Huarache

My shoes, damn fool that I am, were Mexican huaraches, plantlike sieves not fit for the rainy night of America and the raw road night.

The huaraches he wore looked like dried and blackened fish lashed to the floors of his feet.

They’re then ground into a homogeneous dough that holds whatever shape you choose to give it: thin circles for tortillas, thicker ones for gorditas and sopes, plump ovals for huaraches and triangles for black-bean stuffed tetelas.