Sunny-side-up with hot sauce
Chapter 12. The Atlantic Coast and its Caribbean pirates
Cholula, Puebla, México
“Look, kid, over there at twelve o’clock. That city is Rivas. That’s the last bastion of Nicaraguan culture, as you head south. It’s the last city before you reach the Costa Rican border. There it lies, basking in the glorious sun. We’re going to land there, so fasten your seat belts, Gentle Man and Lady! More importantly, there will be a nice, hot breakfast waiting for us, just what the doctor prescribed!” Grandfather picked up the microphone and started to talk to someone who seemed to have expected him. I could tell that the other person was overjoyed to hear Grandpa on the radio. We were flying outside of the city limits and over a few farms. After a couple of minutes we reached a large farm, and he pointed to a dirt landing strip. Those days, Rivas had no airport. We dove in and landed perfectly.
A boy wearing red shorts met us and took care of our stuff and walked with us to the house. Memo received us there. He was a tall, thin man. His complexion was whiter than the ghost in the movies, but he had a warm smile that lit up his face. We went into the house, and in a few minutes, we were sitting down at the table and enjoying breakfast. A dark-skinned woman served us a couple of eggs, sunny side up, covered in a red-hot, spicy sauce.
“Don Memo, I’m curious, is this sauce made with chiltepe peppers?”
“No my dear, it’s made with Serrano Peppers, why do you ask?” he inquired, surprised by Grandfather’s chuckles.
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