The Sunny Southwest
Fiesta—The biggest of local deals. The town square, usually owned by pigeons and drunks, wears balloons, ribbons, booths. Ray-bans are very big, and for once nobody fears rubbing shoulders—emigré retirees, Mexicanos, ‘Indians’ (Well-schooled, I flinched at the label. But my guide said, “I don’t care what you call me, as long as you stop crapping all over me”). Enchiladas, tortillas, quesadillas, fajitas: sweet taste-music, with lots of jalapeños. On the corner, the busiest booth of them all—selling, it grandly announces on a hand-written sign, “The World’s Best Kielbasa Burritos.” Who’d be presumptuous enough to argue?