Yesterday I went to a Mexican restaurant to celebrate Independece Day. Daniel wanted to do something special and decided that eating mexican food was the closest thing we could get to "el grito". He found this restaurant on the phone book, we took a look at the menu and decided the food looked "Mexican" enough for us to try it. I have to say that I liked the restaurant. It looked like an old hacienda, the air smelled like cilantro and salsa, and the mariachi was playing in the background. I felt like crying. I mean, here I was in Ohio on Independence day, thinking about tacos al pastor; I missed home so much.
The place was packed, people were waiting for tables and walking with margaritas in hand not having a clue that on that day Mexico was celebrating its freedom. I find it funny that people here claim to "love" mexican food but know little or nothing about the country or dont realize our cusine is nothing like "chimichangas" (what is that anyway?), "burritos" or "hard shell!?" tacos. I wanted chiles en nogada, sopa de tortilla, tacos al pastor.... I wanted Mexico.
The waitress spoke spanish, and I found that comforting. She could have been the meanest, ugliest, rudest person in the whole world and I wouldn't have cared.... just because she spoke spanish.
Oh, how I miss the music of my language, speaking with my hands, with my gestures. I miss the hugs and the kiss in cheek.
Today I miss Mexico, and tomorrow, tomorrow I will too.
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