Tortillas from scratch. Almost.

I'm not necessarily a culinary wizard or a total klutz in the kitchen. The food gets cooked, I eat it, friends eat it and nobody has anything particularly unkind to say.
Perusing Wal-Mart last night for a quick grab from the tortilla aisle proved to be interesting for once. Ok, before everyone gets high and mighty on my ass for shopping at the "evil empire" let me re-state one important fact. I'm so far under the poverty line that I can't afford to shop anywhere else! Most of my wardrobe comes straight off the racks at Goodwill and Fallas Paredes. (The latter being a chain of waaaay downmarket clothing shops in the Southwestern U.S.) Hell! Walmart clothing is too expensive for me!
Where was I? Ummmm. Tortillas.
Sitting on the rack was something I hadn't tried. Uncooked Tortillas that you have to slap into a pan or on a griddle. Kind of a lousy concept if you're lazy. Luckily I felt up to the challenge to temporarily transform myself into somebody's Mexican grandmother and actually cook a Tortilla.
The results were nothing short of amazing! Fifteen seconds in the pan and voila! Gourmet munchies! Nothing like the "shoe leather" variety that usually finds it's way into the supermarket. These suckers were tasty.
I started thinking of other uses for these wonderful round slabs of deliciousness. A bit of Ghee, perhaps and you have a Chapatti. Roll them around some mashed potato, spices, peas, etc. and put them into the deep fryer and you could get a convincing Samosa. (No, not Anastasio. A Food, for crying out freakin' loud!) Cut out eyes and a mouth, colour them in with crayon and put it over your face. Now you can pretend you're on "Lucha Libre"!
The possibilities are endless.

Why am I here?

Hmmm... I forgot already.
Oh yes. This blogging thingy. Like everyone else in the universe I decided that somebody, somewhere was interested in the constant stream of detritus that exits my brain. Now , rather than trying to educate the sofa about my thoughts on politics, entertainment, organised and disorganised religion, my favourite soap (Not opera. Actual soap) and what it's like to be a poor, semi-insane Anarcho-syndicalist Utopian fortysomething Hippie, I can instead, like magic, shoot my rants off into cyberspace. All free for the asking, as they say.
My qualifications for doing this, are about the same as Macclesfield's result after playing a friendly against Chelsea. NIL!
One note of caution. I live in your street and can see everything you do from my front window.
No. Not really.