Mud Oven

Easter Sunday 2011: I am not religious - at least not in the Christian sense - so as the church bells were ringing and the faithful were heading to Nuestra Señora de Loreto Catholic Church, I was dressed in my work clothes and gathering up gloves, hat, buckets and shovels and rounding Dan up to help. Since the Easter Bunny (an American concept) was not about to pay me or anyone else a visit here in Banámichi, I had no qualms about heading out to dig adobe.

The adobe came from collapsing walls and buildings on our friend Tom's property. It's sort of like "ashes to ashes, dust to dust" except here it is "adobe to adobe." It turns out that the crumbling stuff is an ideal mix of clay and sand to re-hydrate, turn back into mud, and use to build an adobe oven.

Preparing the oven site - Fall 2010

As I mentioned before, since 1971 I have wanted to build a back yard bread oven. I have waited patiently, every now and then looking longingly at the yellowing article that I clipped from Sunset Magazine back then. Somehow the timing and the Tucson location was never right. After all those years, it was now on my bucket list, and when Tom and Lynn stole my thunder and finished theirs, it was now or never. The yard in Banámichi was the perfect place. And...I can't wait around for these things anymore. I'm getting too old.

Bread baking in a Moroccan nomad oven

Why an adobe oven? It evokes a simpler time and a do-it-yourself pioneer mentality. I have always loved camping for its simplicity, and when we recently were in Morocco, I was quite taken with the lifestyle and earth ovens of the nomads we visited. I could easily see myself living like that! I love baking crunchy, crusty aromatic homemade bread. I suppose it suits my earth-mother self image, and to me, it's part of the good life.

Also, since I was a child, I have been attracted to off the grid independence. I used to fantasize about living far from civilization and needing no one. Yeah - I know - after years of therapy I can analyze the heck out of that, but in the end, there you  have it...the idea still holds an attraction even now. I figured I'd better build that oven while I have the energy and cleanse that desire from my karma! Besides, a challenge is always good for the soul.

So off we went to Tom's vacant lot. Dan is still nursing a broken clavicle from the accident and was grumbling all the way. But I have to give him credit - he did it. Together we shoveled up and screened 10 buckets of dirt from amidst the rocks, squashed beer cans,cement chunks and broken tree trunks. Even at 10 AM the sun was high and the air was hot. Sweat poured from every inch of me, but it felt so good to see those buckets fill with fine adobe dust. It took less than an hour.

Oven base built by Ramón and Fito

The oven process started when I asked Ramón and crew to build a river rock and concrete base for the oven at Christmas time. I figured that carrying big rocks and learning how to work with cement was beyond me - it would be enough to just do the oven and accept help with the foundation. After all, I have learned something over the years!

In the process of designing the oven, I happened upon a wonderful book: Build Your Own Earth Oven by Kiko Denzer and Hanna Field. This book became my adobe bible and as I have followed its directions the process has turned into an ongoing adventure.

Step one was to insulate the floor. According to the book, we needed sawdust. Dan and I went down the road to Aconchi to the carpenter's shop and asked for some. The workmen pointed us to a waist high pile of the stuff, but stared at us with disbelief when I tried to explain to them what it was for. we shoveled it into buckets and headed out before anyone could change their mind about giving it to us.

The next step was to find a whole bunch of old beer bottles to lay on their sides to cover the bottom. The bottles hold air and provide additional insulation for the base. That brought about  a trip to the Banámichi dump where we scrounged among the smoldering fires and piles of branches, broken piñatas, household trash and shocking amounts of non-bio-degradable plastics.  I finally found enough beer bottles, and returned home with the funky smell of burning garbage in my nostrils and on my clothes.

It is an  interesting cultural experience to compare the Banámichi dump with the one in Tucson. Americans throw out amazing amounts of eminently useable items. Whenever I go to the Tucson dump, I see things I want to bring home and use, but that is not allowed. Once I saw a man hurling perfect 6 foot long pine boards on the heap. Here in Mexico, when something goes to the dump, it is well and truly used up - clothing that has become rags, furniture broken beyond recognition, shattered toys. In Mexico, even old glass jars and bottles are re-used for honey and salsa.

Base with bottles imbedded in adobe-sawdust mix

Doing the floor insulation was moderately easy - laying the bottles on their sides and stuffing the spaces between them with wet adobe mixed with sawdust. Next came the fire brick floor and door arch. We had the firebricks in the car when we had the accident and they got all smashed. Lucky one of those babies didn't whack either of us in the head when we rolled. I had to buy them a second time.

The fire brick floor went down easily enough, but the arch was a struggle. Cutting the tough firebricks on the tile saw was a bit of a challenge. The saw jammed and then threw one of the bricks clear across the patio.  I'm glad I was not in the way of that brick. The darned things have been trying to kill me! But they were finally tamed when my first-ever arch brick stood by itself!

Newspaper covered sand form. Check out the cool arch!

The wet mud that creates the oven has to be formed over something that holds a void in the middle. That something was 8 buckets of damp sand. Dan and I went down to the wash of the Rio Sonora and dug it up from there. It was a clear hot day and billows of dust flew out with each shovelful. I didn't know that the wash is where farmers and ranchers leave their dead animals - mules, horses, cows. The stink was horrible.

Finishing the thermal mud layer

Working with the mud was very satisfying. It was fun
to grab a loose handful of wet mud and pat and prod it into place so it became part of the whole. The beautiful dome gradually emerged. After the mud was in place for awhile, the water in it began to evaporate, and the texture was cool and sensual. It was good to feel the earth on my hands, the mud squishing between my fingers.The day was hot and sunny, and I would have loved to immerse myself in the stuff.

It seems somehow significant that I did most of the mud work on my 68th birthday and that I did most of it by myself. I am pleased with the result and it feels like there has been a completion in my soul. Whatever need that was driving me has been fulfilled...but I  am still excited about baking bread and pizza!

Also, I am tired. My body aches, and the muscles are screaming "Enough Already!" I have come to the realization that I don't have many more of these big do-it-yourself projects left in me, and that is OK now.

To be continued....

Who has Rogelio's Ham?

A week ago, on March 21st, we headed south to Mexico. I was looking forward to adding the next stage to my adobe oven, and possibly painting an opossum on our storage shed wall. Among our various food items for the next two weeks was a beautiful spiral cut, hickory smoked 10 pound ham that was to be a gift for Rogelio who had grafted a variety of citrus species onto one the trees in our back yard in Banámichi.

We tootled down I-19 towards Nogales at 75mph. It was a cloudy day with high winds. Dan commented on how he had to work to keep the truck on the road with the crosswind. Still, he took his hands off the wheel at one point, rummaging in his backpack for something. This is something that makes me crazy, so I told him he was scaring me to death. As usual, he shrugged. My words rolled off him like water from a duck's back. Now there was tension in the car and I felt ill at ease.

We passed Chavez Siding Road  and the northbound US Border Patrol checkpoint. As much to break the mood as anything, I asked Dan if he wanted a piece of gum. "Sure," he said, and as I dumped it out of the container he momentarily took one hand off the steering wheel to take it.

Suddenly we were riding with the left tires on the pavement and the right ones on the sloping grass shoulder. With an expletive, Dan turned the wheel so we would go back on the road. The car lurched up the slope, crossed the two freeway lanes and rose up into the air on the left tires. Oddly, I recall this clearly from a position behind the truck. The truck came back down and for an instant it seemed we had recovered. Then we started to roll over into the median. I was slung from side to side in my seat belt as we turned over...side, roof, up, side roof up. I was in witness-consciousness...during all of this I had retreated into a part of myself that was uninvolved in what was happening - just observing it.

Finally we came to rest with my side of the car on the ground. I took quick stock of my body and noticed that everything worked. I thought, "Rats! Now we're not gonna be able to go to Mexico." I said to Dan, "I'm fine. How are you?" Dan didn't respond. I looked up and saw him hanging from his seat belt, unconscious. I  struggled to release my seat belt, and then reached upward and turned off the ignition. I wasn't sure Dan could breathe in the position he was in, so I stood up, wedged my shoulder under him to take some of his weight and sprang his seat belt too. He slumped to my side of the car and regained consciousness.

A group of Mexican men ran up to us and asked us how we were. I was aware that they were speaking Spanish and so responded in Spanish. Some of them may have been illegals. One of them started to kick in the windshield to get us out. Another was urging  "Cuidado! La Senora!" (Careful of the woman!) I backed away from the windshield as much as I could. I turned to Dan and noticed that he was bleeding just a bit from a bump on his head, and that he was covered with yogurt from the up-ended cooler that had been in the back seat. He said "Tell them they don't have to do that!" I ignored him as he had ignored me earlier, and in a moment was invited out by the Mexican man at the window. I kept saying "No tengo zapatos!" ( I have no shoes.) because my sandals had slipped off and I wasn't excited about stepping into a bunch of broken glass. He reached in, took my hand and gentled me out and told me to sit down on the ground.

As they helped Dan out of the truck, I looked around and saw all of the stuff that had been in the truck all over the median. Papers were flying away in the wind. Suitcases had been flung far from the truck. Broken eggs dripped from the door, and yogurt was everywhere. It was what is called a "yard sale" in skiing.

Dripping yogurt, Dan sat next to me and asked, "What happened? Why are we here?" About this time the paramedics and a police officer ran up to us and chased off the Mexican guys. I felt bad for them - they had helped us and now were being asked to leave. One by one they shook my hand, touched my back and wished us luck as I told each one "Muchas gracias!" I was deeply touched by the kindness they had extended to a couple of strangers.

The next few hours were a blur. We were each strapped to boards and taken in our own ambulance to the trauma center at University Medical Center in back in Tucson. After a few tests and some observation, it was clear that apart from some bruises and scrapes I was pretty much OK, so they sent me home. Dan had a broken clavicle, a nasty bump on the head, and various scrapes. He was released about an hour after I was. He still has no memory of what happened.

As soon as we had more or less recovered from the shock, we started to worry about all our stuff that we had last seen strewn all over the median in the gusty winds. Dan called friends John and Harriet who offered to take us to the wrecking yard in Tubac the next day to see what we could retrieve. What a shock to see our poor vehicle again! All the tires were flat -- one wheel had been entirely ripped off the vehicle and was in a nearby flatbed truck. All the windows were broken, the truck was dented and mangled and there was no piece of the camper shell more than about 3'x3' left.

Our poor truckling....

Totaled

The wheel was ripped right off.

In the back of the flatbed was the stuff the towing company had managed to pick up. To add insult to injury, the bags of organic fertilizer that I was taking for my veggie garden had broken, and much of what was left was sitting in the foul smelling brown stuff along with twisted cans of soda, public library CD's and shards of camper shell. Notably unaccounted for was the ham,  a frozen roasting chicken and much of the food that we had had with us.

We still don't really know what caused the accident. It all happened so fast. It could be that a gust of wind caught us and pushed us off the road. It could be that a tire blew and pulled us off to one side. We will probably never know for sure. A few things that are certain, though...the momentum of a pickup truck at 75 mph is impressive. We are enormously lucky to still be on this planet. And...listen carefully...: SEAT BELTS SAVE LIVES!!! Please, dear ones, WEAR THEM!!

I was still obsessing about the ham. Where was it? On the way back to Tucson with John and Harriet, we slowed down on I-19 where the accident happened and looked into the median. The ham had been wrapped in gold and red foil, and would have been obvious if it had still been there. It was gone with the wind. Gone gone. The mysterious fish came and the ham mysteriously went.

I was finally able to let go thinking about it by imagining that the Mexicans got it. More power to them if they got that ham. I like to fantasize about them sitting in a cement block house somewhere in Sonora and enjoying it with their families. "Buen provecho" brothers! Enjoy your meal.

The mystery of the left fish

One morning last week I stumbled sleepily into the kitchen and began the process of nuking a cup of chai. Dan was already up and pottering around. He said "Did you leave a bag of fish out to thaw last night?"

"Huh?" I grunted. I thought I was still dreaming.

"When I was ready to go to bed last night, there was this big plastic bag of tilapia here on the counter." he said with a question mark in his voice."I didn't remember you saying anything about it, so I put it in the refrigerator."

  Now I was awake. "What fish? We didn't have any tilapia or any other fish in the freezer or anywhere else."

 "Well, it's in the fridge. Take a look at it." he said, annoyed that I didn't believe him.

I open the fridge and found a large white shopping bag. "Ooof!" I grunted as I pulled it out. "It's heavy." It must have weighed 4-5 pounds. It was filled with individually packaged white fish fillets, still mostly frozen.

I was incredulous. "Where the heck did this come from? Maybe it is Dan and Tracy's (our neighbors) or maybe Lynn left it here before she went over to Tracy's for dinner last night."

Suddenly it dawned on me that the stuff was defrosting, and I popped it into the freezer while I struggled with the mystery. Later that morning I asked Dan and Tracy if it was theirs. They said no, their tilapia was in their own freezer. I called Lynn. She said it wasn't hers, that she had never even come in our house that night. She had gone directly to Tracy's house for dinner.

We stopped by to see Darrin and Cherie, the new owners of the Hotel Posada del Rio Sonora, bu they also disavowed any knowledge of the mystery fish. What made this even harder to understand was that the Mexicans we know would not come into another person's house uninvited. They are very polite that way, and to them a home is sort of a sanctuary where for the most part, only family are invited in. No one we know would have entered our house without our permission when we weren't there.

Besides we couldn't imagine who among the Mexicans we know would have the money to casually give away 5 pounds of fish. Nothing about it made sense. They would need it for their own families. I asked Beto and Vicky about it and they seemed as mystified as we were.

Our speculations became wilder and wilder. There is something about an unknown that demands a solution. We couldn't let it rest until we came up with an answer. "Maybe someone was passing by with a bag of fish and came in to rob us and then accidentally left it there." I proposed. Lynn asked "Is anything missing?"  I had to admit that everything was in its place, and that this was an unlikely scenario anyway.

Besides I was pretty sure I had locked the front door. A big wind had come up earlier, and the front door blew open with a loud crash. I hauled myself up from where I sat contentedly knitting and closed and locked the door.

"Maybe someone is trying to poison us." Dan proposed.  I had to cop to also thinking of that one. (How cynical and paranoid we both are!...A product of living in the USA too long?) We joked about giving a piece of the fish to the neighbor's dog before we ate any of it ourselves, but neither of us took the poison idea all that seriously.

Finally we had to admit that we just didn't know, and maybe we never would. Somehow that is innately unsatisfying. The world seems dangerously out of balance when a thing like that hangs out there without an answer. Nevertheless, there you have it. We have no idea where the fish came from.

Admitting that we didn't know where it came from opened the door to eating the stuff. I proposed a fish fry. I carefully defrosted some of the fish. I gently dipped it in flour, then in beaten egg, and finally I lovingly dipped into seasoned bread crumbs. I sauteed it in a shallow pan in some good oil. Served up with a big salad and some of Lynn's home grown squash, it made a dandy feast. It was delectable, and everyone loved it, but the consensus was that it was sea bass, not tilapia. Nevertheless, there was so much of it that there is still more in the freezer.

Me and the fish

YUMMERS!!

The question doesn't weigh so heavily now. Instead, there is gratitude for whoever left us with this generous gift. To quote Douglas Adams (Hitchhikers's Guide to the Galaxy), "So long, and thanks for all the fish!"

The Big Chill

Last year was a warm winter in Banámichi. Some of the nights were chilly, but it never froze. The plants in my garden grew all winter and looked beautiful. A couple of bitter days in January 2011 changed all of that.

Now, all the lovely subtropical plants along the south wall are brown and look dead. Even the huge Sapote tree in the yard is covered with crispy leaves. Chuchico's even more enormous tree in his yard (the one that drops stuff on my veggie patch) is covered with crispy leaves. My carefully nurtured little mango, avocado and papaya trees all look finished. It's all very sad and forlorn. It is hard not to be angry at mother nature for ruining my garden.

Trumpet plant before the freeze

Trumpet plant after the freeze

It took two very cold days and a couple of nights at about 18 degrees Farenheit to accomplish this. The repercussions will probably last for several years. Our friend Tom talked to some of the "ancianos" in the town - the  folks over 80. Each one of them said that this kind of cold has never happened before now in their lifetime.

I remind myself that I am not alone in having my garden ruined. Others are also heartbroken at what has happened to their plants. Many people rely on the avocado, mango and citrus trees in their yards for food. All that is gone. Those fruits will have to come from elsewhere this year at a much greater price. Many people here live on the edge, and this will just add to the effects of the world economic downturn and the almost complete lack of tourism due to the self-serving US media reports of violence in Mexico. Money for high priced produce is scarce.

 dead mango tree

dead papaya tree

I personally was caught in a record setting snowstorm in Minneapolis, and later again sat on a runway for several hours at JFK in New York while our plane was de-iced, and now here is all this cold. What is happening? How could we have such a dreadful winter in a supposed time of global warming? Good question, I thought and did some research.

Apparently, the first thing to understand is that weather is not the same as climate. No heat wave or cold spell by itself is indicative of whether or not our climate is changing. But climate change does cause instabilities in weather patterns such as heat waves- like last summer, and severe cold and snow - like this winter.

The slowly rising temperature of the planet results in warmer water in the tropical Pacific (el niño), which affects  weather patterns all over, particularly in the mid Atlantic states. This also can mess up the jet stream and force cold air down from Northern Canada. Voila...a cold snowy winter in a time of global warming.

Back in northern Sonora, all the agave plants have frozen. This means that for several years there will be no bacanora, the regional type of tequila that many locals make.The mescaleros who cut the agave will be out of work. Those who make the bacanora and sell it will have less income, and the impoverished will now need to buy tequila instead of drinking their own home brew. The vegetable farmers were frozen out all the way down to the state of Sinaloa. One little weather system and so much economic impact!

But how can we be sure this cold is really caused by greenhouse gas emissions and not just some other more normal fluctuation? A recent article in the online New York Times cites a study in which computer programs simulated the climate and then analyzed whether recent severe weather could be explained by normal variations in climate. It was found that it could not, and that severe weather as we have experienced this winter could only be explained by taking into account greenhouse gases created by human activity.

It's interesting what froze and what did not. The lemon and Mexican lime trees look bad, and the fruit has turned brown and rotten. Meanwhile, the oranges and grapefruit are just fine. All the herbs except the basil are good, and the lettuce is ready to be picked. The coleus jungle is gone. I think about the lovely red chiltepins and their plants out in the riparian areas where we picked them. Are they still alive?

frozen Mexican Lime tree

It's hard to contemplate that climate change is partially my fault. I drive cars that rely on fossil fuels. I buy foods that have to be transported great distances, using even more fossil fuels. I travel in planes. I like my heating and air conditioning as much as the next person. My habits contribute to climate change, and therefore indirectly contribute to the wild weather fluctuations that cause so much suffering. What can I change about my life to lessen this impact? Should I not drive or not travel? Should I purchase carbon offsets? Should I eat only local foods in season? Should I suffer the cold in the winter and the heat in the summer?

So far I am embarrassed to say I have not been willing to do these things. Making the effort seems like such a drop in the bucket and to make these sacrifices would significantly reduce my quality of life. Not enough other people are making these sacrifices for us all to make a worthwhile shift in the greenhouse gas picture.What I have been willing to do is to consolidate trips so as not to waste gas, fly infrequently, use energy saving light bulbs, and to turn down the heat and AC. I am not sure these help any more in the long run than taking more extreme actions, but at least they soothe my guilt.

Still, when I realize the impact of the cold, the guilt nags at me and makes me wonder if I could do more. I think we need a change in collective consciousness so that enough people take these actions that we create a 100th monkey effect. How do we create that change? Many people do not even believe that climate change is real. I despair for the future of this planet.

Meanwhile, all the experts say to leave the plants alone for another month so it becomes more obvious what will come back. It is hard to restrain my pruning shears. I want to get rid of the brown crispy stuff and forget what happened. I want my garden to return to the way it was before. But that's the thing about change -- things may not ever go back to the way they were before. And that is painful whether it happens in the plant world or the human world.

An Ex-Pat New Year's

For many Years Dan and I sought out quietude on New Year's Eve - we even went camping in the desert and saw in the New Year around a campfire, often with good friends. Apparently we have changed. Now New Year's Eve is all about a good party in Banámichi!

The purveyors of the best party in town are Tom and Lynn Matthews of Hotel Los Arcos de Sonora. Tom is a fabulous cook and takes this holiday as an opportunity to showcase his talents. For 24 hours ahead he cooks up a storm, including his famous New York Cheesecake....so rich that one slice could sink a battleship.

Dinnertime

So this year the party started with a formal dinner of turkey, and two hams with sides provided by various friends. We gathered to feast early in the evening, as various friends both gringo and Mexican came and went.I love the way Tom and Lynn just simply include whoever is present - hotel guests, townspeople, friends of friends. By the end of the evening everyone has become a friend. The guest list also included the town's very handsome young doctor. Many of us women decided that we were developing ailments that would need immediate medical attention.

That's Claudia in the red eating cheesecake!

The night was chilly (but it was NOT Minneapolis!) and there were two fires going, so we were able to gather around them and stay warm.And speaking of warm, I love the traditional Mexican greeting...a warm embrace followed by a kiss on the cheek. I don't know about you, but I love hugs, and this was a hug-fest. The best!

After we all stuffed ourselves on the main courses, out came the cheesecake. Lynn and I teased with Claudia, who is slim and gorgeous like an Aztec goddess, that the cake will make her "nalgas" (butt) grow. She giggles at the slightly naughty reference, and Lynn tells her that it is totally worth it for this cake! Afterwards, the group dissolves into many conversations, some in Spanish and some in English and some half way in between, as we wait for the hours to tick away to 2011.

Bug Man Dan - a local "bad boy"

Whenever boredom threatens, our local overgrown bad boys go out in the street and toss a few firecrackers.

Tom launching a rocket

The personnel include Tom and Dan, cheered on by Raphael and this year, Minister Seth from Bisbee. A number of us decide that we might be willing to consider church if preachers were as fun as he is! We joke that the cops are coming - last year they did, but now we speculate that they are used to our antics.

Fireworks are legal here, and somehow the tradition started of someone going down to the town of Ures and getting a bunch before New Year's Eve. The stash includes the little red ones with dangerously short fuses that make a huge noise. Of course the boys got into taping them together to see how big a bang they could get. Who doesn't like a good explosion? Only minor injuries resulted.Tom now has a spot that he will no longer have to shave.

Bottle rocket

Then there were the bottle rockets that streaked into the air trailing fire.  A flag-pole holder made a perfect launcher for them. Lastly there were the actual big rockets which blasted into the night sky and exploded into a a cluster of multicolor sparkles. Of course the "boys" had to try out various taped configurations - firecrackers atop rockets, and multiples of each. The implied danger kept us all running into the street to see who was in danger of losing which fingers in between running into the courtyard to warm ourselves by the fire.

Where did you say that fuse was?

Times Square on TV

Midnight Stragglers

I went into the house and sat down in the warmth for a few minutes and fell asleep.So much for partying hardy! I am becoming old, dagnabbit! I woke up shortly before midnight and went back outside to find the last stragglers of the party watching the ball descending in Times Square on Dan's computer. How is it that New York has become the world's standard for bringing in the New Year? Why not a bottle rocket and great hugs and kisses in Banámichi?





Seriously, though, a couple of my blogging friends  (A Camp Host Housewife's Meanderings , and An Alaskan in Yucatan) have done great pieces on the New Year and the passing of time. Even though I am philosophical by nature, I won't go there this year. At this point in my life, I love good friends, shared good times and the simple contentment of spending time in this lovely little pueblo with a great community of loving people. I hope to do more of the same in the coming year, and I wish all of you good friends, good times and contentment as well. Happeeeee New Year!

Pizza Night in Banámichi

Pepperoni and 4 Italian cheeses

Ever since 1971 I have wanted to build an adobe clay oven. The idea first came up with an article in Sunset magazine. For some reason the time wasn't right, so I clipped the article and put it aside for later use. From time to time I re-found the article, but the time was never right.
When we were renovating the house in Banámichi, I decided this was it...it was now or never. There were no codes here, and no one cared about backyard fires - in fact they had developed them into a sort of art form- smoky, smelly, burning trash and fragrant mesquite cooking fires seemed to be the order of the day.

While I was trying to figure out where to get all the supplies, my friend Lynn of the Hotel Los Arcos de Sonora researched mud ovens on the internet and found a wealth of information. While I was twiddling my thumbs and thinking about where to put the thing, she and Tom just built one! I was a bit miffed that they got to  my long term desire first, but couldn't help but celebrate the accomplishment with them.

Heating the dragon

Dragonshadow

Tom has even decorated his with a sculpted dragon that breathes smoke from it's mouth. It's way cool. My oven is now drawn out and the space  has been located in the back yard, however construction has not begun. When it does, I will keep you apprised of the progress!


Of course we had to experiment with making pizza in it. The first one emerged a bit burnt, but generally the results have been absolutely fabulous! The creations have been a joint effort and have been so enjoyed that we hope to make them a regular event. You can see the process and some of the results in the photos below. Don't you wish you were here for this? You can be! Come see us!

Preparing the dough

Spread the sauce

 

Add Ingredients

In it goes! Master chef Tom at the peel.

          

Now we're cooking!

 

3 minutes and out it comes

                                                                                                

Caprese Salami and fresh mozzarella

Why I love Mexico and hate Minneapolis

It is two days before New Year's and I am outside in a short sleeved shirt pulling weeds in my garden in Banámichi. The sun is shining and the sky is a brilliant blue.The temperature feels like about 72 F. The day is as perfect as they get. I love the winter in Banámichi.

Early in December I had to make a quick trip to Minneapolis. I flew out of Tucson on a warm Thursday and had a reservation to return the next day. All I had to do was lead a quick meeting for the Siddha Yoga Meditation Center there and I could go back to the sunny southwest. But this was not to be. The universe had other plans for me.

As the plane came in for a landing I could see that the farms and fields were covered with snow. The sky was leaden and outside the cold damp air smelled like it would start to snow again any second. I was thankful that I would not have to be out too much.

I dragged myself out of sleep on Friday morning with a rising feeling of nausea. I'll spare you the gruesome details - suffice it to say that I was too ill to fly that day, so my reservation was changed to the next day, Saturday. BAD choice!

By Friday evening I was feeling much better, however it started to snow during the night. By morning there was a good two foot accumulation in my host's yard. She called the airport and was assured that the flight would go. She said; "I can't take you to the airport - the driveway isn't shoveled and the alley isn't plowed. We'll have to call a cab." I had a feeling this was not going to end well.

The cab arrived and I waded through the snow banks to get to it. It was bitterly cold - an alleged wind chill of -18F. The cold went right through all the layers I was wearing. The cab driver was a courageous man - in places it was hard to tell where the road was - nothing was plowed yet. He kept telling me how beautiful it was and how after he left me at the airport he was going to quit for the day and go out to take some pictures. On the way I was astounded to see groups of people jogging and others walking their dogs as if this snow was the most ordinary thing in the world. Those Minnesotans are a hardy breed!

I was so thankful to arrive at the airport that I gave him a large tip and headed right for my flight gate. As I got there, I heard the announcement: the flight had been canceled because all the runways were closed. There was no way I was going home that day.

I re-booked the flight for the next day on a different airline and made a hotel reservation with the voucher I had been given. They assured me they had a shuttle. Two hours later when the shuttle still had not come I called again and was told the shuttle was not running because they could not get it out of the parking lot!

By now a sweet young Chinese girl who was going to the same hotel - the Ramada West - had latched on to me. Perhaps she thought I was a native and knew what I was doing. HAH!

Eventually she and I piled into a taxi van with a Canadian guy, a middle-Eastern family and a Somalian driver who hardly spoke English. He had an English study guide open on the seat next to him. Again I had this nagging feeling....I never had heard of any significant snowfall in Somalia.

We headed out on the freeway towards the Ramada West. The only way to tell it was the freeway was the tire tracks through the two feet of snow. The wind howled and blew snow upside down and sideways. It was almost a total white-out. The driver had to stop several times because the windshield wipers kept freezing to the windshield. In the cab the tension was palpable and no one said a word as the car slithered along the tire tracks. Finally we approached the Ramada and the driver slowed to look for the entrance. He thought he spotted the correct tire tracks in the wind whipped snow and turned right - directly into a snow bank. Now we were stuck!

We all got out to help push. I looked up and noticed that the hotel in the distance said "Ramada Inn Mall of America." I pointed this out to the Chinese girl and she started shouting at the driver who was now ineffectually poking the snow behind the wheels with an ice scraper. "You brought us to the wrong Ramada.!!" The driver shouted back in a high screechy voice that sounded on the edge of tears: "This only Ramada inn. No other one! You go!" The poor man was clearly out of his element. He was wrong - there WERE two Ramada Inns - I saw them on the board at the airport, and indeedy we were at the wrong one.

There was no point in arguing with him and he wasn't going anywhere in the near future - especially if he kept poking at the snow with that scraper. I decided that the only thing to do was to walk to this other Ramada Inn and hope there was room. I paid him, grabbed my bags and headed out across the snow-drifted field toward the building - probably 1/4 mile away. The Chinese girl decided to follow me. The tiny pellets of snow the wind blew  into my face felt like needles. The wind blew right through all my clothes and I could feel the chill on the skin of my back. Behind me the Chinese girl whimpered. Poor thing didn't have boots, hat or gloves.

We blew into the warm lobby on an icy gust and went to the check in counter. Not only did they have room, they even honored our vouchers! The Chinese girl vanished down a hallway and I never did see theragain. The snow had drifted against one of the glass doors of the hotel. I stood next to it to measure it - nearly 5' high!

The hotel restaurant was packed at dinner. No one could go anywhere - it was the only game in town. I ordered chili, thinking of warm spicy, sunny flavors - the taste of home. Meanwhile, two women came and sat at the table with me.. Edith and Gladdie. (In extreme circumstances Americans will act European and share a table.) They were on a church outing to see the Christmas sights and now they were snowed in as well.They still had their name badges on.

They asked me where I was from and I told them Arizona. "Oh, you're the ones with the screwy governor!" Edith said. I almost dropped my teeth. They were Middle Americans - I was sure they were Republicans - and THEY thought our governor was nuts! They also thought the chili sounded like a good idea on this freezing night.  When it came Gladdie took a taste and commented: "Oh, it's very well seasoned!" Personally I thought it tasted like ground beef floating in canned tomatoes, and I may have mentioned that I thought it a bit bland. Edith said: "Oh, you Arizonans like your food to bite you back!" Frankly, those two and their brand of humor were a bright light in a very dark night.

By the next morning it had finally stopped snowing. All the papers said that this was the biggest storm on record in the Minneapolis area. The roof of their stadium collapsed from the weight of it. At the airport, I could see the snow blowers on the runway blasting plumes of snow about 200 feet in the air. When my flight finally took off after about  4 hour delay (frozen brakes and a broken de-icer), I nearly cheered. Even if it was beautiful, I had had enough winter to last me the rest of my life.

I was so thankful to land in the 75 F sunny warmth of Tucson, and to head down to Banamichi, where a cold day might go as low at 50 F. It's been 45 years now since I moved to the Southwest. I truly have become a desert rat. I love hiking up some canyon and lying on a warm sunny rock by an icy stream fed by the snow melt in the mountains. I love gazing up at the bright blue sky and not giving a thought to the people in Minneapolis shoveling their driveways and jogging in a wind chill of -18F. Sunshine, warmth and the bright sunny flavors of chili and salsa suit me just fine now.