Tortillas
Now that direct trade between Chicago and Old Mexico is about to be opened, it might be as well to pay a little attention to Mexican preferences, too How romantic are all the words that come straying among us from that land of the sun! And how all the Mexican story-writers, from Captain Mayne Reid down, have revelled and gloried in the power these sonorous terms gave them over the imagination of their bewildered Northern readers ! Tarantula, arroya, caballero, ranchero, hacienda, cuisiniero, for tilla! It was always the tortilla that crowned the closing day. The tempting tortilla; the sweet, the delicious tortilla.
But the story-writer has yet to be born with selfdenial enough to drop his romance and tell his wondering readers what the tortilla is. Once I became acquainted with a Mexican youth, who was a native of the ancient city of the Montezumas. There was poetry in his name. It was Manuel de Carvalho. There was poetry in his face, for he had melancholy eyes and a sentimental moustache. His ancestors were Dons, but he, alas, was but valet to an English tourist. He had been through all the gay capitals of the Old World, yet nothing had ever prevailed to chase the cynical expression from his lips, or withdraw his thoughts from the home of his early days. And then he came to a noted pleasure resort that was frequented by wealthy Southern people. And on going into the bakery one day, he saw a griddle full of something that caused him to stop, open mouthed, with delighted surprise; and as soon as he was sure he could believe his eyes he struck an attitude, clasped his hands and shouted in ecstacy: "Ha, ha!-Tor-theel-as!" So at last Manuel was happy. And this is how the tortillas were made: