La mujer del pescador

Tuesday evening. Miramar, Nayarit, Mexico. After a full day of swimming, reading, exploring and gardening (well, Patrice gardened while Alex the gardener and I yakked), we realized we hadn't eaten since that lovely breakfast on the patio. Jim was off getting his truck fixed and had been gone for hours. So we decided to head out in search of shrimp tacos for everyone. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending how you look at it), everything shuts down early on weeknights in Miramar. So there's nada. Unless we want "hamburgesas" from the little convenience store. But we want fresh local yumminess. In the hopes that we missed something fabulicious in our search of the miniscule town, we ask an old gal if she knows where we can get something to eat. Our disappointed faces inspire her to offer a home cooked meal. It'll take a few minutes she says. Come and wait here on the patio. As we sit there feeling like we're part of a Fellini movie (as if we know what that really means), the rest of the family mills around doing what I assume is their regular Tuesday night routine, stopping occasionally to peer at us and ask us questions. So Maria fries up four portions of fish and gives it to us to take home with rice and beans and fresh salsa.

The upshot of this surreal experience was the culinary highlight of our trip. So much numminess.

Where did all that time go?

Here it is: my first post of 2015. Gotta start somewhere. In 2014 I had all sorts of good intentions. Oh well. So much for intentions. Soon I'll be off to Mexico for my third trip (not counting that wild afternoon in Tijuana in 1998 with my sister and nephew). Beaufriend is joining me this time, which is a big thrill. El Encanto, here we come!