Feeling Desserted

Despite the fact that I've compiled a pagelong checklist of foods I intend to gorge myself upon in a self-inflicted binge that might well end like a particular scene in 7even, I'm hardly dissatisfied with Central American dining. I still love the tortillas that appear fresh from the comal the moment the cloth-wrapped and basketed stock tablecenter begins to dwindle. My hostmom's version of tomalitas, essentially surfboard shaped bars of ground maíz moistened, compacted and cooked, are a delicious sometimes substitution, though I do prefer tortillas.

I've enjoyed chuchitos, which are small tamales, thus made from maíz, filled with a tomato-based sauce and chunks of meat wrapped and cooked in corn husks. Paches are phenomenal, papas-based cousins of tamales, thickly mashed potatoes mixed with a tomato sauce then packed around combinations of meats, vegetables, and the mandatory hot chili, then wrapped in giant green leaves and cooked. And dobladas are a deep fried delight, fried tortillas stuffed with, in Mama Meli's kitchen, papas o arroz, then served smothered in shredded cabbage, salsa, and jalepeños.

But Mom's carrot cake, thickly spread with rich cream cheese frosting, Grandma's Thanksgiving strawberry pies, and Aunt Lily's skyscraping Pineapple-Coconut cake, not to mention Landmark Diner's entire dessert case and Cuz Jamie's Michigan blueberry pie, are never far from my mind when I attempt to appease my sweet tooth with snackpacks of cookies.