coffee cup, or as Bill called it, his adult Sippy-Cup . He mentally held back the onslaught of sounds and smells surrounding him, focused instead on every morsel of the masterpiece crafted by Pablo’s burrito stand, a few steps away from where he was double-parked.
The typical bustle of locals came by car, truck, foot, or bicycle. It never took longer than a couple of minutes to shout their orders in Spanish while handing Pablo’s wife, Maria, 10 pesos, and then collecting their two foil wrapped burritos from Pablo, leaving the same way they had come. It was the best deal in town for the greatest burritos. For less than $1 US, you would get two of either an egg and cheese, or potato and cheese burrito. The only extra was a small container of salsa, homemade and equally tasty of course. Always the same choices since he could remember hearing about this place over 20 years ago; always available only at 7:00 AM, 6 days a week; and always a steady stream of customers. He learned that Pablo and his wife pre-made them, and rolled them the two blocks from home in their handmade cart. Every day, since their first day, they sold out , never deviating from the successful formula that served their family so well.
Max took another bite and then looked up to watch the steady stream of customers. He started work unwrapping his second burrito.
He counted the traffic and calculated that Pablo and Maria took in about 2500 pesos in 45 minutes, which meant they had to make at least 500 burritos each day. Burrito production took the whole Garcia family, Maria told him, including their four kids, starting the assembly line at 4AM. Other than purchasing the cheese, milk, potatoes, spices, and foil for wrapping, they were self-sufficient for everything else. The eggs came from an uncountable number of chickens in their back yard. The tortillas were made fresh daily by Maria and their eldest daughter the night before. The pushcart was also homemade, a combination of Pablo’s craftsmanship as a carpenter by trade, and Pablo’s father’s design. Pablo Sr. came up with the ingenious scheme of hollowing the chamber surrounding the metal burrito storage area. On the sides and below were sliding steel drawers, each with little grates, which held hot coals from a fire they prepared the night before. The drawers slid into each side and below the chamber, keeping the burritos hot up until the time of purchase.
Max loved stories like this one, but it was a common tale down here. He thought the Mexican people had far more ingenuity than most Americans he knew, which made sense since most had to live on and make do with a tenth of what an American typically did. Most Americans would just buy what they wanted, whereas most Mexicans made do with the used castoffs from Americans who replaced everything with the latest and greatest. Yesterday’s big screen TVs, cell phones, computers, and so many other appliances th at were tossed out or sold to thrift shops in Tucson or Phoenix Arizona, and from local vacation homes, ended up in the homes of many of the Mexicans here in Rocky Point.
Their ingenuity and lack of dependence on technology, Max thought, might give some Mexicans an advantage over their American counterparts when trying to survive society’s coming downfall.
Max watched a pickup truck pull up behind him, barely stopping before pulling back out into traffic, leaving a tall, lanky, dark-skinned Mexican man who had hopped out of the bed and was already walking past his Willys to the burrito stand. He barked off his order and handed a 10 peso coin to Maria, his new burgundy colored baseball cap nodding in the affirmative. The man grabbed his burritos and walked towards the passenger side of the Jeep, where he opened the door and hopped in.
“Hola, Señor Max,” he said with his smiling fully mustached mouth.
Max already had the Willys in gear, and started to pull into traffic. “Hola,
The typical bustle of locals came by car, truck, foot, or bicycle. It never took longer than a couple of minutes to shout their orders in Spanish while handing Pablo’s wife, Maria, 10 pesos, and then collecting their two foil wrapped burritos from Pablo, leaving the same way they had come. It was the best deal in town for the greatest burritos. For less than $1 US, you would get two of either an egg and cheese, or potato and cheese burrito. The only extra was a small container of salsa, homemade and equally tasty of course. Always the same choices since he could remember hearing about this place over 20 years ago; always available only at 7:00 AM, 6 days a week; and always a steady stream of customers. He learned that Pablo and his wife pre-made them, and rolled them the two blocks from home in their handmade cart. Every day, since their first day, they sold out , never deviating from the successful formula that served their family so well.
Max took another bite and then looked up to watch the steady stream of customers. He started work unwrapping his second burrito.
He counted the traffic and calculated that Pablo and Maria took in about 2500 pesos in 45 minutes, which meant they had to make at least 500 burritos each day. Burrito production took the whole Garcia family, Maria told him, including their four kids, starting the assembly line at 4AM. Other than purchasing the cheese, milk, potatoes, spices, and foil for wrapping, they were self-sufficient for everything else. The eggs came from an uncountable number of chickens in their back yard. The tortillas were made fresh daily by Maria and their eldest daughter the night before. The pushcart was also homemade, a combination of Pablo’s craftsmanship as a carpenter by trade, and Pablo’s father’s design. Pablo Sr. came up with the ingenious scheme of hollowing the chamber surrounding the metal burrito storage area. On the sides and below were sliding steel drawers, each with little grates, which held hot coals from a fire they prepared the night before. The drawers slid into each side and below the chamber, keeping the burritos hot up until the time of purchase.
Max loved stories like this one, but it was a common tale down here. He thought the Mexican people had far more ingenuity than most Americans he knew, which made sense since most had to live on and make do with a tenth of what an American typically did. Most Americans would just buy what they wanted, whereas most Mexicans made do with the used castoffs from Americans who replaced everything with the latest and greatest. Yesterday’s big screen TVs, cell phones, computers, and so many other appliances th at were tossed out or sold to thrift shops in Tucson or Phoenix Arizona, and from local vacation homes, ended up in the homes of many of the Mexicans here in Rocky Point.
Their ingenuity and lack of dependence on technology, Max thought, might give some Mexicans an advantage over their American counterparts when trying to survive society’s coming downfall.
Max watched a pickup truck pull up behind him, barely stopping before pulling back out into traffic, leaving a tall, lanky, dark-skinned Mexican man who had hopped out of the bed and was already walking past his Willys to the burrito stand. He barked off his order and handed a 10 peso coin to Maria, his new burgundy colored baseball cap nodding in the affirmative. The man grabbed his burritos and walked towards the passenger side of the Jeep, where he opened the door and hopped in.
“Hola, Señor Max,” he said with his smiling fully mustached mouth.
Max already had the Willys in gear, and started to pull into traffic. “Hola,
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