Tamales (Handle With Caution)
Paul (my roommate, for those who didn't know) likes to put peanuts in his Coke. No, seriously. He does. He likes peanuts in his Coke, but he'd never heard of putting sour cream on chili.
Now, for me, I can't imagine chili WITHOUT sour cream. I mean, chili, cheese, sour cream. It's the dish. That's what comes with it. It would be like saying "I'd like my chili without any beans. Or meat." That's not chili then, in my world. But for Paul, sour cream was a wonderful new concept.
I ate a tamale for the first time. Paul had always talked with such fondness of his youth in Texas, where Mexican mothers would make up huge huge batches of tamales. He pretty much talked about it like it was ambrosia, so I was like, "I have to try this heavenly concoction." There is this Mexican restaurant here in town that is run by actual Mexicans, so I figured if I got a tamale there, it would be legit. Their food is authentic, and I'd always wanted to try a tamale, so I got one.
It was the hottest darn thing I ever put in my mouth, (other than that Cambodian pepper that was the size of the tip of my pinky and was as hot as the sun. But that is another story). I know there were Mexicans all over America who, in unison, snickered to themselves, "another white girl defeated by REAL food." I bet you they have some kind of sixth sense that lets them know when some little Caucasian is screaming, "Please, Lord! Make the pain stop!" And then they laugh and mutter, "that wasn't even spicy."
My old friend Dan told me I live north of the "taco line", and that if you draw a line from Sacramento straight across the country, that is the dividing line for good Mexican food. Above it, real Mexican doesn't exist. Now I always thought, you know, I'd eaten Mexican food -- and not just Taco Bell, either. I mean, Margarita's is downtown, and they have actual real cilantro in their salsa. Surely that had to be real Mexican. And boy did I laugh at the foolish concept of the Taco Line. Well, I'm here to say, I'd never eaten real Mexican food before that tamale. Holy crap. What did they put in that food, anyway? Actual hellfire?
I'm telling you, the key to winning the war in Iraq is to feed hot tamales to our troops. I swear, it have the same effect as PCP. Or woad. Or when the Picts would wrap wet leather around their no-no parts and let it dry and tighten up. No wonder they screamed a lot. Load our boys and girls up with tamales. They will be even more invincible than they are now.
At least I can finally say I had real Mexican food. I'd just like to state for the record that Paul introduced me to a truly hellish experience. There was no joy in that hot tamale. He owes me now, because I've introduced him to sour cream in chili, kielbasa, and next, I will feed him poutine, which is artery-hardening and delicious. He owes me!