Capitalism, Free Market Tomales in the parking lot...

Walking towards the entrance of the Home Depot today, I observed the scene of a minor, ...and perhaps ...not kosher, business transaction.
A huge man, who reminded me of actor John Goodman was standing at the rear of a mini-van, waiting for something to be prepared for him.
The mini-van, about 10 to 15 years old was covered with primer spots, ...repairs waiting to be painted.
The rear hatch door was up and a 30ish mexican mom was laboring over stainless steel cookpots, serving up a food product, probably made earlier in her kitchen.
A small boy approached me and asked if I was interested in buying some "tomales".
He said they were delicious.
A sales pitch from a 7 year old. Mom spoke no english.

I said I'd think about it in the store.
Normally, someone hawking 'food' in a parking lot turns me off for all the typical reasons:

-Sanitation during food prep comes to mind.
-Were proper temps and cleanliness observed?
-Quality of ingredients comes to mind.
-Where did she get these ingredients?
-Was the meat fresh? Or, out of date crap from a dumpster?
-Or did she butcher home grown chickens from her yard and a couple of cats to make the filler for the tomales.

Before heading on into the store I gave the whole operation the "once over".
A peek into the van and I saw 3 kids, ...one of them a little girl, about four, and she was wearing a princess tiara and a pink dress.
This lowered my defenses.
I have 3 daughters and they wore that kind of stuff when little...

The John Goodman guy and I both left the Depot store with our hardware purchases about the same time.
I asked him what exactly the lady was selling and the price.
"Twelve tomales for twelve bucks. She's kept them hot." (A good sign.)
He seemed pleased with his purchase but hadn't eaten one yet.
From the size of John Goodman, I gathered that cheap and 'quantity' was more important than ...high end "quality."
He headed for his truck and I had to pass by the Tomale Lady to get to my car.
Another smaller boy comes out and asks me again.
The cuteness of the kids and the earnest work ethic of the Mom caused me to hold up two fingers, for two tomales.
(...so much for my two years of high school Spanish.)
...What? ...like two tomales are going to kill me?
I nearly vomit regular pre-packaged food some days.

This sort of food event goes against my grain, normally.
When I wander the aisles of Costco with all the hair-netted employees offering various food samples on toothpicks or in tiny cups, I am repelled.
Sure, they are 'clean' and wearing aprons and clear food handling gloves.
Dozens or hundreds of well-fed people walk by and sample ...or cough ...or sneeze ...or fart.
The Costco thing bothers me for some reason, my little quirk.
Never have ...and never will try their samples.
Others seem to relish the chance to "discover" a new product.
Some take it to an extreme and hit as many sample tables as possible.
I guess if you hit the sample table circuit hard enough inside, you could save yourself the expense and time of waiting for a buck-fifty polish dog out front.

*****

The tomales smell good.
Mom's too shy to make eye contact.
She hands me two chicken tomales wrapped in cornhusks, parentetically, in a Home Depot plastic shopping bag.
I hand her 3 one dollar bills. Just because... ...the kids.
She hesitates...as if confused or wondering about the 'counting out change' thing.
Centavos? Pesos? Dolleros? Aye, carumba! whatever that means...
I turn toward my car.
My opinion, she earned the extra buck.

If I were in a fast food drive up window, I would have burned a buck in fuel just waiting in line.
Then there's the typical struggle of repeating my order to get it correct.
Hollering at a stupid metal box attached to a lit up menu sign.
Trying to figure out the nationality and accent blaring out of the crackling speaker.
Getting the change correct.
The food tasting the same, order after order. Year after year.

This simple tomale transaction was direct. Quick.
I opened the bag and consumed them directly from the roof of my car.
No wife would have put up with that... she'd want a table cloth. Napkins.
I used my shirt sleeve.
I guess they were good. Again, the smell registers and is more important than taste.
There seemed to be plenty of chicken, cat or whatever.
There was a bit more and different spice than I'm used to.

Perhaps she had her own "11 herbs and spices" thing.
Who knows? Maybe I tasted future greatness.
The new version of KFC.
Parking Lot Tomales. PLT... The new American Dream.