Six am and I am plopped at the kitchen counter at Cabanas Diaz in the remote village of Areponapuchi sipping coffee and watching corpulent old Ophelia grind blue corn hominy. It’s the first step in making the tortillas we will enjoy with breakfast. Methodically she stokes the wood stove with dry mesquite stobs and looks at me with a warm suspicion. “¿Quieres mas?” she asks again. I shake my head slowly. Deep inside me I am satisfied to watch her…simply to experience with her this simple task.