So, There, Connie

I had to finally make the effort. It was to counter, for the first time, the epicurean skills of Leopoldo's mother, Consuelo. Oh, she thought she was out-foxing the fox when--during her visit--she arrived with enough frozen, homemade meals to look like a U. N. relief maneuver. Of course, I loved those little, patty-caked meals and no one could say I didn't; I was even photographed by a local rag wolfing down one in a tribute to Darfur.

Several weeks ago, I got a cookbook on Mexican cuisine and have studied it like Cortez might have. I didn't have cannon and horses, but I did have a cause: To show Leopoldo that I, Mrs. Astor, could make him feel that "Mommie" was here. In the shadows of images of Quetzalcoatl, which popped up in the toaster at precise moments needed to inspire strength, I practiced and chanted until I was sure that no step was missed. Today I marinated, chopped, and prayed to the Food God until Mr. Astor stepped through the door, whereupon--in my finest chiffon cocktail gown augmented by an Aztec headdress--I greeted him with a glass of tequila and an air of supreme confidence.

"What is that?", Leo asked. "Oh, just some cilantro I've been chopping all day with lime juice, basil, tomatoes, garlic, and love", I replied. The trap was set; Consuelo must have had a twitch at that moment. I presented the chicken tortillas with plastic swords holding them together (what better to represent the conquest of the New World). When he was done, I asked if he wanted to "share" another and the answer completed my conquest of The World of Consuelo", but--of course--only as food may be concerned. I will never want to compete with her three-times-a-day calls to make sure her baby is O.K. But, then why would I need to; he's more than O.K.