Quickwrite #3 - and now I'm hungry
It didn’t matter that it was 104 degrees outside. It didn’t matter that the thick red dust clung to all manner of tongs and knives, or that yellow jackets flitted around the fruit rinds that remained on the picnic table. It didn’t matter that it was only 11am and the first beers of the day had been cracked 30 minutes earlier. And it didn’t matter that the task of feeding a large group of 25 campers might seem daunting. It didn’t’ matter to Oscar.
His pork adobo would find itself eaten out of the dirt when it slipped off the tip of a plastic fork. It was too good to donate to the dust. The tomatillos would relinquish their paper skins to his thick fingers, practically undressing themselves so that they could be prepared into a succulent salsa verde. The bamboo skewers would dance in their afternoon soak, as they readied themselves to be laid out over the flames that evening, when the water would be licked from their splinters. Oscar prepped, cooked, grilled and served with the passion of an artist, the devotion of an alpine monk, and the humor of your very best friend.