 A Facebook ad reminded me of this place. Words of mouth from the previous conference attendants say it’s *the* place to go to in Santa Fe if you like “real” margaritas. It’s also the place where I first learned that tequila is made from the blue agave plant, which is *not* a cactus, and that there’s a spirit called mezcal, which is not as popular as tequila but seems to taste better. When you sit next to someone you just met for the first time but feel like having a meaningful conversation, food and drink makes an educational topic. Because Little Mom would be scolding me as soon as she reads this (for good reasons), I should tell her now to rest assured that the highest quantity of alcohol I’ve ever had and will ever have is in her red wine pineapple dessert. Although I don’t drink, I do feel like I should know something about the alcohols, just the way I did my high school research projects on psilocybin mushrooms and corundum. Information is fun. And so was the trio that played music for us at Maria’s that night. […]
Continue reading Maria’s in Santa Fe
 So we’ve been stealing bananas for nothing. Today I discovered that St. John’s cafeteria lets you have take-outs. As many boxes as your heart’s content. I know, right? What school cafeteria does this? Their food is not out of this world or anything, but for us student conference attendees, who pay only $50 per week for a room and 2 meals a day, I’d say it’s pretty sweet. And here I thought we’ve been sneaky after every meal, before walking out of the dining hall, we wrapped up one banana or a piece of brownie to save for breakfast the next day (‘cuz breakfast isn’t included in the 50 bucks). Oih, St. John’s, you crashed my smuggling dreams.
 It takes us six years and a cross country drive to set foot into one of the Cracker Barrel, thanks to Mudpie waking up right as a sign comes into view to show which exit to take from I40. (In my defense, Cracker Barrel doesn’t show up in the Bay.) There are as many people in the store as antique candies on the tables and shelves near the cashier. We put our name on the list, then quickly merge into the buzzing about knick knacks and candles, preparing for a thirty minute wait. A mere ten minutes later our name echoes on the microphone, we get seated near the dining hall entrance, four menus swatted onto the wooden table, the waitress is a little disappointed that we aren’t ready to order yet. Then it comes our turn to wait for the food, and we play games. Continue reading ‘Cross country Day 3: Entering Southern Cooking
|
|
Blogs we read
|
