This past Saturday night, Bitty and I celebrated Cinco de Mayo at our small, locally-owned Mexican food hangout. We each ordered taco salads, which come in a fried tortilla bowl. Perhaps we were loopy from our one alcoholic beverage each because suddenly Bitty displayed a square of tortilla from her salad bowl and exclaimed, “Doesn’t this look like Nebraska?”
My Mexican flag and the sangria that inspired it
I’m not at all knowledgeable on geography, and nothing against our Cornhusker friends, but isn’t Nebraska just a rectangle? I retrieved my iPhone to take a picture of “Nebraska,” at which moment Bitty informed me, “I just ate Nebraska.”
“Well, now, how in Hades am I going to have photographic evidence?” I said. “Maybe that bit of tortilla was going to be our claim to fame. You know, like those folks who discover Jesus grilled on their pork chop or the Virgin Mary formed in the whites of their scrambled eggs.”
She was unabashed and starting breaking up her bowl. “I’ll make another,” she said, crunching away again.
The boot that is Italy... really?
“How ’bout this?” she asked a second later.
“What’s that? Florida?”
“Duh, no. It’s a boot.”
I stared at her. “Yeah. Like Florida.”
“No,” she said, disgusted with me now. “Like Italy.”
“O-kay,” I said, no more convinced that this was Italy than that a perfect Nebraska replica had just disappeared before me. “Then I’m gonna make a state.”
I picked up a discarded piece of crisp tortilla decorated with a small lettuce leaflet and exclaimed, “This is Colorado.”
Colorado and the Rockies (elevation courtesy of Corona)
“No, it’s not!” Bitty was indignant. Like I was the big moron.
“Sure, why not? And the green is the Rocky Mountains.” Beat. “Aren’t those in Colorado?” (I truly am not a geography person.)
Bitty was done with our game (like she’s the only one who can sculpt tortilla states), but I made her wait so I could finish my impressionistic art of the Mexican flag, using the one green and one red tortilla from our chip basket. She waited impatiently and a bit jealously for
the true artist me to finish.
And then we threw our art in the garbage and went to buy chocolate for dessert. But the chocolate we didn’t mess around making “art” with; nope, chocolate is serious business with us and it went straight into our stomachs.