Burrito (noun courtesy of Lauren)

My first exposure to Not American Food came at the old El Azteca restaurant in Provo--the one just off of campus.  It was upstairs in some sort of semi-dumpy building (maybe it had even been an old house once?  I can't remember) but when you walked into the restaurant with its big velvet paintings of Aztecs everywhere, Honey you felt like you and your family had gotten on a bus and gone some exotic place where volcanoes erupt and papayas grow so abundantly on trees you can just pick them whenever you feel like it.  Except, of course, when the volcanoes are erupting.

Anyway.  It was our family's favorite place to eat.  We'd go there maybe once a month.  Sometimes with the Hudspeths (football coaching buddies), sometimes by ourselves.  The owner's son (Luis?) would wait on us, shimmering like Jeeves to our table side for our orders, which often involved burritos.  And flautas.  And rellenos.  And fabulous beans all fried up in Manteca, which is the King of Monounsaturated Fats.  Next to Olive Oil, of course.  So maybe it's only the Prince of M. Fats.

But whatever.  That's not the point.  The point is that to this day, Mexican food is my go-to comfort food.  I love it and would rather not exist if it all went away.