Mesquite Flour, A Manifesto of Sorts

We interrupt this broadcast of angst-ridden quarter life crisis rants to bring you…a recipe! Finally. I told you I’d get around to it and this one is a real treat.

I have deep roots in Texas. Aside from a few stints abroad it is the only place I’ve ever lived. I love this damn state even though it infuriates me with all it’s crazy talk about pro-life this and pro-gun that. My mama’s family has been in South Texas for nearly 500 years, since the time it was known as New Spain. On my dad’s side, according to family legend, one of the oldest corpses in the El Paso cemetery is my great-great-great (great?) grandmother who was a Tigua Indian. Back then the border was more of a suggestion than an actuality. On both sides of my family tree borders have shifted, names have changed, but the people remain. Sometimes I wonder if I’d still remember my name if I couldn’t go back to revel in the exploding sunsets and barren rocky mountains of West Texas. 

12 Grapes

Excuse my silence I’ve been…indisposed. If you are anything like me you are probably feeling pretty rough this morning. Perhaps, it was all the holiday food and booze or the fact that the season is over and you now find yourself more out of shape and broke. I accidently ate gluten on several occassions because it is hidden in everything and sometimes I don’t think to ask until later. Whatever, it was worth it and I’m learning. I’m lucky to work primarily with Mexicans which means that I get to ease back into work until Monday because Sunday is El día de los reyes magos  (Magical King’s Day), which marks the official end of the season. This is an interesting holiday where three kings come and leave presents in or by your shoes and you eat a cake with little plastic baby Jesuses (is that the plural of Jesus?) hidden inside,  whoever finds the Jesus(es) gets to throw a party…or chokes to death. I never really celebrated this holiday, but usually somebody in my family had the Jesus cake so we would go over to their house to partake, but by that point it did not matter who found the baby Jesus because there would be no more parties for awhile as everyone was exhausted and sick of each other.