Churros are a Mexican pastry, dough that is twisted, baked, sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon, cut in small strips, and commonly sold on the street.  You cannot miss them because of the sweet, inviting aroma that literally takes you there and you have no choice but to buy a bag.


Photo by Flickr user miamism’s

The first time I encountered such exquisite aroma, I was about eight years old.  My mom and grandmother took my three sisters and myself to the plaza. Across the plaza there was a church, and that night the town was celebrating St. Nicolas Tolentino, patron of Ramos Arizpe, the town where my grandmother lived.

Among the festive colors, the Matachines dancers, the fireworks, and the carnival rides, an almost hypnotizing aroma of fresh baked bread infused with cinnamon, called my immediate attention. “What is that mamá?” I asked. “Churros”, she said. “”Do you want to try them?” She bought my sisters and myself a bag each. The bag contained about five or six churros, each one about five inches long and half inch thick.

I had to smell them again. The smell was heavenly sweet. It was that kind of smell that if the food tastes as it smells, you know it’s going to be good. I grabbed the first one, still warm and bit into it. The crunchy texture from the dough with the sugar was the most gloriously harmony I have ever experienced in my short life. I ate the next, and the next, and the next until the bag was empty.

My mom was happy that I liked them, so she agreed on sharing some of hers. When we were done with thers I asked, “Can I have more, please?” My grandmother, wise in her years said, “You know, when you eat too much of this stuff, you can get sick—Te puedes empachar, you know?” I wasn’t listening to her, I was just looking at the churro vendor, “Can I have some more, PLEASE?”

None of them complied with my nag. Lucky for me, that day was a Sunday, allowance day.  I grabbed my girly purse and grabbed my 5 pesos my father gave me earlier and confident I went and bought I think three or four bags more. Oh I ate them with pleasure and joy ignoring both mom’s and grandma’s condescending look. “You are going to get sick” I kept hearing, do you think I cared?

So the evening went, we went on the rides and had a lot of fun. I remember that night we all stayed at my Grandmother’s house. We said our Ave Marias, and went to sleep. Suddenly, I woke up in the middle of the night with this horrible, excruciating stomach pain. “Mama, Abuelita, my belly!!!!” I got so violently sick that all I could hear was “I told you so.” From that day on I got this aversion to churros to the point that the pure smell of it made me sick and all I can think of is, “I know, you both told me so!”


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