Fourth of July in Mexico

We spent Saturday at a barbecue sponsored by the American Benevolent Society and the American Society of Mexico. There weren’t any fireworks, but they had hot dogs and hamburgers, so that was nice. They also had apple pie. And kick-ass brownies.

The party was held at a private home in Lomas de Tecamachalco, a suburb west of here. Most folks there were probably our parents’ age, but we met some interesting people, including a woman who styles food for cookbooks, which I am in awe of.

Next year I think we’ll do our own cookout, assuming our grill works by then. (Update on that front: They have shipped us the part to repair our leaky regulator. Or rather, they say they have. We’ll see if we ever get it.) Can you imagine the spread? I could do mac n’ cheese, now that I’ve found sharp cheddar at the Superama in Polanco; burgers, dogs, my grandma’s potato salad with big chunks of hard-boiled egg and black olives. Mmmm.

Funny, but I didn’t really feel any burst of patriotism being out of the country on Independence Day. Actually, in my life, I only remember getting teary-eyed at one Fourth of July, when I’d just gotten back from studying for 10 months in Spain. My brothers wanted to watch the fireworks at the Queen Mary, but no one could get their act together for the long drive out to Long Beach, so we ended up at some random parking lot in Upland. As the fireworks went off, I stared up at the sky, so grateful and amazed to be back in the U.S., where they had pancakes and giant highways and actual Mexican-Americans! (Who didn’t yell at me for not knowing Spanish.)

Lately I’m just so grateful to be living in Mexico. July 21 will be six months.