Puerco y Paletas

I love Big Sticks.

I love Sidewalk Sundaes.

I love paletas de cajeta.

I love raspados.

I pretty much love every type of áhiscrin available from the paletero that walks up and down my block.

The only thing I don't love that he sells are those stupid chicharrones made of flour and shaped like wheels. Call me creysi, but I like pork products. They're amazing. Tocino, carnitas, chuletas, costillitas, chicharrones. I love it all. Pork rinds are the only chicharrones that simultaneously melt on your tongue and cut up the roof of your mouth. It's a modern Mexican marvel.

Speaking of men bringing me food...I was in the K-town barrio of NacoLAndia recently, when this beauty, the West Coast Ice Cream truck, driven by a pelón, stopped in front of me, where it just begged to be photographed.

I mean, come on. Apart from the West Side Locos tagging on my local 7-Eleven walls, that's got to be the most impressive use of spray paint and ghetto art skills I've seen in a long time. Además, me quedé con las ganas de un paletón.

As with every subject, I have a story. Here's my ice cream story.

On a family trip to the motherland in our combi, I must have been about 5 years old, my grandpa pulled over and got out to buy the van full of grandkids and assorted relatives some ice cream. My favorite to this day is agua de limón. I remember sitting in the backwards facing seat, swinging my legs with excitement as I was handed a single scoop of electric green helado in a little plastic cup and a tiny white plastic spoon. I was about two or three delicious baby spoonfuls in when the unthinkable happened.

A. FLY. LANDED. ON. MY. ICE. CREAM.

Well, you can guess what happened next. I threw my head back, pigtails swirling back and forth across my face as I proceeded to scream at the top of my lungs like the exagerada that I am to this day. Fearing the dreaded fly, I tossed my ice cream cup into the air, where it then flipped upside down and landed directly on Tia Bertha's big toe. Then SHE started screaming! It's not MY fault she was wearing open-toed chanclas! It was supposed to be a good day, but that mentada mosca had to ruin my ice cream AND made the entire family mad at me for causing a scene and wasting food.

I think of that story every time I have agua de limón helado, which is not as often as I would like. It's not that it's not easy to come by in NacoLAndia as it is in the motherland, but rather, I'm still scarred from that day.

That's why I always keep bolis in my freezer. I wouldn't be LA Naca if I didn't. It's not the same as an helado, but it'll do.

Hasta mañana.