One summer, when I was on break from architecture school in Tijuana, my aunt gave me a summer job cleaning up and peeling garlic, and I got to see her in her element. She was so passionate and such a good teacher, I decided to quit architecture school and go to culinary school in Los Angeles.
For most of my life, I, like many Americans, had greeted the idea of an arranged marriage with a mixture of fascination and skepticism.
