A Taste of Home…Sort of

Sunday September 13

We wake up Sunday morning to Ross knocking at our door. It was our last continental breakfast at the B&B, and dang it was good.

Downstairs we can hear Lorna trying to get the kids dressed and motivated for Sunday school and Mass. Poor lady. I don’t think she remembers that nobody wants to go to church when they’re five! She would eventually lose the battle, give them their outdoor boots, and send them off to the neighbors. The house next door had a big backyard with an in-ground trampoline surrounded by mattresses. A childs dream.

Lorna calls a cab for us and is downstairs watching us bring our luggage.

“So here’s what you all will do. The cab will take you to Springwell street and the address is number 10. When you get there, walk up to the door and on your right will be the ringer, and on your left will be a safe box. The keys to your room and that door will be inside. Punch in the code 3524 and it should work. The best of luck to you both and we’ll be in touch soon! Take care. Cheers!”

She ended up being one of the most giving and caring persons that we have yet to come across. That just goes to show you…don’t judge a book by its cover. Especially if it’s ten at night and that book has three wee tykes and a business to run.

So I didn’t want to tell you about the whole day. It wasn’t too exciting at all. We just walked around a bit, saw a movie that could possibly be in the running for the worst movie ever made, ate ice cream, etc…

But what I did want to share with you is our little experience at City Centre.

Since we live in a different part of town now, this area is a lot closer to City Centre. Before we left the flat, we asked Lorna if this temporary flat had Internet.

“No, unfortunately it doesn’t I’m sorry. You could try bumming some wife off an unprotected network in the building though. Or maybe you could just use your dongle.”

Angela and I look at each other. We smirk as if she just said a nasty word.

“You know what a dongle is right?”

“No…we have no idea what that is…” We reply. At this point I’m kind of smiling because this word is reminding me of the word dingle (berry) and I can’t help myself. I know, I’m immature.

It turns out to be just another word for a Wireless Internet USB plug-in. Apparently, they’re very popular in the UK since they provide better and faster service. Maybe I just never really noticed, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone use one in El Paso. Who knows, you learn something new everyday.

We’re walking down Princes Street in search of a dongle and in the corner of my eye I see the color yellow. I turn my head to reveal the entire object that is made up of such a bright color, and there it is. In plain view. Bright as the sun. Calling my name. A Corona canopy.

I stop in my tracks. “Babe…look!”

She does. “Oh, are you hungry already?” She says.

“I sure am.” I tell her. I was just hungry for a taste of home, even if it did come in a bottle.

We walk closer and the picture becomes clearer. This isn’t just any restaurant that serves Coronas. It’s a Mexican restaurant. “Real, Authentic Mexican food” is the advertisement. I turn to her like a little puppy that just saw a bag of kibbles and bits.

“Oh okay, let’s try it.” She smiles.

Yesssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.

We sit down and a nice little Scottish woman hands us some menus. It felt like I was holding a winning lottery ticket in my hand. And boy was I ready to cash in for some enchiladas. I see they serve Dos X! And offer it in a michelada!!!!!!!! I cried a little inside. I turn the page to the entrees. The feeling I got was probably what those guys felt when they realized they were reading the Rosetta Stone. Even better than enchiladas, the Mexican stack! Beans, rice, cheese, shredded beef, salsa, onions, tomatoes, all wrapped in corn tortillas with melted cheese on top and a salad on the side. I’m six years old and it’s Christmas morning.

So I order Mexican stack with the Dos X michelada and Angela orders the fajitas and a water (alcohol doesn’t appeal to her like it does to me, which is probably a really good thing). While we’re sitting, waiting underneath the surprisingly sunny Scottish sky, we’re talking about home and the things we’ve been missing. Our family and friends are at the top of the list of course, but just below are the many aspects of our Hispanic culture…the food, the language, the faces, the places, and so on. Lost in our state of reminiscence we began to notice just how much we appreciated home. Distance truly does make the heart grow fonder.

So, in the fashion that an alarm jolts you from your sleep, the sight of our waitress catches our attention…and well…we didn’t know what to think.

Our food comes before us and it just…well…didn’t really look too Mexican. Nor smell it.

First of all, back home a michelada consists of a beer glass, salt on the rim, limejuice, and ice. In Edinburgh, the salt and lime were there, but the glass was this thin, tall, cocktail looking thing and there was no ice!! Nevertheless, it was still pretty tasty. The Mexican stack however…was more like a Taco Bell stack. The rice was white, not Mexican; the salsa tasted just like Taco Bells mild sauce; the beef was ground, not shredded; to be honest, it tasted more like lasagna. Our dreams of eating authentic Mexican food were shattered.

Stomach: satisfied.

Taste Buds: dissatisfied.

Tear Ducts: flowing.

Even after our Taco Bell experience though, Angela and I walked back to our flat with our head held high. It wasn’t a total disaster because for at least a few minutes, we were back home. Our memories of the scents, tastes, and sensations of REAL Mexican food are far more pleasing than anything else we’ll get over here. So if anyone from home reads this…PLEASE, please have a REAL enchilada and michelada for us! Because it doesn’t look like we’ll have the pleasure anytime soon.

Tear Ducts: Niagra Falls.