In San José de Llanetes, a tiny ranch village surrounded by abandoned haciendas, we visited my 86-year-old great-uncle, Guadalupe Rojas, who had helped raise my mother after her own mother died. We dropped in and caught him by surprise. The produce truck had not yet rolled into the village, so his refrigerator was empty. He was embarrassed and offered to go to the market to buy some cheese to make quesadillas, but I suggested we make a guiso (sauté) with whatever he had growing in his garden. Uncle Lupe agreed, but very reluctantly: In Zacatecas, to serve your guests a meal without meat or cheese is frowned upon. Luckily, it was the peak of the squash blossom season. His garden was overflowing with the flowers, hundreds of little yellow prom dresses drooping down over broad, green leaves. We threw together a guiso using both the tender, fat squash cut into cubes and the delicate blossoms, along with half an onion, a shriveled jalapeño, and a few overripe tomatoes he happened to have on hand. "Oye?son buenos!" my uncle admitted. He ate at least nine tacos stuffed with the spicy vegetable sauté. Aha, I thought, this must be the side of my family where I got my fast metabolism.