"Oh! if we could only live as the Mexicans live, how easy
it would be!" For they had their fire built between some stones
piled up in their yard, a piece of sheet iron laid over the top:
this was the cooking-stove. A pot of coffee was made in the
morning early, and the family sat on the low porch and drank it,
and ate a biscuit. Then a kettle of frijoles* was put over to
boil. These were boiled slowly for some hours, then lard and salt
were added, and they simmered down until they were deliciously
fit to eat, and had a thick red gravy.
*Mexican brown bean.
Then the young matron, or daughter of the house, would mix the
peculiar paste of flour and salt and water, for tortillas, a
species of unleavened bread. These tortillas were patted out
until they were as large as a dinner plate, and very thin; then
thrown onto the hot sheet-iron, where they baked. Each one of the
family then got a tortilla, the spoonful of beans was laid upon
it, and so they managed without the paraphernalia of silver and
china and napery.
How I envied them the simplicity of their lives! Besides, the
tortillas were delicious to eat, and as for the frijoles, they
were beyond anything I had ever eaten in the shape of beans. I
took lessons in the making of tortillas.
