Tamales

I just bought tamales I can’t eat (cause they have meat in them) from the Mexican couple that walks around our neighbourhood and knocks on doors with plastic bags full of steaming hot, home cooked food.
It’s not like I think they have 18 hungry children sitting at home starving and hoping mama and papa will bring home some money for groceries. If they had 18 starving children you’d think they feed them the tamales and skip the detour via our neighbourhood.

Still, I can’t pretend it doesn’t make me feel like a good person, buying their tamales. Like I’m helping people less fortunate than myself. Because cooking a bunch of food on a Friday night and then going door to door trying to sell it is not something I would do unless I was hurting for money I assume that they are hurting for money. But what do I know?

Maybe cooking is their passion and they found that selling tamales in old town Pocatello is a nice way to make some extra money and put towards a Caribbean cruise. Maybe.

Spending 10 dollars on tamales is not something we could do everyday, my dearest and myself. We had Subway earlier today cause we were lazy and hungry and felt like getting something ready made and quick. I felt a little bad about that since we could of course have made sandwiches at home, it’s not like Subway is that spectacular. But I clearly don’t feel the least bit bad about the tamales, quite the contrary.
Blessed mother Åsa saves the world by buying tamales. Singing doves and green meadows and pink flowers. With salsa on top.