Cinco de Mayo

If you don’t count various and sundry wives, I’ve only had two roommates in my whole life. Gerardo was the second. And, while he had some odd habits, for the most part he was a good one.

For all but the last couple of months he lived with me, he absolutely refused to drink alcohol. I was okay with that but a little puzzled, because I drank a lot of beer at the time.

Some of his habits needed adjustment, like keeping the mayonnaise in the pantry.

“Gerardo, you’re going to get sick if you eat that shit.” I would tell him. He’d take a family size package of chicken drumsticks, cook a couple of them and freeze the rest. Next day, I’d see the whole package in the sink thawing. He’d cook a couple more and freeze the rest. This would go on for a week or so. Same package of chicken. But he never got sick.

Once, for Cinco de Mayo, I decided to grill some flank steak and chicken and make fajitas. I didn’t have a grill, but had a little grate I used for camping. I started a fire using a large flat river rock for a base. Got all the meat arranged on the camping grate and went in to work on my frijoles refritos y arroz. Man, this was going to be good. I had marinated the meat all night in lime juice and cilantro and chile peppers.

BOOM! I ran to the window. The river rock had exploded from the heat and sprayed flank steak and chicken strips across three back yards.

We had McDonald’s for Cinco de Mayo that year.