addiction

I have this awfully powerful addiction. The kind that completely controls you when a craving hits. At home, it's unnoticeable because you can find it everywhere. The good stuff, you know? And everyone enjoys it. But when traveling, the addiction unvails itself and creates for some strang situations and sensations. It can get you in to trouble sometimes.

You know what I'm talking about: Mexican food.

It hit today in Ko Tao, suddenly, on the beach. I couldn't stop thinking of corn chips and cheese. Salsa even crossed my mind a few times. I think it was from spotting the words in a travel guide that morning. Brought it up to J and he joined in the cravings. We had to find some. Walked over a mile to town, checking every possible menu on the way and after a thorough search, returned to the only restaurant really offering anything labled Mexican food. Emphasize the word labled.

I don't know why, but of all cuisines in the world, Mexican is the hardest to get right. In Hawaii, the huevos rancheros were covered in pizza sauce. In Bali, I cannot even describe the flavors a British man invented for his "tacos"- mostly because they were awful. It's always a gamble, but I never understand why. Tomatoes. Onions. Garlic. Cilantro if you can find it. And if you don't have jalapenos, just something spicy. That's it. It's simple.

But this menu looked promising. The veggie tacos boasted sour cream, salsa and cheese in crispy corn shells. Yes! That's the language. They were expensive- about $6. Considering most meals are about $1, this was outrageous. But addictions are controlling and the risk had to be taken.

No. No, it was not Mexican food. The shells were corn and they were nice. There was a small pinch of cheese. But the filling- are you ready for this? Was made of apples, tomatoes and onions soak in balsalmic vinegar. In balsamic vinegar. The sour cream was a mystery- maybe creme fraiche? And the salsa was, like in Bali, indescribable. Except for "gross", maybe. The flavors, by themselves, *might* have worked, but the whole package was frightening and sent me back to the guesthouse to lay down for a spell. Me and my now empty pocketbook.

Mexican food outside its origin and the South simply does not exist. I have learned this lesson 100 times. Why does it not stick? Ah, the power of addiction.