Street Elote

You are finally driving back to the States after spending two glorious weeks in Baja, maybe down in Rosarito, maybe further south in Puerto Nuevo. The sand, the surf, the weather, the food, and best of all the people have you in a state of bliss. Well, get ready for the Tijuana border crossing tonto. Kilometer after kilometer, bumper to bumper, once you get in line there is no turning back. How long will it be? One hour? Two? Twelve? Hard to say and impossible to predict! Your only respite? The hundreds of vendors who prowl the hot asphalt. They have everything you could want, from cold drinks to vibrant art. You spot the Elote vendor, fondly remembering those cool summer nights in the town square and the spicy-sweet corn Not this Elote. This Elote is hardened, a little scorched, raw from the sun and the asphalt, just like everything else on this stretch of road. There is no mayonnaise here, it would be a death sentence in this heat. This is meant to sustain you, to keep you going unti