Let me preface this post with a brief description of my love for tamales. I liken the connection to that between Harry Potter and Voldemort. Strong. Magical. Extremely nerdy.
So there I was, snapping a few quick pics of our new store today, SEE HERE, when in walked the woman of my dreams. I kid, sort of. She was the sweetest little woman selling homemade tamales. Let’s call her Sara. It’s her name so it seems fitting. I bought them all. (Except a few that another girl in the store purchased). 22. Well, 20 now, I got hungry. Oh sweet mother they were amazing. I got chicken, beef, cheese and traded for a bean. They were HOT. I was literally wiping my upper lip from sweat the whole time. A trait I have only seen present when eating hot tamales (the candy but the light just went on as to where they get their name). She comes every other Thursday. So I think I just blacked out my calendar for every other Thursday. And then the remainder of my days will thus be spent at the gym. Or thinking of going to the gym while eating my bundles of joy.