the explorer

I didn't grow up in California or Arizona, so I'm not going to pretend that I know what 'authentic Mexican food' actually is. 90% of my Mexican food experience has been sizzling chicken fajitas in a cast iron pan with a little oven mitt on the handle ordered from a restaurant named either 'Los' or 'Dos' something. However, when I heard about the new little taco joint in town that made homemade corn tortillas, even this Midwesterner knew it was something special.

Well, it is special. And delicious. Maize is tiny, but where else can you eat pumpkin flower quesadillas and huitlacoche (corn fungus: looks like newborn poo but tastes like heaven)? Given its size and growing popularity, it's not the easiest place to eat with a family of five. However, given Lori's current 'state,' if it's Maize she wants, it's Maize we all get.

The second we squeezed our way in, Zoe picked up on the authenticity. Not the food or the smells, but the language. The students were still on break, so we were the only native English speakers in the whole place. And Zoe was not about to be an outsider. It started out soft and surreptitious. With her eyes half closed she made a noise and nodded her head in approval when the server/cook/cashier brought us the chips and salsa. Zoe was saying "thank you," but she wasn't. She was warming up. I continued watching her, wondering what her next move would be. She honed in on the two women at the counter speaking lighting fast Spanish. Then she looked at me and I knew it was on.

Zoe began speaking Spanish. Only, it wasn't Spanish, it was nonsense. And she didn't stop. She utilized her English vocabulary only when it was absolutely necessary. For example, when she wanted some of my quesadilla she said, "Ma na ma na fooo shee tan too wooo wee taco." The words sounded Chinese but her accent was Eastern European. I was really hoping that the hours spent watching Dora would pay off. That she would throw in a "mochila, mochila" or a well placed "Vamo-nos!" but no, it was consistently and persistently Sino-Ukrainian nonsense.

As she became more comfortable her chatter got louder and she became more insistent that I join in the fun. I didn't know whether to use the little Spanish I remember, or start going fluent Portuguese. I decided against any attempt at legitimacy, and I too became a Muppet. Ma na ma na. Zoe was very pleased. Our conversation extended beyond utility (va shee mono too tee ly ly chips please?) and into the personally significant. If we are going to do this, by golly we are really going to do this. "Va la mee tok na na, boys?" Zoe responded unintelligibly, but I'm pretty sure she meant, "You're the only boy for me." She then began using hand gestures and telling me about her day. I think.

When the server/cook/cashier prematurely came and took our chips, I was kind of in a groove, so I almost told her "fa shee no khana me me Swiper." Which means, "Swiper no swiping." But I didn't. Zoe and I smiled, and then resumed our adventure.