CURTAIN RISES
ACT ONE: SCENE ONE
I make the approach as outlined above, selecting the “in person” option. This was met with a burst of laughter and an “I’m game for that” smile. I’m in business.
HER: What kind of Mexican food do you really, really love?
ME: Mole? (I was momentarily stumped. I couldn’t just say tacos or enchiladas).
HER: Maybe I can make green mole? (She seems genuinely excited by the idea). I’ve never made that before. What else do you like?
ME: Gambas?
HER: We could do that as a starter (She looks a little disappointed—too easy?). Or we could make hand-rolled tortillas? That would take many hours. Should I get a babysitter who can stay past midnight?
ME: Definitely.
Following that exchange, I offer to buy some tequila.
HER: I like Don Julio, the smoky one called anejo.
ME: OK.
HER: (Demurely) Or we could just drink white wine?
ME: White wine with Mexican food? You’ve gotta be kidding. (I say this with as much of a manly growl as I can muster.
But internally I’m thinking—what work do I have to do the next day? I’m going to be so totally hung over.)
SCENE TWO
I enter the local liquor store. I’m greeted by a kindly clerk. I tell him that I would like a bottle of Don Julio tequila—the smoky one. He looks me over and pulls a squat brown bottle off the shelf. I heft it in my hands and step towards the register. He tells me it costs $60. I spin on my heels and hand it back to him. Does he have another, less expensive one? He takes down a tall, slender bottle. This tequila is transparent, like water. It costs $30. I buy it. I walk out of the store. I walk five city blocks. I am troubled. I am thinking—this is going to send the wrong signal: that I’m unreliable; that I don’t listen; that I don’t follow through on what she asked of me.
I turn around and return to the store. I explain the situation. The clerk assures me that the clear tequila is just as good as the “smoky” tequila—the smoky one all is about marketing and hype. I stick to my guns. He shrugs. “I was just trying to help you save some money, bud.”
SCENE THREE
I call her.
ME: We didn’t set a time for dinner. What works best for you? Do you need help schlepping the stuff over to my place? (Co-operative engagement.)
HER: You’re sweet to offer. How about I come over at 8:00-8:15. I’m at the supermarket now. Don’t imagine you have a mortar and pestle?
ME: I do have a mortar and pestle if you can believe it.
HER: Wow! I’m impressed.
FIVE MINUTES LATER SHE SENDS A TEXT.
HER: I’m going to grind habañero chili with your mortar and pestle. Is that ok?
ME: You can grind whatever you wish with my mortar (and pestle)...
HER TEXT: Oh my goodness.
ACT TWO: SCENE ONE
SHE ARRIVES WITH TWO BURSTING BAGS OF GROCERIES. SHE STARTS UNPACKING.
HER: Tonight we’re going to have a series of quesadillas made with soft flour and corn tortillas, a range of combinations using Queso Oaxaca, flank steak, Poblano chilis, mushrooms and chorizo. We’re also making classic Mexico City guacamole. And my grandmother’s special salsa.
ME: Sounds good.
HER: While we cook, we are going to sip the tequila that you hopefully bought and follow it with a chaser called Sangrita, which is usually made with the juice of Seville oranges but since they didn’t have any at the supermarket we’re going to use blood orange juice instead.
SHE STARTS MAKING THE SANGRITA. I CONTINUE TO UNLOAD THE GROCERIES.
HER: I think this is perfect. But you taste it and tell me. It’s going to be a very new taste for you...Just let it sink in.
ME: That’s fantastic.
HER: You feel the burn?
ME: I feel the burn.
HER: You are going to die when you have this with tequila.
ME: The leading edge is orange...
HER: (sultry voice). Yeah, a deep red orange.
I TAKE OUT THE BOTTLE OF TEQUILA AND POUR THE FIRST SHOT.
HER: I just love this tequila! It’s beautiful: so smoky and lush. It’s the only one I can drink. It’s perfect! And I love the fact that you got the right one.
ME: (interior thought: That was just worth the extra thirty bucks).
HER: Nice shirt, by the way.
ME: Thank you.
HER: You’re lucky that you have good taste because that’s, like, a non-negotiable thing. Do you have a dish towel?
ME: Taste is a non-negotiable thing? Or the dish towel?
HER: Close tie. Taste for sure. Don’t you find that with most women? That most women want a man with style?
SCENE TWO
WE ARE SIPPING TEQUILA FOLLOWED BY THE SANGRITA. SHE IS ROASTING POBLANO CHILIS ON A SPECIAL GRILL CALLED A COMAL. I AM PREPARING THE AVOCADOS FOR THE GAUCAMOLE.
HER: My Grandmother made salsa practically everyday. She was Costa Rican and Spanish but grew up in Mexico City. She was an only child and she became this stunning glamour girl—the kind of woman you see in old Latin films: gorgeous big brown wavy hair and an incredible figure. I was her favorite and she taught me how to make fantastic salsa. It has a lot of spice. This is what she did to me—I look for spice in everything—in my turkey sandwiches, in my eggs...everything.
ME: Is this enough avocado? Should I add salt?
HER: I like my food pungent, not salty per se, but potent. I do not tolerate bland guacamole or bland salsa. That’s a cardinal rule. In fact, I don’t tolerate anything bland in my life.
ME: (Gulp.)
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