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. A woman was paid to come
and teach me; but I never mastered the art. It is in the blood of
the Mexican, and a girl begins at a very early age to make the
tortilla. It is the most graceful thing to see a pretty Mexican
toss the wafer-like disc over her bare arm, and pat it out until
transparent.
This was their supper; for, like nearly all people in the
tropics, they ate only twice a day. Their fare was varied
sometimes by a little carni seca, pounded up and stewed with
chile verde or chile colorado.
Now if you could hear the soft, exquisite, affectionate drawl
with which the Mexican woman says chile verde you could perhaps
come to realize what an important part the delicious green pepper
plays in the cookery of these countries. They do not use it in
its raw state, but generally roast it whole, stripping off the
thin skin and throwing away the seeds, leaving only the pulp,
which acquires a fine flavor by having been roasted or toasted
over the hot coals.
The women were scrupulously clean and modest, and always wore,
when in their casa, a low-necked and short-sleeved white linen
camisa, fitting neatly, with bands around neck and arms. Over
this they wore a calico skirt; always white stockings and black
slippers. When they ventured out, the younger women put on
muslin gowns, and carried parasols. The older women wore a linen
towel thrown over their heads, or, in cool weather, the black
riboso. I often cried: "Oh! if I could only dress as the Mexicans
do! Their necks and arms do look so cool and clean."
I have always been sorry I did not adopt their fashion of house
apparel. Instead of that, I yielded to the prejudices of my
conservative partner, and sweltered during the day in high-necked
and long-sleeved white dresses, kept up the table in American
fashion, ate American food in so far as we could get it, and all
at the expense of strength; for our soldier cooks, who were
loaned us by Captain Ernest from his company at Fort Yuma, were
constantly being changed, and I was often left with the Indian
and the indolent Patrocina.
