this post highlights how the tortilla and the baked potato are similar in that they’re just empty vessels waiting to be filled by fixins; in less ideal restaurants this expression of culinary freedom is known as a ‘a bar,’ but this is based on hearsay since i’d never set foot in a place like that.

i think this is a profound statement on culture and class that will, no doubt, go over the heads of many reading this.

we all love sour cream no matter what race we are, what culture we belong to, and i think that’s absolutely insane if you think about it, that we are capable of liking the same things despite differences that seem important if you think beyond sour cream. how can such a simple food bind us together?

i never actually thought about why it’s called sour cream before it was dolloped on a traditional taco bought in a border town in mexico when i was visiting to purchase an inexpensive crown–this is when the sour stood tall against the savory blend of spices, yet despite this feud they complimented each other, and this nearly broke me because my sheltered palette had never known such flavors–what an astonishing blend of mysterious ethnic spices you’ll never find in a packet.

but my smile is a little crooked and they fixed that up for a budget price. it always bothered me to work in a professional environment and not have a perfect smile, i could feel the judgement in zoom meetings although nobody ever said anything. they made really good burritos in _____ , and i’ll never forget that just like i’ll never forget my perfect smile courtesy of mexico. no more chipotle for me, only food trucks, and i tip my gardener an extra 20%.