Guatemalan Woman Street Vendor

There is a small women of possible Guatemalan origin that slangs something better than Los Angeles’ bastard child food classic, the bacon-​wrapped-​hot-​dog. She sells miniature sopes or something like that. Essentially a 2-​inch homemade tortilla topped with ground meat and sprinkled with a little cheese (I think it is Cotija), I have tried to replicate the flavor and failed miserably.
After walking past her numerous time one fateful Sunday evening as I did laundry I finally gave in to the sweet smell of temptation and purchased one of her little devilish appetizers.
«How much for two?»
«Yes.»
“Uh… (wishing I had paid more attention in Spanish class) no, I mean Uh… cuanto?”
«Oh. Sevety fieve.»
«Sweet.»
Gave her three of my valuable laundry coins and received one of her culinary wonders. Too enthralled with my new purchase to notice I only got one instead of two I quickly scampered around the corner towards my apartment, taking only a moment to pause long enough for the bite-​sized morsel to enter my mouth and send a shiver down my spine from the tastebud orgasm that followed.
Knowing better than to buy food from unlicensed street vendors, even in America, I was still not prepared for what soon followed.
After approximately 6 hours I began to violently eject any remnants of substance left in my body. Even water was too much to handle. 2 days later I was finally able to eat a piece of toast, and this was only poosible after i had chugged half a bottle of Pepto. Luckily work was understanding.
Food poisoning? Nah. I think it was just my tastebuds telling me to stop eating anything else and start apprenticing for this little woman so that I may learn her kitchen witchcraft and steal her food potions.