“I just want to ask: why did the apartment smell like Mexican food yesterday morning?”
“Oh, sorry. I opened the window to air it out.” She had, too. A window in the kitchen had been left open all night.
“It worked. For the kitchen, that is. Everywhere else, not so much. Anyway, I looked for anything that remotely resembling Mexican food on the counter, but I only found those stale chunks of bread, dried out dip, and the dodgy looking peach-blueberry cobbler thing.”
“I didn’t make Mexican food. I just used coriander and cumin.”
“Really?” I asked, because I know more about the elements of the periodic table than food spices. I went into the kitchen, sniffed at the coriander and cumin, and realized that Haoshu was right. Those were both smells I associate with Mexican food (I suppose I should clarify that my only expose to such comes in the form of Mexican-American food).
After that, I craved quesadillas for two days straight.