Coffee cake vs. coffee cake

photo courtesy of Hobbee's

Living with a linguist for over 9 years, I like to think I notice language use more than the average person, even if I don’t understand that usage entirely (that’s Lauren’s job to explain).

About two years ago after living in Edinburgh for a little over a year, I wrote this blog post about adjusting to new words that I was still trying to figure out how to pronounce and when to use. Since then, I’ve found that there are some words, and particularly phrases, that I use when speaking to a Scottish audience. But I think, for the most part, I still have a very American vocabulary.

I have always found it interesting how two different phrases can mean the same thing, and also how a word, or phrase, can mean very different things to different people. I think my first memory of this is the boot vs. trunk of a car - my dad still says boot, even though he's been back in the US for 25 years. I also feel more comfortable with boot, which was a word I used from childhood.

One phrase that has grown on me in my time in Edinburgh is ‘half ___’ when telling time. ‘The meeting is at half two’ means the meeting is at 2:30, and so forth. I find that I only use this phrase when speaking to certain people. I like the phrase enough to feel like I should use it more, but it doesn't roll off my tongue yet. Maybe one day, I’ll be a pure ‘half ___’ person.

The other day, I was talking to someone about something they bought. They said they got it because is was ‘on offer’ at Sainsbury’s. A day or two later, I was in Sainsbury’s and got the same thing. I told Lauren I bought it because it was ‘on sale’. I think the American ear (at least my American ear) thinks of the word ‘offer’ as meaning free. A store offers good customer service, which is not something you buy. I never use the phrase ‘on offer’, but I have admit, it doesn't sound wrong to my ear any more.

A phrase that I noticed very early on in my time in Edinburgh, was when I saw advertisements for movies or TV shows. In the US, you are likely to hear some movie is in theaters ‘on Friday’ or a TV show is on ‘at 10’. In the UK, you are likely to hear that the movie will be in theatres ‘from Friday’ and the TV show is on ‘from 10’. That ‘on/at’ verses ‘from’ is something I still notice every time I hear it, and it still sounds odd to me; far more odd than something starting at half two being on offer. I just don’t associate the word ‘from’ in terms of time, unless it also includes the word ‘until’ or ‘to’. If a TV show is on ‘from 10 to 11’, that sounds ok to me, but just saying ‘from 10’ always sounds (to me at least) that the end of the phrase was cut off.

Much like two different phrases having the same meaning, I’ve run across a phrase meaning one thing to the person I’m communicating with and another to me. This, of course, leads to misunderstandings.

In the final stages of buying our flat in early 2012, our financial adviser emailed us, asking if we would be able to meet mid-day some weekend. I responded by saying I could probably meet mid-day, but could he let me know what time. He responded by saying could we have the meeting at mid-day. As I was in the process of writing an email back to him asking him to clarify on the time, Lauren happened to call me. She said ‘you realise mid-day means noon, right?’ I didn’t.

Here I was, thinking mid-day could be any time from 10-2, some time during the middle of the day. Mid-day meaning 12:00 makes a lot of sense. We call the 12:00 that happens at night mid-night, so why not call the 12:00 at happens in the day mid-day. I still almost never use mid-day to mean noon but I wonder how many times I sounded like an idiot for not understanding when someone said it to me.

This last experience reminded me of how my mother always referred to mid-night as some time in the middle of the night. She would say she woke up at '3 in the mid-night', which always made me chuckle (and still does).

Finally, I come to the title of this blog post.

In my previous job, we regularly had a staff tea/coffee thing once a week. There would be baked goods, usually brought by anyone who wanted to bring stuff. A few times, I was told coffee cake was available. I’d look at the variety of baked items, not see any coffee cake and not really think much of it. This happened a few times and I started to wonder if I was missing something. One time, I even ate a piece of cake that I was told was coffee cake. It was good, but it wasn’t coffee cake. I didn’t want to say anything though because, like many things with that job, I felt like an outsider; a foreigner.

A couple of months before leaving that job, we started our airbnb. For one of our guests, I made strawberry coffee cake that the guests didn’t eat (they didn’t seem to eat anything we gave them, so it wasn’t that the cake was terrible, they were just not the type of guests that wanted to eat our food). I brought some into work and told my officemate that I had made strawberry coffee cake. She gave me a slightly odd look and asked why I would make a cake with strawberry and coffee. That’s when when she explained it to me; coffee cake in the UK is a cake, made with coffee, not eaten with coffee.

Not only did this explain away all the times I had coffee cake and didn’t know I was having it. It also makes a lot of sense. Chocolate cake is not a cake you eat with chocolate. Can you imagine eating a cake to go with carrots?

I told Lauren about my coffee cake experience a few days later. She had no idea either - at least it wasn't just me this time. That night, we went to Sainsbury’s and got some coffee cake, so she could experience it herself. 

This whole learning something new every day (some said 'every day is a school day' to me the other day, which I'd never heard before and might be a UK phrase) can be fun, even if it leads to misunderstandings sometimes. 

Now I know that I can go to the store at mid-day, or half twelve, and maybe there’ll be some coffee cake on offer which I can eat at home, while I watch Law and Order, which is one every weekday from six.

photo courtesy of Laura Loves Cakes

Was that really 20 years ago??

photo courtesy of the Baltimore Sun

It kind of hit me when the Facebook group invite came in - ‘Towson High School Class of 1994 20yr Reunion’. 20 years? Really?!?

There are few times in the past 20 years when I’ve felt ‘old’. Maybe it’s because I’ve always worked with students, so I feel only slightly older than them. Maybe it’s because I don’t have kids. Maybe it’s because I take gym classes with 20-somethings and see some of them giving up before I do. 

People always thought my mother was much younger than she was, and I’m noticing that more and more people underestimate my age, as I get older. There was the time co-workers were asked to guess my age and one of them said 30. There was the time I talked about applying to colleges 20 years ago and someone thought I must have been some sort of Doogie Howser to be applying to colleges 20 years ago (I probably dated myself with that Doogie reference).

I have to say, I don’t mind being assumed to be younger than I am, but I often wonder what it’s like to ‘feel’ an age. I see pictures of people who are younger than me that shock me - they look so old, I think to myself. Do I look at that old? Do I? I have no idea.

I didn’t like high school - those were probably, collectively, the worst years of my life. I have nothing against the people I went to high school with; I just didn’t like it and have no fond memories of the four years I spent there. Even going back to Towson to see family, takes me back to place of my life I didn’t at all enjoy. Being thousands of miles away is a good excuse to not go to the reunion, but I have to admit that I am curious. 

The only reason I’d want to go to this reunion is because of my curiosity. Curious to see just how old my classmates look. Do we all look like we’re 30, and not 37-39, or am I blessed with my mother’s genes? 

It’s unlikely I’ll find out.

The Heat

When I saw that the roads were melting, I knew the apocalypse was upon us.

I've lived in very warm climates; the first 12 years of my life were spent just south of the Sahara and every other summer, we went to Phoenix for our holidays - talk about out of the frying pan into the fire; I lived through many a Baltimore summer in my parent's house without air conditioning - I avoid visiting my family in the summer because of this; spent time in Ghana, and lived in San Jose (which it not really that bad in the summer).

In the nearly three years I've spent in Edinburgh, the last two weeks were, by far, the warmest stretch of time we've had. Highs were in the upper 20's C (mid-80's F) for about a week straight. To hear some people talk, you'd think the world was coming to an end because of this heat. Most Americans would love to have highs in 20's at this time of year; but in the UK, the world was time to complain.

Did I complain about the heat? Of course I did - it was the thing to do. In reality though, I didn't think it was that hot. For the most part, I'm not in air conditioned buildings - I don't know anyone who is, really. So it did get somewhat uncomfortable in my office in the afternoons, so some complaining was justified. 

But it was kind of nice to be able to wear shorts and flip flops outside and not freeze while doing so.

I saw news stories of train tracks having problems with the heat, there was a grass fire on Arthur's Seat, and, shockingly, some roads were melting - seriously. The melting roads really makes me wonder about the quality of the roads in the UK.

I saw a lot pasty white shirtless guys; sunburns so bad I wonder if these people knew that sunblock was a thing you could actually buy at the store. What I didn't hear of (like I hear every summer I was in Baltimore) was people being told to stay indoors and check on their elderly neighbours.

It looks like it's going to be cooler over the next few days, we've survived heatpocalypse 2013. Whew! At least we didn't all melt.

This Koforiduan Life

I took very few pictures on my trip to Koforidua. I did take a few where the people didn't know they were being taken. I love the two below - they were taken seconds apart. I thought of merging them into one to get both kittens in one picture, but decided to leave it as two.

These pictures, and what happened when they were taken is part of what Koforidua is to me.

This is my mother's uncle and we all call him Master - I actually don't know his real name. Master never got married, has no kids, and is currently the elder in our family. He's old, has really bad vision, and doesn't hear very well. He sits in this chair every afternoon, for hours, overlooking our compound.

What happened every afternoon was this: he would sit there in silence while kids play in the compound. The moment one of the kids starts to act up Master stirs and tells them to quit it, in a word or two. They would say 'sorry, Master' and go on playing. About 15-20 minutes, the process would repeat itself. I found it very funny because he would not raise his voice, but the kids would hear him clearly.

I also had no idea how he could tell that kids were acting up. Me, with much better vision and hearing didn't notice the kids acting up as quickly as he did. Maybe that's why we all call him Master.

I typically have blog posts with one theme and one story on that theme. This time though, I'm going TAL-style and will bring you a blog post with a theme and several stories on that theme.

This post's theme: Kodwo in Koforidua: Stories of my one-week visit to Koforidua.

Act I: The world is flat. What happens when Koforidua catches up with developed countries and developed countries catch up with Koforidua?

Act II: Family kneads. Three generations of bakers and a funny sounding snack food come together in one evening.

Act III: Us, your family. How do you answer the question of where you want to be buried when it's asked by a complete stranger?

Act IV: A new cultural experience. 500 guys packed into a hot room can only mean one thing on a Koforidua weeknight. You'll find out what.

Act I - The world is flat

That was my welcome to Ghana

I own The World Is Flat, but I've never read it. I've tried starting it twice but being that it talks about Indian call centers and supply chain systems as new ideas, it just feels dated to me. Anyone who has studied business in some capacity in the past ten years knows this already and is not being told anything new.

I thought about world-flattening a lot on my trip to Koforidua. I've seen how much Ghana has caught up with 'the west' (I hate that phrase) and how much 'the west' has caught up with Ghana.

Growing up, my mother didn't like telling her family in Ghana that she was coming - everyone would want stuff. We would use our full baggage allotment to pack in soap and toothpaste, cake mixes and syrup, old clothing and shoes we didn't want. We were like a traveling charity shop. Keeping that in mind, my sister Affie, told almost no one that I was coming.

As my flight was descending into Accra that Saturday night I was thinking to myself 'man, Accra is so big and look at all the lights'. Just after that thought, about 1/3 of the city's lights went out. That was my welcome to Ghana.

I thought things were supposed to have changed in Ghana.

Ghana has indeed changed.

I brought soap and toothpaste only to see that my sister had shower gel in the bathroom that was given to me to use. Shower gel!? I brought a pair of unworn shoes to give away, only to see that just about everyone had better shoes than what I wear in my daily life. I felt like an idiot for bringing this stuff.

I saw nice mountain bikes and SUVs on the streets of Koforidua, the likes of which I would not be able to afford. Kids saying 'Obroni, give me money' has a completely different meaning to me than it did even 8 years ago. I almost feel like I should be asking some of these people for money.

My nephew has a wall-mounted flat screen TV, in the 40-inch range and a mobile broadband hookup to his nice looking laptop. I have a 22-inch TV that sits on a bookshelf, a frustrating router, and a computer so old that on every page I load I get a message saying my flash is out of date (whether flash is needed on that page or not) - I can't watch YouTube videos without giving the computer permission to use the old version of flash.

There are satellite dishes around the roof of the compound, with CNN, live Champions League games, and a constant airing of the Ghana Election Petition hearing that has gripped the nation. At home in Edinburgh, I can't watch the Premier League and mark the one Champions League game shown on TV in a Champions League week on the calendar, so I don't miss it. CNN is a website to me in Edinburgh, it doesn't exist on my TV.

My cousin pulled out his iPhone 5 so I could use it as a mobile hotspot. I'd never even touched an iPhone 5 and had no idea they could be used as mobile hotspots.

I felt old and behind the times. Ghana had come and passed me by without me realizing it.

The memories of 2005 when Lauren and I would compose an email on our laptop, put it on a flash drive and hope to send off one email at super slow Internet cafes are only memories now - that world doesn't appear to exist anymore.

On the non-tech side, I saw ramen for sale as I walked through the market. Ramen!?! Now, an American college kid can come to Koforidua and not only keep up with friends back home online, they can also keep up their same diet while they are here. Crazy!

But 'the west' has also caught up with Ghana in some ways.

As we walked through the market, Affie asked if I could get things in the UK; Yams? Yes. Plantains? Of course. Gari? Cocoyams? Cassava? Yes, yes, and yes.

One of the last meals I made in Edinburgh before coming to Ghana, was a Ghanaian meal - plantain with palm nut and bean sauce. I can get all the ingredients for this meal on my walk home from work. I taught Affie how to make a Nigerian snack food not eaten in Ghana, that I have made in Scotland.

At least in terms of food, 'the west', at least 'the west' I live in, has caught up to Ghana.

There are still differences though. The water pressure is not always the best, Ghana still needs to work on its litter problem, electricity does go off from time to time and the heat and humidity were unbearable (that can't be very easily controlled).

But you don't see the lushness of Ghana in 'the west', you don't have the beauty of untouched vegetation, you don't have people who will gladly welcome you into their home and offer you a meal, even though they don't know you.

As much as the world has flattened so far, I hope it doesn't get so flat that the beauty of Ghana, and its people, are lost.


Act II - Family kneads

So I continued, sweating, with the lights out, kneading dough

Baking is in my blood. My grandmother was a bread baker. I vaguely remember a big clay oven where she lived that would produce loaf after loaf of fantastic bread. When she died, my aunt Esther took up the mantle, continuing to bake bread.

My mother settled in Nigeria, where she became a cake baker. You could see her tea cakes all over the university where we lived, in kiosks and small stores.

My mother gave up professional baking when we moved to the US in 1998. I learned on my trip to Koforidua that doctors had told Esther to stop baking - the intense heat of her oven was doing something to her health. No one has taken over the bread baking mantle in my generation and that aspect of my family's heritage may be lost.

I like to bake. The greatest gift my mother gave me was the time she spent teaching me to bake. While I don't bake professionally (though the thought of doing that has crossed my mind many a time), I have tried to keep the baking tradition of my family alive in my own small way.

Before I got to Koforidua, Affie had asked me to bring some recipes to make stuff while I visited - I think the baking gene bypassed Affie. Armed with recipes on my iPod, I was good to go.

We decided that I should make sugar/butter cookies and chin-chin, a snack food I know of from Nigeria. Affie didn't seem to remember chin-chin and thought the name was funny so she chuckled every time it was said. Affie bought ingredients and we were ready to go.

It was very hot and humid in the kitchen that Thursday evening. My uncle had come to the house for a visit; Esther was milling about; I was to make chin-chin and cookies with family looking on, in sweltering conditions. The pressure was on, then it got worse - the lights went out. I now was under a time constraint to make the cookie and chin-chin doughs before it got too dark to see.

Luckily, Affie was the only one looking over my shoulder (not literally, since she is only 4' 11"). Papaa (my uncle) and Esther didn't want to stay in the kitchen because it was too hot - they popped their head in from time to time but not long enough to pay too much attention to what I was doing. Papaa chuckled, as Affie did, anytime chin-chin was said. I think it's odd that people who like a snack food called kelewele think chin-chin is a funny word - kelewele is a lot funnier, I think.

At one point Esther came in and asked Affie what I was making - Esther doesn't speak much English so she often speaks to me in Twi, or asks Affie what I'm up to, even when I'm in the room. When Affie told her, Esther said something that got to me. In Twi she said 'Aye! He's making his mother proud'. For that to come from the primary family baker meant a lot to me.

So I continued, sweating, with the lights out, kneading dough; feeling the generations above me in my hand and in that dough. Everyone in the compound loved the chin-chin, funny name or not, and it was gone in about 10 minutes. Papaa filled up a small bag with some, to take home to his family. I've introduced my family to a new snack food that they like. I was thinking, if things don't out for me, I could move to Ghana and become a professional chin-chin maker.

The family tradition goes on.


Act III - Us, your family

....I thought you said buried

My father was 26 when he married into my mother's family. My mother's family loves him and treats him with the utmost respect (most of the time). He is almost treated like an elder, even when he was younger, and everyone calls him 'Mr. Shirley'.

I, on the other hand, am kind of treated like a kid and have always been called Kodwo, except the one girl who calls me Brother Kodwo.

I'm now 10 years older than my father was when he joined this family and while I can understand people of his generation respecting him and treating me like a kid, I've never really understood why my generation (many of whom I am older than), treat me like a kid.

I don't go on walks with people my age, I get told that I should go on a walk with 10-15 year olds. I get the 'do you want the boy to show you the way?' question when I decide to go anywhere. Adults never seem to want to show me the way apparently, even though I'm sure they'd be happy to show my dad the way (I should say that my dad likes to explore so I've never known him to like being 'shown the way' by anybody).

I'm not bitter about this; it's just the way it has always been. Because of this though, I get the impression people think I'm younger than I actually am. I'm sure it's not just this; it might also be my hair, the way I dress, or that I don't have kids. Whatever the reason may be, I'm constantly being mistaken for a younger man.

I was walking back from the heart of the city when I ran into my cousin, Kwame Wasa. He's a character - he's not quite there mentally and is teased because of his gregarious ways. He's so outgoing, so vocal, claims to know just about everyone, and openly brags about how his brother (me) lives overseas. He is also just about impossible to shut up or say 'no' to, so once I saw him that morning I knew what I'd be in for.

He greeted me, introduced me to the people he was with, and wanted to take me to greet his 'mother and father' - everyone in Ghana is your mother, father, sister, or brother so that meant nothing to me, especially since I know who his parents are and I know that they were nowhere near Koforidua at the time.

I went to the house of these people, greeted them, then listened to the same stuff everyone says - how long are you here? why such a short visit? how is Britain? how is your father and your sister? don't forget about us, your family, in Ghana. That last statement, 'don't forget about us, your family', always bothers me because its most often said by people who are not my family and know me the least. Chances are they will forget about me before I forget about them.

The 'father' then asked me an odd question: are you going to be buried in Britain? This was the first time in Ghana I've felt someone thought I was older than I am. While I appreciated his not thinking I was a kid, I didn't know if this was what I really wanted to talk about. We're talking about my death now? Nice to meet you too, guy.

How do you answer that question? For one, I don't want to be buried at all, but cremated and my ashes placed in several places around the world (I feel sorry for whoever will have to take on that task). But after the disagreements about what should be done with my mother's body when she died, I wasn't about to get into a cremation vs. burial debate, so I didn't go there. I just gave the first answer that came to mind.

I said that I was born in Nigeria and had a soft spot in my heart for that country. As soon as I gave that answer I knew it may be a mistake - some Ghanaians don't like Nigerians and so saying I'd want to be buried there could be seen as an insult. I didn't know where this couple stood on Nigeria and he didn't seem really satisfied with my answer so I tried to move on, adding that I hadn't really thought about it too much yet.

At this point, my cousin said 'he already has a wife'.

They had no interest if I wanted to be buried in Britain but if I wanted to marry a Briton.

'Oh, married.....I thought you said buried'. Again, I felt that I had put my foot in my mouth. I smiled at the misunderstanding. He didn't. I felt like Karl Pilkington.

I broke the tension by saying I had been with my wife for nearly 10 years and that she was neither Ghanian nor British, but American. I'm not sure how they felt about that answer, but at this point I didn't care.

'How old are you?', the wife asked, sounding shocked that I could be in a 10-year relationship. I told her I as 36 and they both said they thought I was much younger. I wonder what 'much younger' meant to them: 31? 26? Surely I don't look 21. Even asking a 26 or 31 year old about a possible future relationship, without first asking if he's already in one, seems odd. A fair number of 26 and 31 year olds are attached and why that wasn't cleared up first was beyond me. I felt like they were putting on that they knew more about me than they actually did by assuming I was single and younger than I am. Who was putting their foot in their mouth now?

In that moment, this couple went from 'us, your family' to 'you, random people I don't know and who clearly don't know me at all'. Lauren has been to Koforidua twice with me. These 'family' members must not have come to my mother's funeral (a 10-minute walk from their home, I should add), so what does that say about 'us, your family'? I felt somewhat insulted as I left their house.

I almost wished they were asking about where I'll be buried because, at least someone would not think I was a kid and it would seem that they cared somewhat about me, their 'family'.

I did get to spend sometime with actual family after that though. I walked home with Kwame Wasa and he introduced me to his 3-month old son. The family I hang out with seems to be getting younger and younger.

I guess I shouldn't be complaining that people always think I'm younger than I am, but the age issue has been going on since I was about 16. From people thinking I am younger than my younger sister to spending 8 years at De Anza having to justify that I was not a student 3-4 times a year. I have some sort of age complex.

You don't see many people complaining about how young people think they are, but this isn't the real world. This is Jeffersonia (that sentence shows you just how mature I am). It would be nice though if 'us, your family' would be family enough to have some sense of how old I am, being that I've been coming to Koforidua for past 36 years.

Act IV - A new cultural experience

So there I was, in a very hot room with about 500 other guys

The one thing I worried most about, when thinking about my trip, was what I would do in Koforidua for a week.

My last four trips to Ghana, dating back to 1997, have involved at least one person who had never been to Ghana before. This meant we did touristy things - we go to the art centre (I was more than happy to not go there on this trip), we go to falls of some sort, walk around the market seeing just how different it is from a grocery store.

By myself, having done all these things several times, none of them seemed particularly appealing. Add to it that the car Affie uses as a taxi was out of commission, and I was pretty much in the same position, transportation wise, as I am in Edinburgh - a walker.

Once I saw the satellites on the house, I penciled in something to do on Tuesday and Wednesday nights - Champions League. At least that would be something to look forward to.

On Tuesday, a few hours before Barcelona was to take on Bayern Munich, I was told that that game would not be on TV. I would have to go to Hajj's to watch it. I had no idea what Hajj's was, except that it was probably owned by someone who had made the Hajj (why I know that gives an inkling of how much Muslims have influenced my life and why I'm so bothered that Muslims have gotten a bad rap over the past 20 years for the crimes of a few idiots - but I digress).

I was to go to Hajj's with a cousin of my mom, a teacher who is about 50, but he didn't seem to be around when the game started so I guessed it wouldn't happen.

At the time the game was about to start, my 11 year old nephew knocked on my door and said that his mom said he should take me to Hajj's. Why was I not surprised that an 11 year old would be the one taking me someplace instead of an adult?

Turns out I could have taken myself to Hajj's because it was about a 2-minute walk away. From the outside, it looked like a small red barn. I asked my nephew how much it was, told him to keep the money his mom had given him (to pay our way in) and not tell his mother I had given him this money. I paid our 2 Cedis and we walked in.

The game had already started.

Hajj's looked like a cross between a fringe venue, a movie theater, and a stadium. It was a dark room with a projection screen showing the game, rows and rows of benches, with an aisle down the middle; about 500 guys packed in tight, shoulder to shoulder. There were also some guys standing along the walls of the room and some kneeling in the aisle at the front of the room. There were ceiling fans to circulate the air, but being that we were in Koforidua, it was a hot, humid, sticky, room. Hajj's would definitely not meet Health and Safety regulations in the UK.

I lost my nephew in entering and he ended up in the front of the room somewhere. I was about 1/2 way up the room, in the middle of one of the benches.

So there I was, in a very hot room with about 500 other guys, watching a sporting event.

I have not been to a ton of sporting events in my life, but I imagine watching some sort of underground boxing match would have a similar feel to Hajj's. Supporters of both sides sitting side by side, very vocally giving each other grief with every offsides or miscalled handball.

I'm not much of a supporter of Barcelona or Bayern, so I didn't go in rooting for one team in particular. I was sure this would be a Barcelona crowd though. I don't think of Bayern Munich as being a global brand the way some of the Premier League and La Liga teams are, so the eruption that happened when Bayern scored the first goal was a bit of a shock. Guys were out of their seats, cheering and rubbing it into the face of the Barcelona fans.

There was some back and forth taunting between the Bayern folks and the Barcelona folks after this first goal. But by the time it got to 3-0, the Barcelona folk were silent. The Bayern supporters held up 3 fingers, sang the 'ole!' song over and over, we're bouncing up and down (blocking the view for a lot of us), and it was over for Barcelona that night. Even I jumped out of my seat as the fourth goal went in - partly because I couldn't see anything when everyone else jumped up the previous three times.

I found my nephew on the way out as we all poured into the street, feeling ever so slightly cooler, my shirt completely dampened by my sweat and that of the guys I sat next to. The guys with the Barcelona shirts were mocked and the Munich fans cheered, and we made our 2-minute walk home.

I love the game of football. For those two hours, millions of people all over the world watched Bayern beat Barcelona. Whether it was alone in a living room in Edinburgh, on a computer at work in Silicon Valley, or in the thousands of places like Hajj's in the developing world. For those two hours, we were all the same - rooting for our team, yelling at a ref, taunting those who supported the other team. For those two hours, at least for the football fans of the world, the world was as flat as the field the game was played on.

Thinking of You

'Oh I'm thinking of you

And all the things that you wanted me to be
And I'm trying now'
-Lenny Kravitz

It's been three years since my mother died. Some days, I hear her voice, and it's like she was here yesterday. Some days I try, but can't remember, how she would react to something, like she's been gone forever.

I thought about writing about how my life is now, with respect to my mother, or publishing something I wrote three years ago, in the aftermath of her death, or putting up the transcript of what I said at her funeral, but I've decided to go for this instead.

Like many of us, my mother never liked pictures of herself, but I always liked pictures of her, even the ones that don't look right. I like them, because that is who my mother is - the person who didn't always have her eyes open as the picture was taken, or who wasn't smiling, or who was caught off guard. A posed picture may tell a 1000 words; an unposed, or mis-posed, one can tell so much more.

If she were alive today, she would probably not want me to post these pictures, but she also wouldn't stop me - that was her way: not to get in the way of her children, even if it meant a little embarrassment for her.

Without further ado, I'm thinking of you, mom, and all the things you wanted me to be....

My mom an I in late 1976/early 1977

Like mother, like son - eyes closed

I always had a safe feeling when my mom cut my hair - this was in 1984

A very odd family photo from the late 1990s

At Emily's high school graduation - I love her smile in this picture

With her first grandson, Kofi-Atta, in 2002

In Ghana, in 2005, when we unintentionally both wore green shirts

Speaking to us at our wedding in 2006

At our wedding reception in 2007

The last picture I have of my mother healthy and happy - goofing around with Maya in Summer 2009

The Southern Sky

When we were looking at flats last year, one phrase was used more than just about any other: 'South-facing'. Be it a South-facing window to a living room or bedroom, a South-facing garden, or a South-facing conservatory, the phrase was used a lot, and in real estate in this town, not only is it about location, location, location, but also direction, direction, direction.

I was in a conversation with someone who lives in the US Pacific Northwest and mentioned how I had survived another dark winter. The response I got was 'Have you ever spent winter in Seattle?' I'm guessing they were thinking that a winter in Seattle is darker than one in Edinburgh - that would be a very incorrect assumption, if that was what they were thinking.

As I've written before, Edinburgh is significantly further north than any of the lower 48 states of the US. To get an idea of just how far north we are, look at the map below. Point B is Grand Prairie, Canada  - we (Point A) are slightly further north than Grand Prairie.

In my time living here, I've become fascinated by how our latitude affects things. The amount of light in the summer, and the lack of it in the winter are the most obvious, but there is more that one doesn't necessarily notice, if they visit here for just a week or two, on their summer vacation.

Last Summer, the Lews were visiting us. They had just come from South-East Asia. Lauren's dad mentioned how the satellite dishes were pointed here, as compared to where they had just been a few weeks earlier. Near the equator, satellite dishes are pointed straight up. In Edinburgh, they are all just a bit above being horizontal, and all pointing South, of course. I never even thought of that, until he pointed it out.

During the winters, the sun creeps up and down, in the southern sky. I've spent winters in Maryland, Michigan, and Illinois, and I never noticed that the sun was particularly in the South. You can't help but notice it where we live now, as Arthur's Seat casts a very long shadow over it's north (where we live) that's there for the entire day.

I took this picture back in November, or early December, at 1 pm in the afternoon. I was walking home, heading North, as Arthur's Seat cast its shadow over the northern base of Holyrood Park:

I've heard people talk about (but haven't personally experienced) driving in the 'winter sun' because, when it's actually up, it's at the worst possible level for glare, and is blinding if you're headed south. For this reason, and that's it's pitch dark by 4 pm, I put off taking driving lessons all winter, and will start in the next few weeks.

During the summers, the sun creeps slowly across the sky (not the Northern-sky, but just sort of the centre of the sky). In June, when the sun rises at about 4:30 am and sets at about 10 pm, it feels like it's never dark. I remember waking up in the middle of 'night' one summer, at about 2 am, looking outside and it looked like I could get around without needing extra light.

No one seems to care too much about the Southern-sky in the summer. It's light so much, you don't really care where the sun is.

Because of where we live, just north of Arthur's Seat, the way the sun creates light and shadows has really fascinated me over the past year. So much so, that I wanted to document it somehow. On the 7th of February, I started taking an almost-daily picture, at about the same time (I take it on my walk to work, so there are some Saturdays and Sundays missing, and once I forgot my camera). 

I chose to take a picture of the Scottish Parliament. I need to pass by it on my walk to work on my way to work every day so that made it an easy target. Also, there is more to see in the Parliament building than something like a hill or something in nature - I just think there is a lot going on with this building - sunlight and weather can really change the look of the building.

I started this because I wanted to see how the sun would change over the months, but didn't think of two things when I started this 'project'.

First, unlike Philadelphia, it's not always sunny in Edinburgh. Although this has affected my sun project, it does give an idea of how much the constant changes in weather changes the look, and feel, of the city.

The second thing, which my father reminded me of, is that we are going to be changing our clocks at the end of March. By setting our clocks forward, we are, in a way, 'setting' the sun back by an hour. The sun's angle when I take the picture on 1st April will look like it was taken about hour earlier than the picture I take on 29th March.

Between this time change thing, the weather, and possible travel plans that will cause breaks in my daily photos, my pictures might not show the best illustration of how the sun changes as it moves from the Southern sky to the centre of the sky, but I still think it's an interesting project, and I plan to keep it going.

Because I plan on continuing this, if you come back to this blog post in a month or two, there should be more pictures (if I embedded the slide show correctly).

the keys to getting to know your neighbours

My keys

When we were looking at flats last year, and eventually buying the one we're in, the thought of asking if there would be a key to the front of the building seemed ridiculous. Why wouldn't someone have a key to the front door of the building they lived in? We should have asked, I guess.

When we got the keys from our solicitor, there was a note attached from the previous owners. 

It talked about the champagne they have left for us in the fridge (which we still haven't opened, for some reason), the sensitivity of the smoke detector in the kitchen, their forwarding address, and that they didn't have a key to the bike shed or the front door to the building. 

What?!? The note went onto say that they had never received keys to the bike shed or the front door - they had lived here for 6 years! They had just grown used to always using the back door. Now, I should say, that cars and bikes are parked in the back so it's quite possible to not need a front door key. Also, the stairs that lead up to our flat are closer to the back door than the front door, so, again, you can see how one could live without a front door key.

It's still odd though. 

We don't drive or use bikes much, and the front door is the closer door to being inside when coming home from work. Lauren always leaves through the front door (I tend to leave through the back), so it got a little annoying to not have a front door key. Add on that when visitors were with us, we had to show them how to get to the back door, should they be coming home on their own. 

I didn't like this not having a front door key thing.

I contacted the company that manages the building we live in, asking if they had a key we could copy. They said that they had lost theirs, and were trying to get one themselves. They suggested that I get a copy from one of our neighbours, and when I did, could I get a copy for management company. Seriously?!?! I'm supposed to get something for you, that I should be able to get from you? 

If our neighbours were friendly people, who we would even call acquaintances, we could easily have gotten a key. But the group of people that live around us are the most keep-to-yourself group of people I've ever shared a building with. I can count the number 'Hi's' I've gotten since living here on my fingers - we've lived here for 10 months!

A few months after we moved in, the contact person at the property management changed and the new person welcomed people to ask him questions. 

I immediately asked him about getting a key to the front door. He gave me the same answer, again saying that if I got a key, could I let him know, so he could get a copy from me. Why they can't contact other people who live in the building, and ask them for a key, was beyond me. He said if we wanted a bike shed key, it would cost us £20. £20 for a key! I passed on that opportunity.

Then Monday night happened.

I was sitting in the living room when I heard what sounded like running water, and it sounded like it was in the ceiling of the bathroom. In a place where we lived a couple of years ago, our upstairs neighbour had a bad leak one time that led to a lot of water ending up in our bathroom. I feared the same. 

I ran into the bathroom, could hear the water above, and saw a seam in the ceiling getting wet. Then, I saw water trickling out of a shaver socket that we have above our sink. It was weird to see water coming out of an electrical socket. The 'on' light of the socket came on by itself, and it started to make a crackling noise.

I ran upstairs and pounded on our neighbour's door.

I'd never seen this guy before. 

He was younger than me, Middle Eastern, and when I said we had water coming through our ceiling, I could see him get very nervous - he was physically shaking. He said he wasn't paying attention and his sink had overflowed, but didn't realise the water would go down to our flat. I wonder where he thought the water would go? He showed me the bathroom, that had a pool of water in it that he has mostly sopped up at this point.  Because he was clearly nervous, I calmed him down, said not to worry about it, and before I left, I said 'you don't happen to have a key to front of the building, do you?'

Five days later, the water damage is not even visible, an electrician came out and said the socket just needed to dry out (we had turned it off from the fuse box on Monday night). And most importantly, we now have 4 front door keys - one for each of our sets of keys. Total price £12, plus my getting to know one of our neighbours.

I'm considering emailing the property manager and saying I can get him a copy of the front door key - for £20.

The Oscars

It's been a while since I last did a thorough write-up on all the Best Picture Oscar nominees. In the years since I did this last, I did see all the nominees, but not with enough time to write about all of them (last year, I saw one of the nominees a few hours before the ceremony started).

The most impressive scene I saw on film in 2012 (from Flight)

With that not-so-great introduction, here is how I rank this year's contenders, from best to worst:

Zero Dark Thirty - It was difficult for me to decide on my favorite movie of the year. It was really a 1A and 1B for me, but I decided to give the edge to this film. It's not the most entertaining film of the year, not by a long-shot, so I could see how people would not like it. It's methodical though, the steps involved in going through the process of tracking down Usama Bin Laden. The missteps on the way, the close calls, the whole idea of the characters not knowing if what they are doing is of much use. Like The Hurt Locker, it has a realistic feel to it that not everyone likes to get when they go see a movie. I, however, like that kind of thing.

Argo - Argo is like Zero Dark Thirty on a sugar rush. They are in the same ballpark, but they are very different. They are both based on true events, both involve trying to get people in the Middle East, but while Zero Dark Thirty tells of a long, methodical process, trying to keep level heads while surrounded by madness, Argo is a manic, frantic movie, trying to get things done very quickly, involving Holywood, a fake movie, and a guy who many said was crazy to try what he did. It's great entertainment, and while I thought the end was a little too Hollywood, I walked out of the theater thinking it was a fun ride, and almost too bizarre to be true. If you see this movie, you must stay for the end credits.

Lincoln - The first 5 minutes of Lincoln worried me. Black soldiers reciting the Gettysburg Address to Lincoln has a tone of over-the-topness to it that Speilberg can sometimes get into and that concerned me. Thankfully the rest of the film wasn't like the first 5 minutes. Were there some moments that seemed Spielbergian? Of course; he likes to tug on the heartstrings from time to time. What made the film though, was Daniel-Day Lewis. After seeing Malcolm X, my image of what Malcolm X looked like, is what Denzel Washington looked like in that movie. After seeing Lincoln, my image of what Lincoln looks like, is Daniel-Day Lewis. I don't think I've seen a person become a well-known person so well as he did in this film. Mind you, there is no good record of what Lincoln sounded like, but I thought his performance was mind-blowing. That alone was enough for me to put the film in my top five of the year.

Amour - If you knew nothing about this film going in, you would guess that it's about love. It is; but not the kind of love typically seen in movies. This is not some lovey-dovey, romantic movie. This film is about the love of an elderly couple, as they approach the end of their lives. I liked this movie a lot, but I can't watch it again. There were scenes that hit too close to home, that reminded me of the last few days of my mother's life. Like Daniel-Day Lewis in Lincoln, the performance of Emanuelle Riva was amazing. I hope she wins the Oscar. She wasn't inhabiting a 'known' person like Daniel-Day was, but she was inhabiting someone we have all known. This is not the fastest-paced movie you'll ever see, and there were some scenes that seemed to be put in for no real reason. This is one of the rare times that I felt unnecessary scenes were needed. Without them, the movie would have been just too difficult to get through. I would have rated this higher than Lincoln, except for the ending (which I won't spoil here). It was a bit abrupt and I was a bit thrown when it faded to black.

Django Unchained - I liked this movie, but Quentin Tarantino has done better. Of the Best Picture nominees, this was the one I was most looking forward to. I'm one of those Tarantino people, who, as soon as I saw a Django trailer for the first time, pulled a Liz Lemon - I want to go to there. The 'there' in this case being any theater that was showing this film. I didn't love it. I liked it, but didn't love it. I don't have the same issues other people have had with this film's violence, or use the N-word. I had a problem with it's length. A good 30-45 minutes could have been cut and it would have been a better film. I wanted to love this movie going in. I did love this movie for the first 90 minutes. I loved it when I thought it had reached it's climax; but then it went on, and my love of the movie turned more and more into a like of it, as I thought to myself, why didn't he just end it there? I wish he would have. It might have made my top three.

Beasts of the Southern Wild - I didn't like this as much as everyone else seemed to. I saw this at a free screening (like I did with Argo), and the audience applauded at the end. I don't know if I'd go that far. Yes, it was very good for what it was - a low-budget movie with untrained actors. But what if it wasn't low-budget? What if it starred trained actors? Would it be considered to be just as good? I just kept thinking that if this exact same movie was made to look exactly as it did, but it was made by a major studio, cost significantly more money to make, and had someone like, I don't know, Will Smith, cast as the father, if it would have gotten the same applause from the crowd I saw it with, or from critics overall. I don't think a movie should be judged by its budget, or its cast, but by the end product. In my mind, this was a good movie, but if the Oscars had 5 nominations instead of 9, I don't think it would have made the cut. It's like when Up got a best picture nomination; it's the movie that people want to give a nod to, even though they all know it has no chance at winning.

Life of Pi - In my view, Life of Pi was this year's Avatar. It was a visual spectacle which could have used a bit more substance. The story, in and of itself was good, but a bit drawn out, and a good 30 minutes could have been cut from the film without losing much of the narrative. That being said, I wished I had seen this in 3D. I am not a fan of 3D so I saw this in 2D, but I kind of wish I had risked the headaches 3D films often give me and seen it in that format. The visuals were stunning, even in 2D, and I can't imagine how good they would have looked in 3D. I'm sure this will win some technical awards, but a Best Picture, it is not. Not by a long-shot, in my opinion.

Silver Linings Playbook - I don't get why this movie was so loved. I went into this knowing nothing about what the film was about. The only thing I knew is that critics seemed to love it, people seemed to love it, and so I thought it would be awesome. It wasn't. Again, it was good for what it was - a romantic comedy/drama. Was it edgier than your typical romantic comedy? Yes, but it still had the quirky side characters many romantic comedies have, it has a major plot point that has romantic shlockyness written all over it, and (spoiler alert) it ended just like every romantic comedy does; everyone ends up happy. It had an edge I would have liked David O. Russell to go with a little more; one of the leads suffering from a serious psychological disorder, the other also coming from a dark place. I liked that aspect of it, but as it got going it just kind of fell into typical rom-com fare, and that lost points for me. Was it good for what it was? Sure. Was it deserving of a best picture nomination? Not in my opinion.

Les Misérables - I bashed Les Misérables a bit in my last blog post, and I will do much more of that here. Before I say more, I should note that the only movie musical I've liked in the last decade, was Dreamgirls. That out of the way, I can now say that I was completely disappointed in Les Misérables. I didn't care for the directing - the insane use of close ups, while showing almost no background. You're in Paris, for God's sake, show some of Paris! I don't want to get started on the singing, so I won't. I'll just say that the reason I liked Dreamgirls and no other recent musicals is that, in that film, real singers were cast. The leading characters in Les Misérables were not played by singers, but Hollywood stars. I'll bet if the guy who directed Beasts of the Southern Wild were asked to helm this, he would have got a bunch of unknown singers, who were probably good, and it would have been a better, albeit very low budget film. I don't know why this film got a Best Picture nomination. There are several films I would have put above it, that were denied a nomination. I expected much more from this film, and was disappointed by it.

So there it is. My thoughts on the Best Picture Nominee for the 2012 Oscars. I do want to point out a few performances that impressed me in films that didn't get Best Picture Nominations. I thought Denzel Washington (in Flight) and Joaquin Phoenix (in The Master) were phenomenal, but in a category with Daniel-Day Lewis, they stand no chance of winning. John Goodman, with small roles in Argo and Flight, was sneaky good too. His roles were probably not flashy enough to get a nomination, but he was great in both films. I was stunned Ben Affleck and Katherine Bigelow were denied Best Director Nominations. There is just something utterly wrong with that.

The funniest scene I saw on film in 2012 (from Django Unchained)

Who do I think will win? I'm leaning towards Argo. It has been winning a number of awards, and that bodes well for it. It would be a good choice, and you'd hear no complaints from me if that were to happen.

The Master

With the Oscars less than a month away, I'm in the midst of doing what I do every year at about this time; seeing every Best Picture nominee before the night of the Oscars. I've seen all but Amour so far, and I'm hoping to see it over the weekend.

The current Best Picture format is to have five to 10 films nominated. I like this. When it was five films (from 1944 to 2009), I felt that there was at least one major snub every year. When it was 10 films (from 2009-2011), I felt that there were films among the 10 that didn't really deserve to be there. In 2011, the decision was made to have 5 to 10 films, picking them by a format I won't get into here. I like this. In theory, good films shouldn't get snubbed, but films that are not so great wouldn't get a nomination.

That said, I was surprised when the nominations were announced earlier this year. Two movies that got nominated for Best Picture surprised me, for two very different reasons.

I hadn't seen Les Misérables when the nominees were announced, but I had heard and seen some reviews. It was not getting the best reviews, and has, by far, the lowest score from critics on Rotten Tomatoes (as of this posting, it has a 70%; the second lowest of the nominees has a score of 86%). The average person seems to like Les Misérables more than the average critic, but Oscars tend to side more with critics than people - look at the nominees for favorite movie from the most recent People's Choice Awards; none of them are up for the Best Picture Oscar. After seeing Les Misérables, I sided with the critics, which added to my surprise of the nomination.

Beasts of the Southern Wild is a low-budget movie. According to IMDB, it was made for $1.8 million. To put this into context, Silver Linings Playbook, which doesn't seem to have much in terms of special effects, had a budget of $21 million. Even Amour had a budget of just under $10 million. I was shocked to see such a small movie get a Best Picture nomination. Yes, critics liked it, but I was still surprised, pleasantly, mind you, to see it get a Best Picture nomination. This was a movie with a cast of amateurs, a first-time director, and it gets a Best Picture nomination. 

I was so sure that The Master would get a Best Picture nomination that I saw it in October, thinking it was the second Best Picture nomination I was going to see (I had seen Argo, assuming it would get nominated and Beasts of the Southern Wild, thinking it would not). The Master is directed by a guy critics love, the two lead actors in the film have had acting nominations in the past (and were both nominated this year), and it was a weird movie. That usually adds up to a Best Picture nomination - not this year, apparently.

As I walked out of The Master, I heard two older guys talking. I don't know if they had seen the film I had just seen, but the sentence I heard one of them say perfectly described how I felt about the movie, immediately after seeing it: "It was good, but I wouldn't want to see it again". I thought it was a well-acted film, a well-directed film, and I liked the cinematography. But it was weird, and I didn't really get it. It was a good film, technically, but I didn't think I'd want to see it again. 

Things have changed; I want to see it again.

Of all the films I've seen in the past year, this is the film that I can't seem to get out of my mind. I didn't really get it but as time has gone on, I want to see it again, thinking I may see things I didn't see before. I've heard critics say it was better with the second, or third, viewing. I can't get out of my mind Joaquin Phoenix's performance, the way he held his body in contorted ways, playing a really messed up guy, a guy who you wished you had a better idea what was going on in his head. A guy who I never really understood. 

It was not in the same class as other films I have loved, that didn't get a Best Picture nomination in the past (Blue Valentine is the first one that comes to mind). It was not the best film of the year, probably not even in my top five. But it was the film that stuck with me the most, and for that, I kind of wish it got a Best Picture nomination.

10 days of Mexican

photo courtesy of yelp

I've never considered myself much of a foodie. Because of this, I was a bit surprised in early December, when I started looking forward to where and what I wanted to eat while I was in the US. Sadly, the places I was looking forward to are not any kind of cool, hip, or interesting places to eat to most Americans, but I really wanted to make sure I went to IHOP to get some pancakes (made it there in Flagstaff) and Dairy Queen to get a dipped cone (made it to one in Mesa, after multiple tries, and one in Flagstaff, after two failed attempts).

Mostly though, because I was going to be in Arizona for 10 days, I wanted to eat Mexican food.

My dad and I made it to Mesa shortly before 10 pm on the 23rd of December, and I hadn't eaten in about 9 hours - I had a migraine. I wanted to eat and I wanted to eat now. Sadly, the only thing near my dad's hotel that was open that late, was a Taco Bell. I really didn't like the way things were going in my Mexican food quest. My first Southwestern food was a 7-layer burrito, from Taco Bell. I'm sure there are people who like Taco Bell out there (I know some of you are in my family are TB fans), but it does nothing to satisfy any kind of craving I have for what I was looking for on this trip.

Lauren and I made up for it the next morning, Christmas Eve morning (that always seems odd to read). There is a little, somewhat unnoticeable, place called Salsitas on Country Club Drive, in Mesa, Arizona, that I can't recommend enough. I wish they had a website, but I can't find one. There are actually a chain of them in the Phoenix Area, and possibly beyond. It definitely has an authentic feel to eat. You are greeted with a 'Hola' as you walk in, and the assumption is that customers speak Spanish, at least customers that look like Lauren and I on that morning.

I had one of the best Breakfast Burritos I've had in my life that morning. This may be skewed by my not having Mexican food in quite a while, and the 7-layer burrito the night before being a disappointment. Still, it was pretty damn good. The tortilla was amazing. I decided I wanted to have a burrito at any chance I could, for the rest of my time in Arizona.

breakfast burrito (photo courtesy of vegas seven)

A couple of days later, we went to The Morning Glory Cafe. By looking at the picture on the site, you can guess tell that it's probably not the best place to get Mexican food. You would be right. I got a breakfast burrito there, and it would have been alright, if I hadn't been to Salsitas a couple of days before. But I had been to Salsitas a couple of days before, so it was a bit of a dip, when it came to quality breakfast burritos. I probably should have gone for the French Toast my dad and grandmother went for. That was probably more up the Morning Glory Cafe's alley.

That evening, my family went to Macayo's for dinner. Macayo's is very good for what it is - a sit-down restaurant that caters to a very different crowd than the Salsitas crowd. It's staffed by what looks like ASU students, has a bunch of large plastic animals and that make it seem like some sort of faux safari, and caters to people who are in the middle-class bracket, out for a nice dinner. I had a combo plate that included a veggie tamale and a chili relleno. The tamale was very good - I should have gotten two of those and skipped the relleno, which was not so great. This was the day I had two Mexican meals, but felt like I barely had one. Something about the ambiance in those places took away from the authenticity of the meals for me.

We headed for Flagstaff on the 27th, but not before another visit to Salsitas. This time, it was lunchtime, so I went for a Vegetarian Burrito. Not the best I've had, I have to say, so I was left with a bit of a sour taste, figuratively, and literally (from the onions) that afternoon. I was saddened that my last trip to Salsitas in years would not be the best tasting burrito one could ask for. It was, however, better than any veggie burrito I had had in years, so that was something.

Except for Mable's awesome guacamole, I didn't have anything Mexican-ish for a couple of days, until the 30th, when we went to Los Altenos. I had another breakfast burrito, and it was good; not Salsitas good, but still very good. What struck me about this place was the friendliness of the people there. A kid, who was a customer with his parents, came up to Lauren and said hi. The owner/runner of the restaurant gave a guy a free upgrade to his drink for no apparent reason, and came by to make sure we were doing okay, even though it's not the kind of place where people usually come up to you and ask if you're okay. It was good.

On New Year's Eve day (again, seems odd to read), we went to MartAnne's with the Lews. My big takeaway from this meal was the wait. Over an hour passed between when we were seated and when we got our food. This is after the 1/2 hour wait to be seated. Needless to say, it's a popular place, and one could see why. The food was very good, except that there was some sort of Italian-y sauce that was put on my food that seemed off. I went with Huevos Rancheros. Normally, that's not my meal of choice, and I gave serious thought to getting another Breakfast Burrito, but I thought that might be overkill. It was a good meal, a HUGE meal, so much so that I had leftovers for lunch the next day.

MartAnne's Huevos Rancheros (photo courtesy of trover)

On the 2nd of January, the day we were leaving Arizona, we headed from Flagstaff to Phoenix, with one stop before we dropped Lauren off at the airport - a stop at a different Salsitas. Of all the places I ate on this trip, this had the most authentic feel to it. The restaurant was blasting music videos by Jenni Rivera (who had tragically died a few weeks before). The music was so loud, we could barely hear each other, or the woman who took our order. This, combined with a degree of a language barrier between us ad the order taker, left me worried I would not get what I wanted, but I did. Another awesome breakfast burrito from Salsitas. The tortilla was bordering on being charred in some spots, but that somehow made it all the better. I dare say, this breakfast burrito was better than the other Salsitas one I had. Even with the loud music, and the language barrier, or maybe because of it, it was a great way to end my 10 days of Mexican food.

I'm hoping to go to Arizona (and possibly California) next December, and so I have to live through 11 1/2 months of not having good Mexican food. Or I can look at it as having 11 1/2 months to anticipate about 10 days. I can't wait!