Todos Santos dream

We were in Todos Santos, but not for a hit-and-run vacation; our dog Tito was with us. It seemed that we were there to stay, except that we were in some sprawling resort - the type that doesn't exist in Todos Santos - and were still getting the lay of the land. Helping us in our transition was none other than Cesar Millan, sporting a Skrillex-like haircut and seeming not at all like the confident, macho Dog Whisperer. He was weepy and nostalgic and unable to keep Tito from jumping on him. When I tried to engage him in my elementary Spanish, his reply was always much too fast, so we kept reverting back to English. At one point he saw some children playing nearby, and was close to losing his composure. "We're going to have children soon - maybe in a year". His girlfriend seemed doubtful. He snapped to attention when the subject came to lunch. "Tortas," he said. "I know just the place." He pointed beyond the horizon of condos made to look like the mansions of plantation owners, the Sugar Daddies of another era. He confirmed the directions and the schedule of the restaurant on his iPad. He was right. It was the best Torta I had ever tasted - in the Todos Santos of my dreams.