Mexican Cooking 101.

I’m not going to dwell on the fact that I was right in the argument with the Buena Vista manager on whether Burritos are the same thing as Quesadillas. But I did of course have to ask Gladys to make sure if I’m right and get all my facts in order. In fact I’m not even posting that to prove I’m right, but because her reply just really made me laugh and I thought I could share this on this dreadful rainy morning.

Here is what she wrote when I asked her for the exact differences:

“There's a huge difference! Quesadilla is just a tortilla with melted cheese. You can fancy it up with chicken or meat or some sort of filling, but the tortilla is folded flat. A Burrito or as Deniz calls them Brutto is filled w/ meat, beans, rice and any other stuff you'd like to add then rolled like a crepe. Anyway that guy was an idiot. Tell him even a Chimichanga is closer to a Quesadilla than a Burrito at least that has melted cheese.”

Two side notes: our good friend Deniz could never remember the name, so yes, she named Burritos Brutto and it kind of stuck. A Chimichanga is basically a deep-fried Burrito, but I already told Gladys that the guy wouldn’t have known that if he didn’t even know the aforementioned difference of Burrito and Quesadilla.

Again I’m really not telling you all this to gloat, but as a pretext to share this picture she also sent:

Titled: Kitten Burrito in Spinach Tortilla*

No, that is not little Julian. Gladys would have not survived manhandling him like that. Though he does look like he had been stuck in a Tortilla for too long when he stood model for this one:

By Rez.

*She actually titled it Kitty Burrito, so I got very excited as I was hoping for a Hello Kitty Burrito, whatever that may look like.

Randomness reversed.

The mood has not improved by much and on top I had dreams so weird last night they actually make me dread teaching class tonight, which has never happened before. Except maybe the time when I was supposed to teach my first class ever and I wasn’t feeling ready and my teacher told me right before I went in “I want to see you cry!”. Gotta love him. So I’m not feeling very inspired either to write something clever. I would rather sit in a corner wearing the briefs which Gladys’ owned before she got married that say ‘boys are stupid, throw rocks at them’. There was a lot of wisdom in that.


Wisdom or not, since that is not an option, I am trying to think of ways to make myself cheerful and thus inspired. Nothing comes to mind. Quite the contrary. I thought I should make another list. A list of all my favourite things to do in New York, which would inspire me more than this life right now. Luckily I heard a little warning sound in the back of my head and yup, I wrote that list already. Even published it. Here you go, people. It has not changed a bit. The only thing I would add at his point, because Lula Cat reminded me with her Brooklyn thoughts, is to go to that little cheese shop in Williamsburg and buy that amazing Pecorino (?) we had one night last August (Gladys’ and I made sure it didn’t last longer and Rez was only allowed an allocated small slice).


I could be happy about the fact that I booked my flight for winter/summer – depending on where you are – vacation to go back home. But announcing the dates like the true rock star, which I’m not, to friends and family, I am now faced with the usual dilemma: People asking me to also go to XYZ and telling me no, I must change dates as they are on vacation, and anyhow why am I only coming for 5 days I may as well stay in Africa then... I know I’m exaggerating and it’s all done with love and people just want to see me, which is flattering and overall lovely. BUT it is also exhausting especially after coming up with a tour plan that had no flaw as I thought. I guess I am also not quite over the fact that there will be no other adventure vacation this year unless that millionaire does come along, marries me, tells me to quit my job for I should rather travel the world with him.
I do tend to scare millionaires and men in general off, so that will be no good. Still no inspiration. I could tell lamb tongue story which involves Cruella de Vil, lamb tongues (obviously) and a BALLY handbag and is quite awesome, but it may make a good post on its own and I could also show my pictures of the lamb tongue and scallop dish at Test Kitchen, which becomes even greater if you read the lamb tongue story before. Another time ... not feeling it today. Too hot for food and that reminds me to complain: what is up with the weather? I ordered fall and hot chocolate and my down duvet and curry and rain and soppy movies and a reunion with my cashmere poncho.


And then...


Just when I wanted to bitch some more did I have a little chat with a friend of mine. She started a chain of Facebook comments as long as someone announcing the birth of a firstborn by her remark of leaving NY. She is a bit upset to say the least and hearing about it breaks my heart, because she is so stunning, talented (check her out Grace Koo), beautiful, funny, I could gush about her for a long time. Chatting to her just reminded me of something important I should do: I must stop writing now, go and fetch my bikini and enjoy a last summer’s weekend on my cousin’s pool deck. Quickly. There may not be many more and one must go with the flow and enjoy them as they come. And if everything else fails, doing what I always tell my pretzel students to do: just breathe.

We live here.

My recent work project which included coming up with a cool pop-up card for our next mailing introduced some much needed entertainment to my daily routine. It also reminded me last time I made a pop-up card for a friend of mine. Shamefully I must admit that the card was never sent as it became part of a too-big-to-finish project, which I frequently indulge in. It was a card showing the layout of our first apartment in New York which Gladys, Marie and I shared.

The grand tour:


Bottom left
The bathroom. If you need the fax machine explained, please contact Marie directly as it is all her fault and I won’t say no more.


Top left
Marie’s room. The clothes are a bit misleading as we all worked in fashion, but her fashion job rocked the most that’s why her room gets represented by clothes.
It was at Roy’s Hosiery and each Friday was called ‘Sock Friday’ as she would bring left over sample socks for us. I don’t think I have bought a single pair of socks since Marie left college. When she came to visit Cape Town she lived up to the true spirit of Sock Friday and brought me about 30 pairs and it wasn’t even Friday. I love visitors!


Top Middle
Gladys’ room. Yes it did have a pop-up wall for real. That’s how you convert a 2 bedroom to a 3 bedroom in New York and charge 50% more rent. It also had the only TV and Thursday was Friends night. Marie and Gladys would sit on her twin bed, I was crouched in the corner of the window sill and we would watch the new episodes of Friends together. Who needs a La-Z-Boy or even a living room?


Top Right
My room. I had an original red iMac and a liking for Internet dating. Also did I become a professional on how-to-make-the-most-of-a-4m2-room in this room.


Middle Bottom
Kitchen/Living Room/Dining Room/Foyer/Gladys’ walk-in closet. Equally inhabited by Coronas, Enchiladas or other Mexican treats and mice.
The mice became a bit of a problem. In an attempt to be PETA friendly I not only decided to go Vegan for a week (I stopped after trying to eat soy parmesan cheese), but also asked them for a mice friendly way to dispose of mice. The answer is simple: One buys a little cage (preferably with handle), puts bait inside (preferably of the soy kind) and waits for the mouse to run inside (hoping the mouse unlike you will like soy cheese). The cage should be one where the mouse runs in, but can’t run out yet remains unharmed. Then you have a cage with a mouse and you can take the mouse to Central Park and release it. Someone explained that to me while keeping a straight face. To my question why I would do such a thing and surely the mouse would manage to run the 4 blocks back to my street and up the stairs into the apartment and how this would defy the whole purpose, I just got blank stares.
I am not proud to admit that we then decided on the least humane way: glue traps. Bad idea for both parties involved. For the mice for obvious reasons and for us as we underestimated how much a mouse can wiggle when glued to a trap. She can wiggle herself from her discreet trap hiding spot under the stove into the middle of the kitchen with the trap. By doing this it will cause the first person getting up in the morning to shriek loudly and the other two to wake up and know immediately that we caught one.
I will spare you the details of how we got rid of any mouse on trap, but it usually involved our trash shoot and the Yellow Pages.


Far Right
The zebra van which you already know.


Top Far Right
The address we would give the cabbies and then shout in unison: “We live here.”
Go figure, Mr. Cab Driver.