I think this story has the potential to become one of the signature pieces on your site. The memory with your friend is real, and it naturally opens the door to history, tradition, and your own philosophy of cooking.

Here’s how I would write it.

There’s a conversation I had years ago that completely changed the way I thought about tortillas.

A dear friend of mine from Oaxaca once told me she only ever ate corn tortillas. Not flour tortillas. Not wraps. Corn.

Curious, I asked her, “But how do you make burritos?”

She smiled and laughed.

“We just make the tortillas bigger.”

Ten inches across, pressed by hand, warm from the griddle.

I’d never seen corn tortillas that large in a grocery store, and I don’t remember ever being served one in a restaurant. Yet hearing her describe them so casually sparked my curiosity. Of course. If you’re making tortillas fresh at home, why wouldn’t you simply press them to the size you need? That simple conversation opened a whole new way of thinking for me.

In many parts of Mexico—especially in places like Oaxaca—corn tortillas aren’t just preferred; they’re part of everyday life. Corn has nourished people there for thousands of years, long before flour tortillas appeared after the introduction of wheat by the Spanish. Fresh tortillas accompany nearly every meal. They’re not simply served alongside the food—they’re woven into the meal itself.

Traditionally, corn tortillas are wonderfully simple: nixtamalized masa, water, and sometimes a little salt. That’s all. For generations, cooks have shaped them by hand, though today many families use a tortilla press because it’s faster and creates beautifully even tortillas. The ingredients remain beautifully humble, allowing the sweet, earthy flavor of the corn to shine.

That simplicity is part of what I love most.

A warm corn tortilla with a spoonful of rice and beans is already a complete pleasure. Add a generous scoop of fresh salsa or creamy guacamole, and it becomes one of those meals that reminds me how satisfying simple food can be. Sometimes I think we forget that food doesn’t have to be elaborate to be deeply nourishing.

This is the method I use whether I’m making small tortillas for tacos or larger ones for burrito-style wraps. The dough never changes—only the size. Press them a little smaller, press them a little wider, and let the meal decide what they become.

Every time I make them, I think of my friend from Oaxaca and smile. One simple sentence—“We just make the tortillas bigger.”—gave me permission to stop thinking about tortillas as something that comes in a package and start thinking of them as something living, adaptable, and wonderfully homemade.

And perhaps that’s why I love them so much. A stack of warm tortillas placed in the center of the table has a quiet way of inviting everyone to slow down, build their own meal, pass the salsa, and linger a little longer. To me, that’s the very heart of Meals That Gather People.