March 2, 2009

Lovely, lovely day again!

Late Saturday morning I went to the Farmers Market. Love, love, love farmers markets, and this one is particularly adorable. In addition to the requisite baskets brimming with brightly colored fresh fruits and vegetables, and buckets of fragrant flowers, there are also musicians: a small blind man plays Spanish guitar, a Caribbean man strikes bell-like tones on a steel drum, a Raffiesque Rastafarian holds court for children, and a twangedy-voiced mountain man plucks an even twangier banjo. There is also—this *is* Los Angeles—a taquería. And I had a hankerin’ for a chile relleno!

When I went to the stand, however, they only had chile rellenos *inside* burritos! And even this Irish chick from New York knows that this is, shall we say, un poco loco?

I said I would think about it, then turned and saw a woman eating what I thought was said chile relleno burrito. “Is that the chile relleno burrito?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” she cooed, “and it is so, so delicious,” she rolled her eyes in delight. Hearing an accent, I asked where she was from. “Pasadena,” she smiled.

“Mais non!” I laughed.

“Vous parlez français?!” she exclaimed.

And, oh! I was just wishing the other night when I was giving my friend Megan her French lesson that I had more opportunities to speak French! I miss it so! So we continued, en français—woo hoo! “Where did you learn French?” she asked. “New York,” I said. “My husband is in New York right now!” she smiled, “I love New York!” “No place like it,” I agreed.

“How do you like Los Angeles,” I asked. “It’s okay,” she took another bite of burrito, “and you?” “I don’t,” I admitted, “I’m moving—to Austin.” “My husband is from Austin!”

“Mais non, c’est pas vrai—quelle coincidence!” I couldn’t believe it. “So your French is beautiful,” she said, “just from learning in school in New York?” “Ah, non,” I said, “I lived in France—in Lyon.” “*I’m* from Lyon!” she cried. We were both aghast, giggling.

“Impossible!” I said, “Okay, I’m gonna push this. I didn’t really live exactly in Lyon, itself. I lived outside—in Dardilly.”


We went to the same high school.

“Wow, this is amazing!” I shook my head, “Oh, and by the way, I’m Amanda.” “Isabelle,” she said, taking my hand. I laughed—suddenly none of this was surprising me anymore! “The girl I lived with in France was named Isabelle.”

“Wow.” So amazing. “Oh, by the way,” she said, “I ordered one chile relleno burrito and he accidentally gave me two. This one must be for you!  Here,” she held it out to me.

We smiled, we hugged. And just as she had said at the outset, it was so, so delicious.



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: