During the two years I lived in self-imposed exile in central Mexico, in the little village of San Miguel de Allende, I had the opportunity of making the acquaintance of a young woman from Culiacan who I shall  call  “Beatrice”. Beatrice was working as a translator at the University of Sinaloa. She was bright, articulate and extremely vivacious. Two of my books were being translated by the University for inclusion in their bi-lingual World literature series, and though Beatrice wasn’t working on either one of them I made her acquaintance through some mutual friends and we became fast friends. As my time in Culiacan was drawing to a close and with my return to San Miguel imminent, I asked Beatrice if maybe she might like to spend her Easter holidays with me. She readily agreed and ended up coming over and staying with me for several weeks. Her presence in the somewhat sumptuous house I was rented caused quite a lot of consternation – or perhaps it was envy – among many of my American friends who couldn’t stop themselves from making light of our age difference and took fiendish delight indulging in wholesale  innuendo as to what we might be getting up to night after night.  They probably wouldn’t have believed me if I had told them it was all quite innocent, so I didn’t tell them anything at all.

Beatrice and I spent an utterly memorable three weeks, eating out, talking, swimming,  and tangoing the night away in any one of a number of San Miguel night spots. Alas, there are no photos of her, but one of the more tangible memories I can pass on to you about those nights under a drinking moon (it seemed that moon was always full in San Miguel, and hung so low and fat and blood-colored above the village rooftops) comes in the form of Beatrice’s prized recipe for Guacamole, which she made several times during her stay with me. The aroma and texture of her version of this Mexican mainstay lingers even now in my memory and the taste of it still conjures those unnaturally sultry Mexican nights, on the eve of summer, when Beatrice and I drank Margeritas whilst munching corn chips and poetry.


4 Ripe Avocados
2 Limes, juiced
1 Roma Tomato, diced
1 Small Red Onion, diced
1 Jalapeno, de-seeded and diced
1/2 cup Cilantro, chopped
1 tsp Ground Cumin
1 tsp Fresh Ground Black Pepper
Kosher Salt to Taste

Take the avocado cut across the center and split in halves. Take the pit out and take the avocado out of shell using a large spoon. Place in a mixing bowl and add juice of lime. Incorporate together using a large spoon to break up the avocado.


About stonekingseminars

Poet, screenwriter, producer, mentor
This entry was posted in Memories, Recipes. Bookmark the permalink.

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