sort-of step-aunt. the year her mother died, she & her sisters were too sad to make tamales for christmas. the next year, her sisters still didn't want to so she didn't. the year after that, i asked her to teach me.
I'm a cook. And I write, sometimes about food, mostly poems. I make stuff. I get lost. I'm worried about vanishing bees, melting icecaps, the decrease of civility in the world, seedless watermelons, and whether there will be enough time for me to get it all right.
1 comment:
Excellent plan, on so many levels.
Not the least of which is the resulting tamales.
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