When I got married I once again wanted to make flour tortillas. As a young mother I would often visit my beloved grandma and my great aunt Jennie, and I would beg them to teach me how to make tortillas. I remember the two of them laughing at the way I rolled out the dough and the shapes that transpired underneath my rolling pin. I remember Grandma telling me that there was a right and a wrong side to every tortilla, and I didn't dare lay the rolled out dough on the hot griddle facing the wrong direction. I remember the dough encrusted in Grandma's ring as she attempted to pick it out after we were finished making the tortillas. I remember Grandma sending home a dozen tortillas, beans, and green chili for Mark to enjoy. She knew how much my husband loved her good cooking.
I never did learn to make good tortillas, but Grandma did teach me how to crochet. She also taught me about love and laughter and hospitality and family loyalty and so many other things that I can't begin to express. Two years ago (or was it three?) in October my grandma, Tillie Gomez, died in her home. So many days I think of her, and I never stop missing her.
Today I finally made some tortillas, all by myself, that came out like they should. I'm sure mine don't taste as good as Grandma's tortillas, but they're still good. I think Grandma would be proud of me!
This picture was taken about 8 years ago. Four generations of tortilla makers!
Jessica is 15 years old here.
Thank you, Jessica, for inspiring me today!