Christmas Taco Miracle

My aunt Marta, who traditionally hosts my extended family's Christmas party in San Diego, asked me what I wanted this year in honor of my return from Iraq. I told her, "tacos." When my cousins and I were little, we often went to taco stands in Tijuana, where my grandparents lived. We had a nickname for these stands, "Tacos Parados" (lit. Standing Tacos) because few of the stands back then had seats. They were the best damn tacos you've ever had (trust me). A few years ago, my aunt hired a taco guy to come to her house for a party in honor of my grandmother's ninetieth birthday. It was delicious.

I figured my request was in vain since we would be holding the party on Christmas Day. No so; my aunt guilted a trusted Taco Purveyor into coming over after telling him I had served a year in Iraq and that my only Christmas Wish was a good taco.

My parents, attractive wife, Jack and myself drove down to San Diego on Christmas Day. We arrived early since I was informed I would be a guest of honor, side by side with the matriarch of the family, my ninety-three year-old grandmother (or, as we've always referred to her, "abuelita"). When we arrived the Taco Man already was set up and cooking. I introduced myself and personally thanked him for sharing our Christmas. For all Mexican families, the big night is actually Christams Eve so he told me it wasn't all that much of a sacrifice. For years, especially when my grandfather was alive, Christmas Eve was our family's big party night too and included a huge dinner, visits from an especially Hispanic looking Santa, and opening presents.

Upon arriving, I greeted my abuelita and thanked for all the rosaries she said on my behalf when I was in Iraq. It was great to see her (at ninety-three, there was no guarantee she would have survivied for another year for me to see her). When I saw her, such fears evaporated; although sitting, for the most part in a wheel chair, she was a spry, alert and focused as ever.

The forecast called for sporatic rain so we set up folding tables and chairs under the awning and close to the side of the house. We ran out of suitable table cloths so we ended up using Sesame Street bedsheets. My cousins had a blast "laying" it out, as you can see.

After a suitable amount of greeting each other (I hadn't seen most of them all in over two years), my aunt announced it was time to eat. I was asked to go first and I served up three carne asadas with everything (cilantro, onions, guacamole, and salsa). For the non-Mexicans out there, these tacos are not the Gringo hard shell type. They are served on small corn tortillas, which more or less, hold together an over-stuffed taco well. It. Was. Delicious. The perfect chaser for a year of institutional food in Iraq. I ended up eating five in all. I paced myself.

Oh yeah, Jack enjoyed the tacos too. But not as much as me.