’m cooking my people’s cuisine every night, I’m not going to go out to a restaurant to order the same exact thing I could’ve cooked myself under normal circumstances. Then again, the dining situation in Houston is so horrible; those “Houstonians” don’t know what good food is if it slapped them in the face. In comparison to everything else, Mexican food seems like Heaven when compared to the musty selections people from that city are used to. So I guess in Houston, you really have no choice BUT to eat Mexican. And by the end of my trip, I felt so bloated and sick from the monotony of eating the same food, that the first thing I did was head to White Castle to rid my system of all that “chicano-ness.” It felt like the best fucking meal of my life; my brain was screaming, “Finally, something different!!!”
While my tummy said otherwise, overall, I had a wonderful trip out to Houston. I got to see the fam and catch-up with them and all their drama. A few fights here and a divorce there didn’t stop me from having a decent time. I got to see my Abuelo, and chilled with my cousin Raul during his 24th Birthday. I had some fun beating the crap out of my little cousins, and I even got to witness some Jerry Springer-like stuff when I saw my uncle’s wife try to get with his twin brother in FRONT of the twin brother’s wife. (Confused? So am I.)
For the first time, I was able to celebrate Three Kings Day with my uncle and his Mexican in-laws. Basically, the way they celebrate it, as according to Mexican custom, so I’m told, is to prepare a feast, invite everyone over, do a bit of praying on the Rosary, and then whip out this huge piece of circular bread called, “Roca de Reyes” (King’s Bread) that’s lined with all kinds of sweet stuff on top and is stuffed with a couple of plastic mini-baby figurines. So, my uncle Angel and his wife invited over members of his wife’s fam, and got to cooking up a nice little feast. (guess what kind of food) While some of the meat was on the grill cooking, Angel’s wife led the prayer session, which my side of the family respectfully declined to participate in. (I find it funny that the people who were raised in Catholic school are the ones that turn out to be the non-religious. I guess we all saw first-hand the kind of brain-washing religion can do to people.) Instead, my uncle and I kinda sat around talking about female issue and sipping on ice-cold beers, definitely not praying material, while my momma spent some time with my grandfather, who wasn’t in the physical condition to participate in the festivities. When it was all said and done, we ate, chatted a little, and then got to the highlight of the night, dicing up pieces of the Roca. We all took turns slicing a piece of the bread, and whoever sliced a piece that contained the little plastic baby was obligated to throw the so-called “last party before Lent” Of course, who else got the baby but me. I was like, “well, the only party I’m going to throw is by throwin on some music, handing out some drinks, and calling it a day.” Now of course, I’m not going to throw a party for them all the way from Syracuse, but I will do something rather interesting…I just have to figure it out.
I couldn’t leave Houston without the annual ritual of being asked to move to Houston permanently from the rest of the family. And once again, as per ritual, despite the fact that I know deep down that I would be unhappy in Bush Country, I somehow escape the place thinking that I can make it all work somehow. I guess the Texas heat creates some kind of “reality distortion field” but, in either case, I get to thinking, “what would life be like if I were over there with my family?” In my mind, I have some pipe dream of all of us living amongst one another in somewhat of a harmony, but I know deep down inside, it wouldn’t last for long. We have too many issues for that to happen. I have confidence that, as the future patriarch of the family someday, I will be able to get past all the drama and bring some sense to all of our infighting, but, right now, I want to live my life, gain some experience on the outside, and then possibly come back to the family, wiser, more well-rounded, and certainly better positioned to lead. (And I’m talking 25-30 years from now, lol)
However, we’ll see what opportunites spring up during the course of my life. Who knows? Maybe I’ll move to Houston someday, and get used to eating Mexican food.
But if you show me another tortilla chip right now, put up your dukes. ☺
posted by djkibblesnbits at 1:00 AM
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2 Comments:
LOL, it's not that I don't appreciate the food, but, at the same time, I'm one of those people that gets bored eating the same cereal after two days, so never mind eating the same cuisine for a week. That's the advantage of being from a city as diverse as New York is. We don't have to eat the same stuff day-in and day-out, and if you do, then you're kind of looked at as a bit of a bore. All of us kind of learn to mix other people's recipes and styles into our own cooking to make it that much better.
Despite Houston being the fourth largest city in the Union, that city is about as dry and boring as a wooden doorknob...so I really had no choice, lol.
Dude, there's all this hate hahah. i like mexican food, but like any true dominican, i can't have too much of it. that's just inbred i guess. honestly, that shit'll wipe out whole solar systems if you keep eating it.
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