One of my favorite memories of my time spent in Central America is waking up to the smell of Gallo Pinto (rice and beans). The aroma wafts out of tiny kitchens and into the sidewalks and alleys of cobblestone streets. The strong scent even flows into the thickness of neighboring jungles. Somehow it thickens the air, even on the hottest, most humid mornings.
Mothers and grandmothers, sisters and daughters make this dish with such pride and such care. It is warm and it is wholesome. It fills little tummies as they set off on their day.
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