I like to think I was Mexican in another life. I love traveling through this warm and beautiful country, its food appeals most to my tastebuds (after Indian, of course), and I even look a little Mexican with my olive skin and dark hair. Ever so often someone speaking Spanish approaches me on the street to ask for directions, or a salesperson tries to make me feel comfortable by breaking into what they assume must be my native language. They even look a little incredulous when I explain to them that I don't speak a word of Spanish.
Lately my kitchen has started looking a lot like a Mexican one too. I've packed my refrigerator and my kitchen cupboards with fresh and dry chillies of every kind, I've been confounding Desi with words like "piloncillo," "jamaica," and "achiote," and I've been dropping hints several times each day about that tortilla press I don't have to use up all the masa flour sitting in the pantry.
Lately my kitchen has started looking a lot like a Mexican one too. I've packed my refrigerator and my kitchen cupboards with fresh and dry chillies of every kind, I've been confounding Desi with words like "piloncillo," "jamaica," and "achiote," and I've been dropping hints several times each day about that tortilla press I don't have to use up all the masa flour sitting in the pantry.
