Where Has the Flavor Gone?

Mexican oranges are not orange. They’re more of a mottled, green-orange that does not exactly inspire confidence in the first-time buyer. They’re also a little small. Basically, Mexican oranges have very little in common with the very same fruit sold in the U.S. that is, actually, orange.
However, looks are not everything. As much as the oranges look pretty in the U.S. – being huge and perfectly round and orange – they are nothing compared to the juicy, dripping-with-flavor sweetness of the unorange oranges found here.
The same is true for limes. And mangoes. And papayas. And avocadoes. It is not simply that I have more time to savor the flavors here in Mexico; the truth of the matter is that there is more flavor here, even if it comes in an imperfect package.
Among many orchardists in the States, the Red Delicious is considered the potato of apples. This is because – according to my father the orchardist – there was a point where they began marketing Red Delicious for their color: for having a perfectly red exterior. Soon, demand began to reflect this genius of marketing, and consumers were buying the biggest apples with the best-looking exterior. In turn, tree growers began selling strains of trees that grew this perfect fruit, and growers began to buy these trees to grow the apples that were in such high demand. The apple’s taste was secondary to how it looked.
Obviously this was not the first or the last fruit or vegetable that this has happened to. The oranges are a perfect example. Unfortunately, in the land of the grocery store, where there are no seasons and the fruit and vegetables are bought and sold based on their looks, much of the flavor goes by the wayside.
It’s not just our food, however. The States has become so involved in how something looks that all the flavor has been leeched out for the sake of the image. Yes, we drive nice cars and live in nice houses, but we also work weekends and are always attached to our work email. We are so exhausted making the money to fund our images as successful fun-loving people that we don’t actually have time to be those people. We are so caught up in having that beautiful shiny exterior that our insides suffer, our souls shrivel, and we live for the two-week vacation where we can forget that the rest of our lives are all about work.
Obviously there are people out there who use their credit cards because they can’t afford food and diapers, but there are many more whose debts come from buying non-essentials because everyone else has or wants them. For myself, it has always been eating out: I love to do it, even when I can’t necessarily afford it, and I love to cook; I certainly don’t need to eat out. How much debt would we have if we just bought what we needed?
Mexico has holidays all the time. They work hard, make much less money, yet are much more likely to smile at you on the street. Their lives seem even more full of life than ours, despite all we do to fill them. As for us, we are perfectly round and perfectly colored, but how much flavor do we have inside?

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Gringa Faux Pas Part 3

The maid tells me I am very brave for staying out at this house by myself. She is not the first person to tell me this, and I'm sure she won't be the last. Americans and Mexicans alike have said the same thing, although truth be told I'm not sure why. I am living in a beautiful house surrounded by an (almost) invincible wall, with my own guard dog with a deep ferocious bark but cheery disposition, a night watchman, and, for good measure, a big ass machete next to the bed. (The machete was already there, mind you...I would never actually pick a machete as my weapon of choice).
So anyway, she tells me how "valiente" I am, and I tell her all the things stated here about how I really don't feel that brave, and then this supposedly kind-hearted woman throws it in my face: "Bueno, valiente, sí, pero con miedo de arañas."
So okay, it wasn't that big of a spider...but it was a pretty f*ing big spider just the same. I mean, as far as big spiders go, this one was not that big...but if it attacked me, say, it could have easily gotten ahold of and bitten into my big toe.
So what if I'm bad with spiders? So what if, when the maid came in after I'd scaled the wall, the first thing she saw was a tupperware container on the stairs, upside down, with four cans of tuna fish stacked on top so the wily creature couldn't escape to find its way onto my face in the middle of the night? So what if I was going to leave it trapped there all day until the night watchman came back and took care of it? SO WHAT, PEOPLE? WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME LIKE I'M CRAZY?

Day of the Dead in Mexico

In October, I went with a group of American expats to Patzquaro, a small town with a strong Day of the Dead tradition. We spent all afternoon building an altar to honor our dead, a long and painful endeavor that included cutting millions of squares of tissue paper like you would do a snowflake, folding bright shiny paper into fans for a wreath to take to the cemetery at midnight, and stringing flowers into necklaces. After about four hours, we finally finished, and had a beautiful altar as a result. We then went around looking at everyone else's altars, and trying without success to not eat the food they kept bringing to us. One woman continued to ask stupid questions and repeat everything over and over again, and talked to a 12-year-old and me as if we were both five years old. “OOOHHHHH!” she would shriek loudly, her voice high-pitched and whining. “Isn’t that FABulous?” As we were sitting down to dinner, she asked a question for the 50th time, and the lady next to me said, only slightly under her breath, ¨I wish we could sew her damn lips shut. ¨ I thought it was the best idea I’d heard all day.
Aside from that minor setback, it was great. The Day of the Dead is a tradition dating back to before the Spanish conquistadors and Catholicism in Latin America, and the church has accepted it and added its own nuances. There's as much praying as there is chanting, and it's a fascinating mix of the two cultures. The altars are built to honor and remember the dead, and all their favorite foods are put on it so they can eat after their long journey, but most have pictures of Jesus or Mary as well. The chant they sing to bring back the dead refers to God and Jesus, and they pray Hail Mary’s and Our Fathers before and after singing. At midnight, they carry candles to the graveyards and sing together before going to their family graves to leave food and wreaths. It doesn't compare at all with Halloween, which has much more to do with candy and being afraid of death and ghouls. Mexicans can stand in a graveyard at midnight, singing to bring back the dead, and not even flinch.
What an amazing place.