As I walked through the doorway to the kitchen I would smell a strong waft of black coffee and beans. As a four-year-old I dragged my hand across the rugged walls to my seat that was next to my cousin. My hungry younger self scanned the table for the food that was soon going to be stuffed into my mouth. I saw freshly cooked tortillas, steaming chicken, and boiled beans. The specialty my grandma and aunts would make during lunch in Mexico.
Today eating tortilla will bring back to one of my favorite memories from my trips to Mexico. I ate tortillas at the old rickety oak table as swung from the chair’s height. My grandparent’s parrot came waddling and squawking rambunctiously from under the table. That golden annoying parrot started to frighten
Today eating tortilla will bring back to one of my favorite memories from my trips to Mexico. I ate tortillas at the old rickety oak table as swung from the chair’s height. My grandparent’s parrot came waddling and squawking rambunctiously from under the table. That golden annoying parrot started to frighten