I moved from California to Boston in 1972.  I don’t remember exactly when and where I started watching her cooking show, but I do remember watching them.  But as she showed us all the intricacies of French cooking, I was in desperate need of Mexican food and the possibilities were slim to none.  Sure there was one–and I do mean only one–Mexican restaurant in Boston and it’s food was not bad, but I wanted to cook the dishes I’d grown up with in So. Cal.  Virtually nothing was available.  The only tortillas I could find were in a can and a more bizarre rendition of a tortillas you’ll never find–concentrated taste and a texture like a cloth napkin.  Taco and enchilada sauces were not on the shelves, and the only fresh ingredient that was even close to Mexican was scallions. I hoped that if Julia started making tacos and enchiladas, the right ingredients would start popping up in our local Star Market.  But to no avail.  Instead, for a number of years, I would return from trips home, my suitcase filled with cans of refried beans and enchillada sauce and bottles of La Victoria red taco sauce all nestled amongst dozens of packages of fresh tortillas.  Imagine what Homeland Security would do with that today.

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