So, today I am not about to write about Michael Jackson, that hugely talented but sick, sad, screwed up guy. I was never a huge fan (though I loved the Jackson 5), so I won’t go any further with this. Farrah, likewise I was never a big fan — don’t think I ever watched Charlie’s Angels. But, her passing was sad and I admire her courage in her fight. There, you don’t need any more from me on either of those prematurely demised ‘icons.’
What I want to discuss instead is a foodstuff that was presented to me while I was in San Diego. It was one of those “why didn’t anybody tell me about these things before?” moments. We strolled into a section of Old Town San Diego. I had nipped off to the restroom — vitally needed as the result of a morning coffee consumed during our ramble — and when I returned Wendy handed me a paper wrapped item. I asked her what it was. “Just taste it,” she said. “You’ll like it.” I tasted this long, thin, ridged item and indeed I did like it. It tasted remarkably unhealthy, much like a decent donut should taste. She told me what it was. It was a churro that she’d just picked up from a stand in an Old Town area devoted to confections.
Why hadn’t anybody told me about these things before? I’ve traveled a fair amount in California, but this Spanish/Mexican delight had escaped my scrutiny in times past. Now I find I am hankering for more of them. I think I’d like to open a churro franchize in my hometown.
I know they’re bad for me. They’re all laden with butter and sugar, and I’m fairly fastidious about my diet and eating the right stuff, getting all my fruits and veggies and the rest of that tedium. But periodically I like something that is downright artery-clogging, much as donuts are. I don’t eat them often, and I wouldn’t eat churros often but would relegate them to the odd moment of dietary indiscretion. Hell, I even looked up a recipe and it sounds pretty straightfoward to make the little rascals.
I might just do that. I’ll tell you how it turns out.
