Page 31 of Tacos & Toboggans
“Then why are you here? Don’t you have to work today?” To say I was confused was an understatement.
“Nope, I don’t work on Saturday unless I’m on call, which I’m not. How’s the arm?”
“Sore,” I admitted. “It took me most of the night to get the pain under control, but it’s been better since they showed me how to hold it this way.”
He leaned over the bed to inspect my fingers, carefully pulling the sling's edge down so he didn’t jar the arm. His aftershave tickled my senses, and I wondered what he wore. It was spicy and musky, with a woodsy yet professional scent. My stomach tightened every time I inhaled. “It’s a bit swollen,which is to be expected, but not enough that I'm concerned. The repair was much more extensive than I expected, so I’m not surprised you had more pain. I apologize, but you’ll thank me on the back half of things when the arm is useable without pain or disability.”
“A few days of pain for a lifetime of no problems is well worth it,” I agreed with a smile.
He swung the tray table over the bed and opened the container’s lid. “This is from Ivy. She said it’s tortilla de…”
He paused, obviously trying to remember, so I filled in the blank for him. “¿Tortilla de papas?”
“Yes, that,” he agreed with a snap of his fingers. “What is that?”
“A traditional dish from Spain,” I answered, poking at it with the plastic fork she’d included. “It’s eggs, thinly sliced potatoes, and onions.”
“Like a frittata?” he asked, and I made the so-so hand, the fork wiggling in the air.
“Except you don’t bake it. It’s all done in a frying pan, like an omelet.”
“Why do they call it a tortilla if there isn’t one in it?” he asked, and the confusion was evident in his voice.
“Tortilla just means small cake, and this is one. The word is used differently in each Spanish-speaking country. My family was from Spain, so to me, this is a tortilla. You can eat it plain or with toppings, and it can be eaten hot or cold. I prefer cold, but that’s how I grew up. My yaya was a great cook, and this was a staple in our house.”
“I see,” he said with a nod. “Does Yaya mean mother in Spanish? I’ve only ever heard it used in Greek families.”
“In Spain, it's a less formal name for your grandmother. Like here they use nana, so we would use yaya.”
“Oh, your grandmother. You lived with her as a kid?”
“I did,” I agreed, setting the fork down. As good as it looked, I wasn’t sure my stomach would, well, stomach it. “We lived in Detroit most of my life. My father worked in construction, and Yaya took care of me. When my dad was killed in an accident, she moved us to Bells Pass. It was during my sophomore year of college that she fell ill, so I leftschool to care for her. I owed her that much, you know?” Rather than answer, he squeezed my right hand with a nod. “She passed away almost two years ago, but I just got her estate cleared up and the house sold.”
“That leads me to my next question,” he said, and I held my breath, hoping it wasn’t something I’d have to lie to him about. “The tortillas at the diner aren’t the same as those tortillas,” he said, pointing at the container. “Why?”
“Well, again, there are different ways to use the same word, but in the case of the diner tortillas, I was out at the tree farm making a delivery. Lance and I were tossing around ideas for a new dish for the diner that the school-to-work kids could be in charge of from start to finish. Tortilla de papas is tasty, but it's not challenging enough for our advanced program. I suggested my yaya’s Spanish rice because it can be made in large quantities. We tried a sample batch, and Lance had some sundried tomato tortillas left over from Taco Tuesday. I dumped the rice in one to see what it would taste like.”
“My mouth is salivating. I already know how it tastes. Delicious!” he exclaimed with laughter.
“That was also our assessment,” I agreed with a smile. “The kids loved it, so Ivy agreed to make it a daily special on the food truck on Tuesdays. The rest is history, present company to thank for that. Now that they'll be putting it on the diner's menu, the chefs will make the rice since the kids are plenty busy with the tortillas. Especially now that Ivy wants to sell them at the bakery.”
“I’d buy them,” he said quickly. “They’re that good. You can’t get anything like them in the store.”
“I agree. Anyway, that’s the story with the flour tortillas versus the tortilla de papas.”
“Which you aren’t eating,” he pointed out, and I shrugged.
“My stomach has been touchy since surgery. I’m afraid to eat it and then puke on you.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time a pretty girl has vomited on me,” he said with so much nonchalance I wanted to laugh.
“It won’t be me since I’m not pretty. I must look affright.”
“Not at all,” he said, touching my hand again. “And you are pretty. I do wish you felt better, considering I’m responsible for your current predicament.”
“No, this is my fault for listening to Ivy Lund. She said it was safe, but something in my gut told me otherwise.”
“I’m sure she meant you no harm.”
