The man gave me, oh, I had requested for, three chances to guess the origin of the flag draped in the kitchen while he was preparing my açaí topped with toasted coconut flakes under a heap of diced seasonal fruits with palm honey. (The little shop on trendy Market St. is celebrated for its local vegan offerings, there is always a long line of patrons outside, and it takes time to order and wait because all is cooked to-order and the cook is alone and doesn’t seem encumbered by the pressure, the menu also includes healthy breakfast panoplies of sprouted ancient grains and greens with plant-based spicy sauces, I ordered one by the way, while listening to cool music.) Jamaica. He gave me a shaka stare of a disappointment, grabbed my money, pressed the till, and said, nope. Oh, I got this (proudly saying as true as can be remembering this land of injeras and braised vegetables you scoop with this sour crepe), Ethiopia. Man, what’s up with you? No! I swear that the flag was striped yellow and green, and, yes, there’s this insignia in the middle some coat of arms, but the colors flew high for me and was sure sure. Yet, I was still wrong. Give me a hint, please, start with the first letter. I have to get back and start orders, man, but O.K., “H.” Honduras!, I proudly exclaimed. (As far I have traveled-studied, there are tons of hippies there – “where there are hippies great food lives” – and I know an alcove exists where Norte Americanos are taking over the awesome surf break spots and camping out the rest of their young retired lives on the tropics, but I wasn’t but could be sure yellow and green too is the color of their flag.) I give up on you, brah, how could you not recognize this flag in front of you!? What is it, man? You’re standing on it. Hawai'i. Toni Morrison, one of our land’s literary icons once said: “Laughter is more serious than tears, and you better use it.” I sure did that morning, we did, the cook and I, and made my day shine out loud. I sat out on the bench enjoying my açaí, it was a humid morning yesterday, I had my back up on and shirtless, legs stretched out on the side walk of Market St., straw hat on, and feeling good– really good physiologically chasing down the coolness of palm berries turned sorbet feeding my tired, very tired but relaxed soul. (PS. Hey, açaí berries are indigenous to Central America palm species, and… Honduras, right, is in C.A.? I was almost close with this illustrious theory, lol, but didn’t bother the cool man in the shop and let him be.)
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