for the love of La Beraca

I'm a little embarrassed, and I'm sure they whisper over the grill, "Who's the gringa who keeps coming in? What's her problem?"

It's the plantains. And the tortillas. And the cabbage salad. And the beans.

Which is exactly what I ordered when I went there today. Going to La Beraca was the only thing that could force me to go clothes shopping, which I really needed to do. I got four errands out of the way, and the reward was a culinary vacation to Honduras.

It's soul food - it fills me up, satisfies me, and makes me feel healthy & hearty. The trick is to only eat small amounts; yesterday Alejandra and I ate everything and we were both far too sleepy. They serve enough for three meals.

Would it be wrong to find an apartment based on proximity to La Beraca? Screw school and work - I need me a home near those frijoles.

Of course they don't know me there - they don't know of the Templo marathons, of my stalking expertise. They also don't know that I may look and sound like a white girl, but I've gotten far too accustomed to Central American food to be satisfied without it. In fact, in this moment, I'm thinking screw Africa and screw New Orleans - I want to spend my summer working on my Spanish and eating this way every damn day. Without being the crazy stalker gringa. I almost put them in my phone so I can call ahead (I do already have the menu pretty much memorized), but that was a little over the top.

I'll try my best to not go tomorrow, but Monday I may take Javier, who pouted that I didn't take him when I took Alejandra. Yeah, she's my favorite, but he's a damn pretty boy.

And now that we know there's no animal anything in the beans, Tami might be hip to it again. And again.