Tom loves Mexican. He always had. For our first wedding anniversary, he gave me a Mexican cookbook which is — thirty years later — still the best, most authentic, comprehensive, interesting, gimmick-free, doable in my now Mexican library. That is Rick Bayless’s Mexican Kitchen.
Following the cues from the book, we found the best Mexican restaurant in the United States. On Mount Desert Island in Maine. Not sure if it still exists or how good it is now. In July of 1997, it was revolutionary great.
We also started our Mexican garden. The success varied. Some years we were swimming in tomatillos. Others, we had to keep a night watch over beans.
Among other things, we planted epazote. The first few years, this herb took over everything making us concerned about the invasion. As if overheard, one year, all the epazote disappeared. Gone clean.
Then our daughter took us to China.
In China, I went crazy. About Chinese food. Not that, I haven’t had it before — we live within an hour from two major East Coast Chinatowns. It turned out I really haven’t had Chinese food. Even more. After acquiring the entire collection of Fuchsia Dunlop’s books and reading a few more that once, I realized that I don’t really know anything about Chinese food.
Anyway, it has now been a year of me obsessively cooking Chinese. No one minds.
Suddenly, as if to stick it to me, a little twig of epazote showed up in the middle of our driveway. Lovingly, Tom created a guard around it and now it’s a big bush. Passage to the garage is blocked. And every time I ask Tom what he would like to have for dinner expecting the obvious “something Chinese would be good,” he says:
— We haven’t had Mexican in a while.
Here I am redeeming myself with a little taco spread. Then, back to Chinese — another child is planning to visit.