Adventures in Food-making, Part the Umpteenth

When I was in highschool, my best friend's mother was Mami to all of us. Unasked, she filled the mother-shaped hole in my life, providing everything from advice, to a couch to sleep on when the family dynamics at home got too nuts, to the loan of a gorgeous formal red dress for the Homecoming game where I accepted my National Merit Award. She was the first one who ever told me that the way my parents were treating me was shitty and unacceptable, and it is not her fault that I didn't realize she was right until ten years later.

She made tortillas from scratch and made us breakfast tacos in her tiny little kitchen, and thinking back I know she couldn't afford to feed all of us strays, but she kept doing it.

You'd think I'd be able to find freshly made tortillas around here, but I haven't been able to. After much searching, I finally found a brand of masa harina that guarantees it is GMO-free, since I react to GMO corn -- Bob's Red Mill. So tonight, I made tortillas and thought of Mami.

Okay, mostly I was thinking, It's been ten years, but maybe I could call her up and she could tell me the secret? Cause my tortillas were rather a disaster! I need a tortilla press, definitely, but who knew that a recipe with only three ingredients could be so difficult to get right?