Bad Gas

Marge Curvello brewed up the darn-best chili in the entire nation. It was rich, spicy, and filled with ingredients even the Devil wouldn’t know. She often joked that a bowl of her chili would light your taste buds on fire and, with just a strike of a match, potentially blow up the Loco Café because it produced that much gas. People from all over Canada came to taste Mexican Marge’s signature dish, until she suddenly keeled over, taking her secret recipe to the grave.

You see, Marge was buried in her favorite apron, which was colored red, white, and green like the Mexican flag. Yes, she had on other clothes, so get your minds out of the gutter, "pronto". Or is it, "ahora?” Bear with me—I'm just learning to speak the language, so my Mexican is, unfortunately, subpar.

Anyway, when the last shovel of dirt is being poured onto her grave, Michelle, Marge’s granddaughter, suddenly recalls seeing Grandma stitching something into that particular apron. Oh, Marge was indeed a crafty woman. Some say she even had mystical powers. Often, she spoke of the legend of Quetzalcoatl, who transformed into an ant, crawled up the steep Mountain of Sustenance, stole the corn from the gods, and brought it back to feed the Mexican people.

The Curvello family immediately concludes that the secret recipe was likely sewn into Marge's apron, which was now inside her coffin. OMG, without that signature chili recipe, how would the family keep her café in business?

In Pomuch, the small Mexican village where Marge was born, grieving families dig up their loved ones and wash their bones in a celebration known as the “Día de los Muertos.” But in Canada, it’s a serious criminal offence to exhume a corpse without a compelling reason. A secret recipe—one that they weren't even sure was inside the coffin—didn't cut it. And, honestly, the family wasn’t too keen on the idea of digging their loved one up.

So, they decided to search through everything Marge owned, including all her chests of drawers, cupboards, and bookshelves.

"¡Ya lo resolví!" screams Michelle. Grandma's cookbook, "The Best Recipes of Mexico", is missing, and she often kept her recipes inside it. Quickly, the family begins to brainstorm, thinking about where the book might be. She had mastered all those recipes, so perhaps she had thrown them out? No, that seemed unlikely. Marge was a Christian who believed that wasting anything was a dreadful sin that could land you in hell. She was indeed an old-school Catholic. Then Michelle said, "What if she donated it to the local bookstore?"

Like Speedy Gonzales, the family sprints out of Grandma Marge’s house and dashes over to the secondhand bookstore just around the corner. Marge always supported local businesses, often donating items to help out her neighborhood. Completely out of breath, the family pleads with the store owner for information. “We need that recipe book to keep Marge’s business alive,” cries Michelle’s father, Kevin Curvello.

Immediately, the store owner recognizes the family. "You're the Curvello family! I'm Bob Ferguson. I remember you both from the funeral. I knew Marjorie quite well," he said with a smile. Michelle and her father, Kevin, were a bit taken aback by Bob's familiarity. None of them ever referred to her as Marjorie. Their puzzled expressions led Bob to nip things in the bud instantly: "We were just good friends. He went on to explain how much he loved visiting the Loco Café, where he enjoyed Marge’s delicious cooking and listened to her fantastic folklore tales. With a chuckle, he discloses the embarrassing gas he often experienced after over-eating her signature chili. Everyone bursts out into laughter, having shared similar experiences with bad gas.

Unfortunately, the mood sours when Bob breaks the news, “Someone stole ‘The Best Recipes of Mexico’ last week.”

However, a simple fix is to order another copy, which Bob offers to do. Knowing that Marge’s secret recipe card would not be in any other cookbook, the frustrated family replied, “No need to,” and then solemnly left the store. Bob just stood there confused, wondering why that secondhand book was so important. Gently, he taps his pen on the counter when the store door flung open, and a young man drags himself inside. Poor thing was doubled over in pain, his voice straining as he spoke, “I’ve been poisoned.” Clutched between his weak arms was the stolen book, “The Best Recipes of Mexico”. No longer able to hold onto it, the book fell to the floor, where a small recipe card burps out from within the pages. Bob bent down, gently scooped it up, and began scanning the comic-like recipe scribbles.

Oh, Marjorie, you were always full of surprises, snickers Bob, remembering what a jokester his good friend was.

“It’s just a bad case of gas, my son, and it will pass, like everything in life,” Bob assures the young man, who breaks down crying, “Tezcatlipoca is punishing me for stealing the book.” Immediately, Bob Ferguson recognizes the Aztec God of War and Vengeance from Marge’s many folklore tales. Kindly, Mr. Ferguson asks the young man his name. Wiping his tears, he replies, “Brandon.” Chastising someone who is clearly suffering for his sins wasn’t in Bob’s nature. Besides, there must have been a good reason why Brandon needed that cookbook so desperately. As they talk, Brandon reveals that when Marge passed away, he fell into a deep depression. The Loco Café was the only place that reminded him of home. While he loved living in Canada, he misses his own country immensely. Curious, Bob listened intently while brewing a small pot of epazote tea, explaining to Brandon that it was Marjorie's herbal remedy for gas. Carefully, Bob fills a cup with the tea and hands it to Brandon, who then goes on to share that he is part of a Mexican mariachi band and desperately wanted to play his guitar in Marge’s excellent café. Suddenly, an idea popped into Bob’s head. “¡Tengo una idea!”

Brandon burst into laughter, as did Bob. He knew his ability to speak the language was subpar, but his idea was indeed brilliant.

The Goddess of Beauty and Love, Xochiquetzal, filled the quiet evening air as one of Marge’s most cherished folktales unfolded. Slowly, the sun sank into darkness while the Loco Café’s solar patio lanterns came to life. On the kitchen counter lay Marge’s secret recipe card. Kevin Curvello proudly stood by a large pot, brewing the best-darn chili in the entire nation. Filled with joy, he looks out into the café, where customers were passionately listening to Mexican Brandon’s alluring guitar playing of “Canción Del Mariachi.”

Michelle Curvello, busy lighting candles, thought, Grandma Marge would have been so proud. But for Bob, it wasn’t that easy; he missed his good friend, so he decided to dig her up, and, as Marge would say, “es broma!” before bursting into laughter!

(Pronto – immediately; Ahora – now; Día de los Muertos – The Day of the Dead; ¡Ya lo resolví – I have solved it; ¡Tengo una idea – I have an idea; Cancion del Mariachi - Song of the Mariachi; Es broma – I’m joking)