one herradura reposado and a secret treasure in my purse

So get this: tonight I went to this great margarita bar* that I've now been to a handful of times, and got into a discussion with the barmen over corn tortillas: more notably, the lack thereof in London. It came about because I had ordered nachos and the chips were obviously freshly-fried corn tortillas (and consequently de-LISH), and I wanted to know where they got them. Of course they came from their distributor in Spain (la la la), but maybe if you look this store or that store or DEFINITELY online at this site, you can find them. Dear sweet souls have no idea the pilgrimage I've undertaken in the quest for Anything Mexican since getting here. Flour tortillas, sure, I've found those, but they're only sold in eight packs, and only in one size. Old El Paso and 'Discover Mexico' have an effing MONOPOLY over here, and you'd better dang well like fajita size. Dream on, burritos and soft tacos. Corn tortillas? Impossible.

At the end of my personal happy hour, one of the barmen came over: 'Put this in your bag. Quick.' What was it? A BAG OF CORN TORTILLAS. And not just EIGHT of them, but THIRTY. I instantly had flashbacks to the Mission Tortilla section of Safeway as I hurriedly tucked them away, already dreaming of the hot frying oil in which I'd cook them.

And that's when I knew: bartenders really ARE the most useful people in the world to know.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go freeze my precious booty. What a banner week.

*I don't say this lightly, as London has maybe THREE--no, two--great margarita bars. No, three. No, wait. Two.