The smell of melting butter and baking dough wafts through the town of Tetela, a small community nestled among the sugarcane fields in Oaxaca, Mexico. Two neighborhood boys, one clutching a basketball and one walking a rusty bicycle, amble up to Miguel and Irma’s front gate, pressing their noses in the spaces between the metal.
¨Ya tienen pasteles?¨ one of them shouts excitedly. Are your pastries ready?
Irma emerges from the kitchen covered in flour. She claps her hands against her apron, sending a cloud of white particles flying. ¨In about a half hour... Continue Reading >>