Why do they cook so weird here? Some of the food is excellent. There is nothing like a real, live handmade tortilla. But, sometimes they do other stuff. Today after stake conference in the Minatitlán Stake (I learned that Minatitlán is an ancient dialect word which means La Tierra de Flechadores, The Land of the Arrowmakers) we ate lasagna. The sweet lady who cooked for the post-conference meal---it is a tradition to feed the stake presidency and out of town guests--made that traditional Mexican favorite, lasagna. She cooks at zone conferences for us when we hold them in Mina. She and her mother before her have been cooking for missionary zone conferences every six weeks or so for 35 years! Today was a lower light, as opposed to a highlight.

These lasagna noodles are about a fourth the thickness of those you and I normally eat, kind of like phylo dough but made of pasta. Dry and stiff. It was layered with a little shredded chicken which was lightly seasoned with something red, dry, and basically taste free. The sauce was, OH! There wasn't any sauce. The only red in the meal was what was on the chicken. It was five or seven Sahara-like layers deep. You had to cut it with a knife. Sedimentary rock. The chefs, following Japanese tradition to make food that looks nice but doesn't taste so hot, drizzled a decorative swirl of catsup on the side of the plate, near but not touching the Lasagna a la Sahara. But the mashed potatoes and gravy (with little pieces of ham and something green in it) were okay.

When is the last time that you had mashed potatoes and gravy with lasagna? Me neither. Very often at zone conferences, the good sister feeds us a piece of meat or chicken with mashed potatoes and also green spaghetti. I love green spaghetti. It is thicker white spaghetti noodles with a sauce made of something and a little habanero chili which turns the sauce light green and provides a little horsepower. Lots of carbohydrates here. Most Mexicans I know have never met a carbohydrate they didn't like. The fact is, I do interviews after zone conferences and by then the food is either cold or gone, so Mom and I go to Burger King on the way out of town. But, she, the Mexican lady, is a truly a great sister and has given years and years of service. The missionaries love her dearly. So do we.

Please don't give her this blog address. If she reads this I am in trouble. Oh! It is in English. We're okay.

Mom is a good sister, too.