Once upon a time, the Guru and I, with our traveling companion M, ate breakfast at a fine little cafe just outside the entrance to Palenque, a terrific abandoned Maya town that probably controlled significant cross-peninsula trade long before Spaniards hit the shores of the New World. The guy who took our order spoke better Maya than he did Spanish—which made us even; Spanish was not my best language either.
Anyway, when our tasty (¡muy rico!) b’fast arrived, John’s white-glazed plate carried the label “Waffle House.” (Also rico, BTW, har-har.)
So today, in the modest town of Douglas, way down on the coastal plain (but not the coast), we lunched at a place on the northeast edge of town named Tarahumara, where the principal language was Spanish, but there was plenty of English—if you spoke with the right people. And my rice-and-beans plate arrived…on a Hunan Village platter.
The mixed ethnicity thing…makes a full circle?
One more twist: the home office of WH…in Atlanta! (metro Atlanta)