||[Jul. 31st, 2013|10:15 pm]
Though it has gotten cooler, it has also gotten more humid, so being in the house today at 76 degrees was about as uncomfortable as it was at 82 degrees a few days ago. That's the problem with the delta breeze. It brings cool air from San Francisco Bay, but also brings part of the bay itself. The afternoon sky was full of streaky clouds that made me crave bacon, but I'm going to settle for taquitos with guacamole. |
I just had to look up the spelling for the plural of taquito, since my spell check program didn't have it, and discovered that taquitos are also called flautas, which is the plural of the Spanish word for flute. Ages ago, there was a Mexican greasy spoon diner near by house that advertised flautas, but I never went in to find out what they were. Had I known it was another name for taquitos I probably would have tried them. I used to know every source for taquitos for a mile around my house. In those days you could get them for ten cents, or three for a quarter at most places. I loved taquitos when I was a kid, and I sorely miss being able to get good ones where I live now. It's a sad commentary on Butte County's food that the frozen taquitos I buy at the supermarket are better than those served in local restaurants, where you're lucky to get three for five dollars.
The guacamole I make is nowhere near as good as that I used to get in Los Angeles, but at least it's no worse than the stuff the restaurants around here serve. I had to make it without tomatillo this time, though. The last tomatillo in my refrigerator had gone bad. I ought to have checked it before I went shopping this week. I tossed in a bit more bottled green chili salsa to make up for its absence. Just about everything I eat anymore is Mickey Moused in some way, anyway.
Speaking of Mickey Mouse, one of the feral cats had a small rodent cadaver in the back yard this evening. I didn't stick around to see if the mouse got munched or not. I'll find out when I either see it or don't see it out there later. I didn't avoid the event out of squeamishness, though. I was just afraid of seeing a cat enjoy its dinner more than I'm likely to enjoy mine. So it goes.