Tamales are a big deal. They come around once a year and are the center of attention at las posadas festivals, particularly one in Placentia, California. Going with my parents makes for an adventurous night of tamales. First, we made a bee-line for the beer, which helped us sustain through the long lines for tamales. I was amazed at how many people came out for a bite. Not knowing what I was walking in to, I immediately found myself enraptured in a crowd of ravenous stomachs. Fortunately, I was not what they were there for. This story would have another end if so.
After waiting in line for a good 45 minutes in a line 30 people deep, my parents decide to chat up the cashier in classic Palmer style. "So what's on the menu tonight?" We had been looking at it for 45 minutes. "Oh you don't have any green chili ones?" Never mind that the stand had hundred of people coming through before and after the Palmer Parents. Finding the need to spare the impatient cashier, I jump in and order a dozen. Meanwhile, my dad has his eye on something else on the grill. "What's that on the grill, chorizo?" he asks the cook. The cook explains it has been there all day, no good. My dad persists, saying oh no that looks good, I'll take one of those. As hard as my dad's stomach is, I'm glad the cook was not easily coaxed, and that the sausage wasn't in arm's reach of my dad. Leave it to the only Polish guy in the crowd to find a chorizo sausage.
Happy with our tamales in hand, after guzzling down our bud lights, we're about ready to go. Then. On to the stage. With a dramatic turn of our heads. Cue Mariachi Divas entrance. Cue trumpets, cue violin, cue accordion, cue vocal chords coming from the depths of those ravenous stomachs I mentioned before. Vocal chords that hit the sky's ceiling, and break through the atmosphere creating another ozone hole, and blasting into space. Needless to say, these women were great. My mom got enthusiastic when she heard they won a Grammy and bought a couple CDs, including a Christmas album.
This year I'm not coming home for the holidays. I am in the thick of it, whether I like it or not. I'm beginning to like it.
After waiting in line for a good 45 minutes in a line 30 people deep, my parents decide to chat up the cashier in classic Palmer style. "So what's on the menu tonight?" We had been looking at it for 45 minutes. "Oh you don't have any green chili ones?" Never mind that the stand had hundred of people coming through before and after the Palmer Parents. Finding the need to spare the impatient cashier, I jump in and order a dozen. Meanwhile, my dad has his eye on something else on the grill. "What's that on the grill, chorizo?" he asks the cook. The cook explains it has been there all day, no good. My dad persists, saying oh no that looks good, I'll take one of those. As hard as my dad's stomach is, I'm glad the cook was not easily coaxed, and that the sausage wasn't in arm's reach of my dad. Leave it to the only Polish guy in the crowd to find a chorizo sausage.
Happy with our tamales in hand, after guzzling down our bud lights, we're about ready to go. Then. On to the stage. With a dramatic turn of our heads. Cue Mariachi Divas entrance. Cue trumpets, cue violin, cue accordion, cue vocal chords coming from the depths of those ravenous stomachs I mentioned before. Vocal chords that hit the sky's ceiling, and break through the atmosphere creating another ozone hole, and blasting into space. Needless to say, these women were great. My mom got enthusiastic when she heard they won a Grammy and bought a couple CDs, including a Christmas album.
This year I'm not coming home for the holidays. I am in the thick of it, whether I like it or not. I'm beginning to like it.
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