Recipes for Mexican rice were found and compared, and one was chosen. A happy late afternoon of chopping and measuring and stirring turned sour when the rice was inexplicably overdone on the bottom and underdone most everywhere else. And it was time to be there already.
Four Mexican restaurants between home and there -- I'll pop in one and get rice for 20 to go, I thought. But not on Cinco de Mayo. In the first one, cars were cruising the parking lot like a game of musical chairs.
Cranky-hungry and stressed, I called. "I'm on the way, but I ruined the rice. I have to stop and get some."
"Don't worry about it. Just come on," the friend at the other end said.
"Are you sure? Is there plenty of food?"
"Yes. Come on."
All of the Mexican places were full to bursting. I took her at her word and drove on by all of them and parked the car. I walked in late, empty-handed, sheepish.
• • •
No comments:
Post a Comment