Put butter in it and roll it up.

No nothing like it.
We were residence on Simmons Avenue in East Los Angeles. Speaking for myself, I lived there for an approximate ten years. Then we moved further east into a quaint and quiet but mostly dull suburb.
But back to Simmons Avenue in East L A, next door to the north of us were the Smith family. Only one of the Smith family looked like a Smith. All the rest look like a Lopez or Garcia family. Mrs. Smith in her early life was a Latino. The two daughters looked Latina. Mrs. Smith’s mother, who lived with the Smith family, didn’t even speak English but Spanish only. However, none of this social anthropology is the main point.
The main point is this, Mrs. Smith’s mother knew how to please we next door all white neighbor Okie kids. On occasion some evenings my sister and brother and myself would be visiting the Smith household and Mrs. Smith’s mom would be cooking. Mrs. Smith’s mom would be rolling out large round flats of flour tortillas. She would have a large cast iron skillet on the stove top and then would flop one of these uncooked tortillas into the hop skillet and cook it for just a short moment and flip it over and cook once more a few seconds. Cooked until little golden spots would appear. Then lift it out of the skillet, place it on a plate, lather it with butter, and hand it to one of we non-Latino kids.
I have never in my life since those times tasted such a delightful food item. A fresh cooked flour tortilla spread with real butter, rolled up and placed in our little hands. There is nothing like it. Hot, buttery, and muy bueno.
Now why did we have to move away? I could have eaten dozens more. The stiff stuff you buy in the grocery story doesn’t even come close to Mrs. Smith’s mom’s freshly made and delightful buttery flour tortillas. No sir! Mas por forevor Sanora.