Euro Pane/Moles La Tia

A double-scoop of pistachio

I ran into Monica the other day at EuroPane bakery in Pasadena. I heard these words from behind my back as I found my table in the sun-drenched café on Colorado: “Ruben Aguilar!” Who considers me by that name ? Nobody. Except maybe, Monica. Ever think about your identity, your name, the real you? More than half the people in my life call me “Mr. Aguilar.” Ah ha! I must be a teacher! Yes, I am. I am Mr. Aguilar most of my life. Everyone else knows me as Ruben. But the two names rarely are joined. And then, here comes Monica. We met when I was about fifteen at the local Church on Brady. Were in the same boat, meaning that we have avoided that institution that seems to nab everyone by the time they get to our bewitching age: marriage. She knows me too well. And here I am, at Euro Pane. And there she is. And she let me have it: why didn’t you and “V” ever get together? (V is the name I will give her to protect the innocent). Gulp, V was not really into me. Okay, Ruben, I knew that, but why did you waste your time on a girl that didn’t want you? Uh, how’s your coffee, Monica? Fine, thanks. Ruben, how about “J?” (A girl, by the way, close to perfection in every sense of the word.) Why didn’t you and “J” ever get together? Um, J and I kept missing each other. When I liked her, she liked this other guy. When she liked me, I had a girlfriend. Yes, it sounds pathetic, I know, like the journals of a high school sophomore. But Monica’s honesty and grilling were strangely refreshing. I liked that she felt comfortable that she could punch me up a bit for the better part of the hour. I ordered a strong cup of coffee, a cinnamon roll, and a pistachio macaroon. Want to know what food product allows you to reflect on a past mistake much easier to digest? The pistachio macaroon at Euro Pane. It has no equal, cannot be duplicated, and is still percolating in my memory. Just like that conversation with Monica. Good talk.



I ate something the other day that made me blink and ask this question: am I really eating this? By this I mean a beautiful piece of salmon covered with a pistachio mole. I could not believe the color, the texture, or the taste. We are talking about a green mole with slivers of pistachio nuts that gave such a vibrancy to the fish that I could not bring my fork down until…what is this…heat? Oh my, yes, there is heat. Not the eye-watering, nose dripping kind. It is more of the throbbing, simmering kind that has endurance as opposed to speed or power. It is there and it lasts. It made me stop when the last piece of forkful of fish disappeared. There was a lot of rice, vegetables, and tortillas left over. But I had rarely so been so satisfied. I have decided that the two most wonderful words in the culinary dictionary might be these: pistachio and salmon. What are your two?