I was wandering in a tiny alley in Oaxaca, and a stand had these bright orange churros dusted with pink powdered sugar that looked like tiny fireworks. They were served with a side of mole chocolate that tasted like a secret midnight snack from a grandmother’s kitchen. I laughed, snapped a pic, and wrote a half‑hour manifesto about how churros can be a passport to the soul. I didn’t even remember to eat the churro because my phone was the priority. I still haven’t posted the photo of the churro in its original town, though—so much for the Insta‑gold, right?