31 March 2020. Big Antonio.
Dear to my heart, I wish I'd caught his features better. But the drawing does convey his expressive side--when he catches sight of me, walking by, or bending over to give him a wave through the glass. Standing there at the grill--he's the head cook, and the iron platform is his theater. Long spatula, flashing this way and that, tending his fixin's. La comida, more like it--for the feeling really is México. Started with the tile work--talaveras--hence the name, worked in squares and rows all around the room, the Virgin de Guadalupe prominent in a ceramic version right in front of the counter. The whole place beautifully overdone, from the get go, but the tiles being so handsome, the feeling is one of coherence. All of one piece.
And big Antonio is at the center of it. I've known him for close to 10 years now, from the time when he and Rocío (charming Rocío, who seems to have long since moved on) and a couple of the others would hang out in the old Camry in front of the house, smoking, listening to the radio, carrying on. But now, each time we catch sight of each other, it's always new. That quick smile, leaning forward, his arm raised in an animated thumbs up. Hola, Señor! Hola, Antonio...
The crazy thing is that I almost never go in--just a couple of times in all these years, when I'd see friends at one of the tables. Don't really know why. Maybe I like the anonymity--or the fact that we have this connection which perhaps requires that very distance. But last week, I did dash in--to put a twenty into the propina jar. I want to see them continue...!
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Note: Tocayo is the word ion Spanish. It's usually translated namesake, but there's another meaning that's lost in English--when two people share the same name. He's my toacayo, Which creates a strange bond, a kind of affection, recognized by both--maybe reflecting a culture that lives in a more communal way. The two Antonio's...
