Tata was always served first, perhaps Sonoran enchiladas made with a recipe Nana took from her mother's birthplace in the Mexican border state of Sonora, albondigas (garlicky meatballs with mint) with calabacitas (squash with onions, chiles, and cheese), or pork chops alongside a relish of small hot yellow chile peppers, and, for dessert, the rich bread pudding capirotada. Then he would launch into "The Story of My Life", often the chapter that began in Easter week of 1922 at the annual fiesta at Guadalupe, a Yaqui village southwest of Mesa. Tata, by then a sign painter, had gone to watch the Yaqui dances and to drink moonshine. However much he drank, though, he never stopped noticing his surroundings; he had been orphaned, and an orphan is watchful, even when he becomes a man. On that day, he saw people digging into Mexican food sold at rickety stands. "I was fascinated," Tata would say, "by the throngs of people, mostly Anglos, who mobbed these huts. In those days, people thought Mexican food was dirty. But I had an idea: if tamales were selling like hotcakes from little huts, what would happen if you sold them in a clean, pretty place?"