Tamales on my Mind
There was only one place in all of Night City that V could ever be sure to find the best tamales on a Sunday afternoon. That was a little corner bodega south of the Wellsprings that looped over to The Glen. You’d miss it if you didn’t know about it. It was tucked between two side streets and tagged up with gang graffiti – most recently the Valentinos reclaimed their turf on it. It was a marker that the bodega was under their protection. If anyone messed with them, they’d get a less than polite visit.
V found the bodega after driving past it twice and parked his car. They eyed the rest of the rides packed in on the street – bumper to bumper, which explained the line of people by the bodega. It took them a second to remember the monthly neighborhood cookout on the third Saturday followed by the charity drive on Sunday, where food was given out to those who won the raffle. A raffle to make sure at least a few unfortunate souls would eat for the week in Heywood.
It had been months since V last paid a visit and joined in. They winced, weighing the options of going in for a plate because they were craving Padre’s famous tamales.
Eventually the growling of their stomach had them biting the bullet and slinking into the bodega. Right away they knew they were out of place, between the scowls and muttered Spanish cuss words as people assumed V was cutting the line.
“Not for the raffle.” V assured them.
“Mh-hmm.” A teenaged father gave them the evil eye as they slipped toward the back counter where Padre was packing pre-made tamales and pozole in plastic containers.
“V!” Padre grinned, weary-eyed and rushed as he handed a tweaker a bag of food from across the counter. Padre slipped them a parchment paper wrapped puffed pastry coated in powdered sugar – sopaipillas. “Eat this first, niño – por favor.” Padre instructed the young man as he bowed his head in blessing with thanks.
V didn’t watch him leave, knowing not to comment on the likelihood of a tweaker selling that food for whiff money. Instead, they turned their gaze on the display of food. The rack of pulled pork, the trays of carnitas, poblanos, and homemade tortillas as well as the large container of horchata. It was an occasion every month where Padre pulled out all the stops to show good will to the people of Heywood. On more than one occasion V had been lucky to receive such good will themself.
The scent of roasted peppers and sofrito base of onions, tomatoes, and cilantro left their mouth watering as they tried to decide between asking for a tamale or a tray of something else. It all looked better than what he had at home. Certainly better than the corpo sponsored crap he’d been eating the last few weeks between jobs.
V hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks. Hell, they couldn’t remember the last time they had a good meal. They’d only had meal bars, protein bars, and stale drinks dispensed from the vending machines. All of it was reconstituted, rehydrated, synthetic lab grown crap Corps spent billions of eddies getting the public into thinking they needed the cheap affordable meal replacements - supplemented by vita drinks and bars to make sure you got your nutrients. No, Corps wouldn’t want the lower end to have an organically grown meal, would they?
“Let me guess…” Padre chuckled. “Tamales?”
“Come on, Padre. For old time’s sake?” V asked. “I’ve even got the eddies.” They held up a cred chip to show he was serious.
Padre stared him down, whilst his hands moved and served another raffler before sighing. “You’re lucky you’re one of my favorites. Get behind the counter.”
“I said behind the counter. And put that away. Your eddies are no good here. You’re more valuable helping out.” Padre tutted and handed them an apron.
And like that, V was busy working the bodega counter. Taking and filling orders and occasionally helping a cholo out with their ride when they rolled up with trouble, selling lucy’s on the downlow to kids sent by their folks.
At the end of the lunch rush, Padre walked over with V’s very own bag to take home.
“Mira, para ti.” Padre held it out to him.
“I’m starving. Gracias, Padre.”
“De nada.” Padre waved his hand and pulled V into an open hug. “Now go, before you get stuck here all day. And don’t be a stranger, cabron. We miss you. Next time come on Saturday to help prep.”
“Ah you know I don’t know how to roll a tamale worth an eddie.” V grinned as they waved to Padre, leaving the bodega while pulling a tamale out of the bag. They devoured it quickly, tasting every delicious, roasted chicken, peppers, oniony bite with juices rolling down their chin. Food always tasted better when you earned it - especially when surrounded by familiar faces.