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“This is the consistency we want,” he says, holding it out so I can touch it. “Not too wet and not too dry. Now we take this ball and make little balls. Let’s make eight.”

We work together, breaking off pieces of dough and rolling them between our palms until we have eight identical-sized balls on the counter.

“Bueno. So, for tacos, we would be pressing these flat-flat,” he explains. “But for sopes, we want a thicker tortilla, because it acts like a little plate.” He opens the press using the long metal handle-type thingy and there’s two sheets of plastic inside. He lifts one sheet, puts one ball on the other, then tops it with the first sheet. “Now we press,” he says, flashing me a smile that makes my heart stutter.

He presses the top metal disk down over the ball. When he lifts it and peels back the plastic sheet, there’s a perfectly round, slightly thicker-than-normal tortilla resting in the center. He plants it on his palm, then carefully peels off the bottom plastic sheet.

“Do you have a big plate?” he asks. I get out a large serving platter from a bottom cupboard, one of those accumulated kitchen items of unknown origin—neither Lenny nor I ever did much entertaining. I run it under the sink and dry it off with a paper towel before placing it on the counter in front of the bowl with the aguachile. Agustín places the tortilla on the hot skillet.

“Now. I will keep pressing, and you cook the chorizo.”

I grab the chorizo from the fridge and set another pan on the stove, heating it up with some olive oil then chop the meat and add it to the pan where it sizzles homily. Agustín methodically flips the tortilla in the pan until it puffs up slightly and both sides are browned. Then he puts it on the platter and adds another tortilla to the skillet.

“This is the hard part,” he says. “We need to make a little rim around the edges of the tortillas, and it must be done while they are still hot. Like this. Ow,” he mutters, as he crimps up the edges of the tortilla slowly. I try to help and realize that yeah, that sucker is super hot.

“There are tamaleras who are experts at this,” he says. “Their fingers are so tough because they are used to making these.”

He keeps pressing and cooking tortillas, and we both try to crimp them without too much damage to our fingertips. Once the chorizo is done crisping and put aside in a bowl and the refried beans are seasoned with some sort of sauce and another kind of chile, we chop up some white onion, then shred some of the lettuce and finely grate the cheese. I cut a little piece to try—it’s cheese, so it’s not like I’m not going to sample it—and find that it’s slightly chewy and wonderfully light and salty.

Agustín claps his hands together. “Listo! Let’s build our sopesitos.”

He gives me a spoon and tells me to put a thin layer of beans on each one, then we add them in batches to the pan where the chorizo cooked. We make a little assembly line, topping the finished ones with some chorizo, then adding the tomato and onion mix, some shredded lettuce, and sprinkle them all with cheese.

The smells in my kitchen are so rich and spicy and wonderful, my stomach lets out a huge growl. Agustín laughs, but somehow, it never feels like he’s laughing at me. Even when it’s my stomach being growly.

“That is the noise we like to hear,” he says, his smile so big it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. He looks at the platter and whistles. “Can I take a picture very quickly to send to my mom?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” I say.

He snaps a few photos, then pockets his phone. “Where do we eat?”

There’s a small breakfast bar in my living room, on the wall that joins to the kitchen, with two high stools. We set it up with bowls of aguachile, and plates with two sopes each. Agustín brings out two beers that he must have brought with him, and cracks open the bottles.

“Salud,” he says.

“Cheers,” I say.

We clink. The beer is light and refreshing, the bubbles tickling the back of my throat as I swallow. Now the real test. I’m not a raw seafood kind of gal, but that marinade was something else. I pick up my spoon and take a small bite of the aguachile.

The moment it hits my mouth, I feel transported. It’s like that scene in Ratatouille when Remy tries to get his brother to appreciate flavor combinations. I can practically see all the different flavors springing to life in front of my eyes: there’s the tart burst of lime juice, like green fireworks, mixed with the sizzling heat of the chiles, low flames flickering across my tongue. Then the meaty punch of the shrimp, contrasting with the cool, pale crunch of cucumber. The onion gives a much-needed zing, sparkles of red-purple, and then, at the very end, the floral, herby taste of the cilantro, elegant swirls that bring the whole dish together.

I’m dumbstruck. I feel for a moment like I’m somewhere else, somewhere far away from the skyscrapers of Manhattan and the honking of yellow cabs on the street below.

“You like it?” Agustín asks, and I can tell he’s nervous.

I swallow. “I love it.”

His dimples flash, and he runs a hand through his hair to smooth it, but it just flops right back over his brow. We’re sitting very close together, I realize, our knees only a couple of inches apart.

“Try it with some tostada,” he says, taking one of the crisp tortillas we bought at the store and breaking a piece off. I scoop up more of the aguachile, and it’s just as delicious the second time, only now I get to eat it with the salty crunch of a tortilla.

“Good, right?” he says. His eyebrows pinch together hopefully, two dark slashes above encouraging brown eyes.

I flush and nod, then turn my attention to the sopes. “How do we eat these?” I ask.

“With your hands,” he says. “But you can use a knife and fork too.”

Tentatively, I pick up the little sope and take a bite. About half the toppings fall onto my plate but I don’t care about that because holy fucking wow what is this magical culinary experience I am having on a random Sunday afternoon? The tortilla is still warm, and slightly chewy, the beans give off a gentle heat, combined with the meaty spice of the chorizo. Then there’s the freshness of the raw veggies, the crisp lettuce, the mild bite of the white onion. And the salty tang of cheese to top it all off.