Damn Mexican Food

It finally happened.  I finally went to Mexico and got a healthy dose of the Mexican Flu.  I decided I should take advantage of being sent to these exotic locales and spend some time exploring their treasures.  So off I went to the Pyramids on Saturday!  Yes, you shall see the pictures and experience it in a posting in all its full glory, because it's amazing, but here's where I will likely lay blame for the sickness and public humiliation (well, not really) I endured on Sunday.

Our tour van had the most fascinating and fun people I have ever met on a tour.  There was the Grandma Diva, the Krazy Kiwi, New Yawk Columbian couple, the Dutch Photographer, and the Firefightin' Chilean couple.  Really diverse, right?

By the time we rolled into lunch, we had two of the three pyramids under our belts, and we were really in need of a beer.  I mean, there's a lot of steep climbing and for me, a lot of fretting coming back down.

The "specialty" of the little cantina was the Molcajete meal.  Lots of cooked meat in their "drunken sauce" served in a piping hot volcanic rock mortar.  On the side are ~4-inch corn tortillas that are used to fashion little tacos with all that's available.  Almost everyone at the table got the same thing.  So far, I know of one other person on the tour who has gotten sick, and our common food intake is this Molcajete dish.  And that's enough evidence for me.

As I ate this meal, I remember thinking that this version was far better than the one I had had months earlier in Mexico City.  The first time I had it, it was as dry as the Gobi Desert.  There was nary a drop of sauce to be had.  The Drunken Sauce of this variety was the clincher, making everything moist and bring a wallop of taste.  I actually enjoyed it.  The Kiwi to my right, however, finished his meal quickly and deemed it as "rather disappointing."  Then he learned of the sauce.  "What sauce?" he said. "Oi!  What sauce?!?"   Ahh, too late, too bad...

There was one thing that we both left in its singularity in the rock, and that's the sausage that you see laying on top.  He ate it first, and mentioned that he just wasn't sure what kind of animal this could possibly be.  Pshaw!  I thought... until I put it in my mouth. And then I wasn't so sure myself...  Alas, we each ate about half of it.  Hmm.  We really need to see about the Grandma Diva.  She ate it all.  If someone is going to get sick on Mexican food, it has to be her...

After a fun-filled evening that included seeing the best cover band I may have ever seen in my life, called "What The FUNK," and to which I am totally a groupie now, flash forward to Sunday's diary.

6AM - Feeling a little uncomfortable.  Must be all the Jameson the night before.  Run to the sink where I proceed to dispel everything that could possibly be in my stomach left over from the night before, and maybe half of my large intestine.   But hydrate before I board a plane, I must!  So I down a whole bottle of Fiji water.

7:30AM - In the lobby checking out.  Whoa, it seems extra chilly this morning.  This lady better check me out fast because I... and out spewed that entire bottle of Fiji water onto the pristine floor of the 5-star Intercontinental Hotel.  Check out lady's face is priceless.  Mixture of panic, care, and disgust.  I might have laughed if I didn't feel so awful physically and about the elderly Mexican gentleman cleaning everything up.  Try to give him a nice tip, but he refuses to take advantage of the situation.  I respect the man even more.

8:20AM - About to pass through airport metal detector.  Uh-oh.  Where to go?  Where to go?!?!?!?  Too Late!  Where could this have possibly come from?  Security lady's face is even better.  Total panic and I hear her saying in Spanish that she needs an English speaker NOW!  Then a very gentle male's voice, "Miss?  Okay?  Okay, miss?"  I look up, and he's holding out 4 squares of toilet paper while I have watery barf all over my hand.  "Okay," I say, and wave off medical assistance.  I do, however, ask for more toilet paper.  They let me pass through without any other questions.

9:40AM - In the boarding area, but keeping my eye on the nearest restroom.  Boy, was that a good move.  This time, I can get to some kind of receptacle and manage to hold my hair back.  Where the hell is all this liquid coming from?!?!

10AM - In my seat, and thank goodness it's first class.  The United flight attendants are stellar and keep me supplied with flat ginger ale and water while an Argentinean male and Brazilian female flirt loudly in the seats behind me, keeping me in a perpetually restless sleep.  After all that, they better have exchanged numbers, otherwise I'll be pissed.  Almost hurl when I get a whiff of everyone else's in-flight meal.  But I don't.

Ugh.  I guess the positive is that I've now lost 5 lbs.  As my boss said, "Best diet ever."  

Faux French in Mexico - I know. Don't ask.

See this beautifully glazed and succulent-looking half duck?  It's probably the most disappointing thing I've ever eaten in my life.  In the sense that the presentation was so tremendous, I felt completely and utterly cheated. 

In the Intercontinental Hotel of Guadalajara, Au Pied du Cochon, the famed and venerable French restaurant had set up shop for a weeklong celebration of French Cuisine. 

But instead of having a little bit of France, I ended up with a soggy, rather rubbery piece of something on my plate that was oversauced.  Oh the travesty! 

Serves me right for partaking in French cuisine in Mexico.  What was I thinking, anyway?  What a novice move...

Candy from a Street Vendor

Walking around one afternoon, we came upon a street vendor selling candy.  We had to stop, I mean, had to check out the competition, ya know?  We got a bag of fruity gummies, as you would expect in the States, and then a bag of those same fruity gummies coated in chili powder.  That stuff is SPICY, yo!  But I would have it no other way.  Don't believe me?  That bag of regular gummies is still sitting on the counter.  The spicy ones?  Gone the day I brought them home...

Mexican Tacos

When we were in Mexico City, my Mexican coworker declared that we would go around the corner to a taco place she raved about.  Of course, who am I to argue?

Taco Bastor con Cebollas - this is seasoned pork with onions on a corn tortilla.  The pork is cooked on a vertical spit (see below), inspired by the Middle Eastern technique of making Gyros and Shwarmas.  Meat is cooked by the heating unit behind the meat, then it's shaved off.  Above the meat on the spit is a chunk of pineapple that is freshly sliced and placed on top of the taco for an element of moist sweetness.  Then you turn to the condiment stand, squirt some fresh lime, and laden it with all the varieties of salsas.  YUM!!

Here's the bacon version.  Cubes of fatty pork.  Oh man... 

And then... Mexico City's version of the Philly Cheesesteak.  I have to admit that I've always found the Philly Cheesesteak to be totally overrated, and if I had friends who were heading to Philly, I would tell them to go to any number of other restaurants or dives before I even offered up a Cheesesteak.  These?  Alone, worth taking a trip to Mexico City...

Cultural Attitudes

Just when I became accustomed to translating English into Spanish in my head, it was time to journey back to the US. I found myself beginning to talk to the US Customs agent in some broken Spanglish before I realized that they would rather I speak English. Right. Ahem.

One thing that struck me about the Mexicans was how friendly and accepting they were. Everyone hugs everyone, it's much more laid-back, and I found myself greatly enjoying the moments of interaction. During breaks, a few of us headed out to wander the neighborhood and breathe in the fresh, smoggy Mexico air. We also visited a few "changarros" - Mom and Pop stores, to you and me.

There's truly everything there, man. Fresh tamales waiting for purchase in a pot, Empanadas Dulces (sweet filled bread), a crock full of meaty stew. I was tempted to try a tamale, but one look at my co-workers' face told me I should probably rethink that idea, lest Montezuma pay me a visit that night. Nevertheless, I thought the little store was charming.

In the second changarro we visited, I was curious as to how much a single Reese's cup was that hung on a nicely branded, cleverly cloaked fly-strip. He peeled one off the tape and said, "regalo." He was giving it to me. This tiny store, that could have used the 6 pesos that it cost, was giving me this piece of candy. I started to protest when my Mexican coworker whispered, "you have to take it." Okay. Muchas gracias, tan generoso.

Along with this warm spirit and laid-back mojo, though, I did find one slight drawback that taunted my American sensibilities. Things don't start on time. Ever.

Before starting the very first group, I looked at my watch. If we started right then, we'd be on time. 20 minutes later, no start. I began to feel anxious. We only have 90 minutes to begin with, and in the US, if you start late, you still have to end on time. 30 minutes later, no start. But still, I kept my mouth shut. I wasn't running the affair, and anyway, when I glanced at the Mexican team, they didn't seem to be bothered. 35 minutes later, we began. And then we ended 45 minutes after we should have. Not one of the respondents said anything. In the meantime, the next group of folks had been hanging out in the waiting room for a very long time.

Generally, I subscribe to my "college class" rule. If the Prof doesn't show up in the first 10 minutes, class is dismissed! These folks? Still chill as a cucumber. I wish I had that ability. I might have less worry lines...

Now back in the US, I'm watching the very first group, which started precisely at the time prescribed. I have just listened to a gentleman say to the moderator, "Hey, you know, you've got 21 more minutes, and then I have to go. Will you be done by then?" Sir, are you sure we don't have 22 minutes? Because that's what MY watch says.

Boy, we're definitely not in Mexico anymore...

The Cheetos are DIFFERENT here!!

So I have in front of me a bag of what looks like Cheetos that I could get in the States. It has the same orange color, the same Chester Cheetah, same logo, etc. But when I opened it, it had these black specks on it. Definitely not my regular Cheetos. Those black specks are spicy flecks of chilies. The taste? Less Cheeeeeeesy and more Spiiiiiiiiicy. The issue is that they took down the cheesiness several steps, but added just a little smidge of spice. The result? Something that is far blander than it should be.

Then there's the mouthfeel. It's not quite the same. Sure the crunch is similar, but as you crunch, it releases an oiliness that coats the mouth. Not as crazy about it.

But after all that, let's be real for a moment. I'm still eating these as I write this. After all, my love for Cheetos isn't natural. It's a far greater emotion than anything a puffed, crunchy snack should evoke.