Digging deep in the roots using that kitchen witch juju to fix this fucked up year.

When I asked what to make this new year the response was clear and non-negotiable. Pigs feet like my Nana made. After so many calls to grocery stores in this bourgeois town (you should have heard the look on the butchers face at Whole Foods) I found them at the Cerneceria.
Below is a translation of a conversation in my broken Spanish and the Mexican butchers broken English:
Me: Pigs feet?
Butcher: (points to an ample pile) How much?
Me: 4
Butcher: 4 pounds?!?!?
Me: Oh no just 4…feet
The butcher smiles at my unit of measurement and packages my pigs feet.
Me: Thank you, you are the only place in town.
Butcher: (shrugs) They don’t know.

We smile at each other above our masks and I leave feeling connected, to my culture, to another culture, to a stranger. And I think Nanas magic is already working.