The more you grow old, the more you appreciate (and long) the experiences you had as a child. And I don't necessarily mean big events in your life, I'm talking about little details, like the type of bread you used to eat, some special drink, or even the places you saw on a daily basis. Things that at the moment don't seem very important, but that end up determining a big part of who you really are.
For me, one of those things is the amazing encaladillas, a type of sweet bread that is sold in my hometown to commemorate the departing of the dead. Trust me when I tell you there are few things in the world that can compare to the superb taste of a classic encaladilla =). Anyway, they are very popular and are only sold for a few weeks every year, so you must be prepared to fight to get one!!.
Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but I do remember that every year they became harder and harder to get. First, the increasing demand forced my good mother to stop by the bakery several times a day, to try and snatch the encaladillas before anyone else. However, many people did the same thing, and there were times when we wouldn't get anything at all...
Then, the bakery where they sold the original encaladillas changed (I think it was because the owner died, but I'm not really sure), and as a result it became even harder to get a decent supply of encaladillas every year. This was about the time I went to college, and ever since, I've eagerly waited for this time of the year to try again that delicacy of the (dead) gods!!.
The encaladillas have always reminded me of simpler times. They remind me of a place where no matter how complicated things get, I can always call home. And if our stories are true, that's also the place where my essence will keep coming, long after I'm gone =):.
Es tu olor en mí,
en barrio de coyotes,
fuego siento en mí..