flaca

A woman with a seriousness of purpose, but with deep laugh lines, makes my dinner in Oaxaca, a "tlayuda" with seasoned cured meat, tomatoes and local cheese, roasted in flatbread over coals. Her calloused hands pound the dough into submission, her forehead pouring sweat from the heat.  The customer sitting next to me asks her for the bill, and for a moment her eyes roll back into her head, as if she would pass out…then she recovers and tells her what is owed, without flinching, as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile, the customer looks over at me, scanning me with her eyes, up and down. She tells me I'm too skinny, with genuine concern. I relay this to the woman who just made me one of the most excellent meals of my life, who smiles and nods her head in agreement.