Oh Trader Joe’s, I owe
you my deepest Pocho
gratitude for your soy
chorizo. “The authenticity
comes from the spices,”
you say, and I believe you.
Who needs meat when
fake meat tastes this good?
After my Caucasian wife
lovingly sautés butter, salt,
onions, and baby bell peppers
together in a skillet,
she adds your protein
delight, and declares
after just three minutes:
Dinner is served.
She cannot warm the corn
tortillas fast enough.
“You may not be a meat
eater, but that doesn’t
mean you can’t enjoy
the spiciness of authentic
chorizo sausage.” I think
of a bad joke, a play
on words: Soy chorizo
can mean “I am chorizo”
if you speak the language
of the colonizer. You don’t
even have to be fluent
to taste what seems real.