No, it’s just Mexican hot chocolate.
During my AP spanish class in high school, we went on a field trip to the Mission district in San Francisco. It was my first time there despite living outside San Francisco my entire life. I saw the murals and loved the Mexican groceries. At the end of the field trip, we were allowed to wander several blocks of the Mission. I went into a grocery by myself and bought myself tortilla pancakes (which I never finished) for under a dollar. I loved the serendipity.
Today, despite it being in the high forties in San Francisco, I took an evening walk along the Mission and Valencia. My hat was probably too large for me and nearly covered my eyes as I walked along the Mission. Accosted by a homeless man asking how old I was (18? he asked) and what ethnicity I was (Creole?). And wandering into Therapy and always wandering out empty-handed. Staring into the expensive furniture stores and that wonderful Hideo bag store with $2000 suitcases. And somehow I found myself at another Mexican grocery store. Ibarra Hot Chocolate. With wedges that I could not break off, despite sawing it with my roommate’s fancy knives. Why were you so hard, Ibarra?
(There is a reason why I dislike having blog titles.)