New Hampshire is nice.
there are not many Latinos.
And I will admit, it makes me feel out of place when I look like everyone else around me.
I need the rich colors of South America, the soft lilting sound of Spanish, and, believe it or not, the poverty.
I miss cobblestone roads, cows on the streets, and fresh cow’s milk delivered to my door twice a week.
With me feeling a little down about not being home (and by home I mean anywhere south of Florida) Super Hero Husband set out to find me some Harina Pan for my favorite comfort food.
He is successful and brings home two bags, white Mexican cheese, and ham.
I make the dough, pat it into that familiar round shape, drop them in hot oil and finish them off in the oven.
I spread way too much butter inside, sprinkle cheese on and stuff with ham.
I close my eyes and take a bit.
First, a crunch.
Then, the soft gooey inside.