Eating Coyoacan

It's my last night in Ciudad de Mexico and it's a bittersweet affair.

My friends and readers have asked me what I've seen so far on this trip. Have I seen the Zocalo? Or the Mercado de San Juan? My mom wants to know if I've seen the Virgin of Guadalupe. Have I eaten at Izote? Or Aguila y Sol? Have I done all the things I usually do on my trips? Inquiring readers want to know!

Well, I've been to Costco...

And, to answer your questions: yes, THAT Costco. The warehouse members-only retailer with everything in bulk. I've been there. I've seen the Mexican Costco and, let me tell you, I couldn't imagine going anywhere else.

It sounds odd, I know, but I've either been busy with calibratiing judges or at the competition. Otherwise, I'm just hanging out with Ana - no matter where she is. She's got two cafes here in Mexico City, so we've been at one, or the other, or both. I even got a twenty minute stint tending the bar at her Nueva Anzures location. Good thing no one came in 'cause I wouldn't know how to take their order.

So, on my last night in Mexico City, we took a sort-of guided tour around some of the city's interesting spots.

First, a tour through the Zocalo where the city has set up and elaborate light display to celebrate Mexico's Independence Day on September 15th. The streets around the Zocalo are packed with cars and walking spectators who've come to see the fancy light display. From there, it's on through La Zona Rosa to see where the homosexual community hangs out - although why this is a notable part of my tour is still in question.

Touring the Zocalo from the back seat with Ana.

For some reason, Ana's baristas feel it absolutely necessary to take me to a table dance place. In fact, for the past four days, they've been asking and encouraging me to go. I've been politely declining and while there's certainly a level of respect for Ana that I do so, it's really because I'm just not interested.

Thinking that I'm only holding out because of her, Ana also encourages me to check it out. After a few moments of trying to convince everyone that I would prefer not to go, I give in because it seems that her baristas really want to go and are using me as an excuse. Those that know me probably are reading this reasoning in doubt, but let's get real - I've been doing this for twenty years. The chicks dancing on stage while spinning on a pole thing has gotten old and stale - especially when you've been spending your time with someone you really enjoy spending time with. The club was the usual augmented women, stacked and toned and perhaps five years ago I would have been all over it, but not now. It was a most excruciating fifteen minutes.

Finally, we get to Coyoacan. Home to Frida Kahlo. In fact, we drive by her parents house and it looks like it did in the movie. That was pretty exciting. In the town square, or Zocalo, there's the usual Sunday fiesta happening with lots of vendors selling all sorts of foods and handicrafts. I only bought a couple of Luchador stickers but what I really wanted to buy was a Luchador mask. That would have been cool.

Just in case you were wondering - that's copper tubing jammed in the squeeze bottles to fill the churros, don't know if the filling reacts with the copper, but it tasted good!

Our eating tour started with real Churros. Not the crap we find in the United States that's been frozen, boxed and reheated. This is the real deal. Extruded batter dropped into boiling lard - what more could you ask for? These technically are called Churros Rellenos, or filled churros. It's your choice of filling from Nata to chocolate to blackberry, strawberry and more.

Ana holding up our Lechera Churro. Muy sabrosa!

Ana and I decided to split two. You know what I like about her? With the exception of seafood, she's a pretty adventurous eater, and she's willing to share. A bite of this and a bite of that. I never have to wonder what her food tastes like because I'm going to get a piece. And well, I just love that!

We get a chocolate-filled and Lechera-filled churro. They both piping hot, delicious and dripping. All over my shirt. Crap. But damn were they good. Eating one is that event where you bite, realize it's too fricken' hot, then have to chew with an open mouth, trying to suck in air to cool down the churro that's boiling in your mouth. You're hoping you don't burn your tongue. You're hoping you don't burn the roof of your mouth.

Fresh corn coming out of the pot.

Next stop, just a few minutes later, is the traditional Corn on A Stick, or what Ana simply calls: Elote. It's boiled corn that's mounted on a stick and slathered with Crema, grated Queso Anejo (I'm guessing) and powdered Chiles de Arbol.

Being from Maryland, I'm used to a corn we call Silver Queen. It's thin, it's sweet and the kernels are tight and uniform. And, I'm guessing, it's also a breed that gives maximum yield to satisfy our nation's insatiable appetite. In contrast, this Elote is big and oblong-shaped with large, funky-sized kernels that are lightly sweet but with a definite snap and an elusive texture that makes it hard to tell where the kernel ends and the cob begins.

The Elote-dero (Is that really a word?) prepares my corn on a stick.

It's a tasty, if not odd, treat for me, although I'm starting to feel a bit full in spite of myself.

Ana looking ready to pounce on my Elote.

In my pursuit of quality coffee around the world, I've seen some interesting approaches that different shops use in making coffee drinks. And when I say interesting, I'm usually outright horrified.

One of the "must see" stops here in Coyoacan is Cafe El Jarocha. It's the most popular and busiest cafe in Mexico City. Maybe it's the Mexico City version of New Orleans' Cafe du Monde, but whatever it is, I'm shocked to my core.

I've reached a point in my coffee journeys that I usually won't taste the coffee at places. Why subject my short life to such monstrocities? But we're here because I "must" see it and the crowd is impressive. It's a busy shop. And I mean BUSY. There's multiple counters, perhaps two dozen baristas and two hundred people - all making and drinking utter crap.

We ordered an Americano and a Cappuccino. To make the cappuccino, the barista takes the styrofoam cup, fills it with milk and steams the shit out of it. I mean, he's pumping the cup up and down to make those large, dishwater bubbles and scalding the milk in the process. For the coffee/espresso part, he's got a large plastic jug holding some suspicious-looking black liquid that he pours in to top off the cup. Grate a little cinnamon on top and it's heading our way.

I want to run.
I want hide.
I want to tear down the walls that hold me inside.

The El Jaroche barista on a mission to massacre coffee.

I didn't get to see them make our Americano but it was putrid. Dark, black and angry liquid. A hollow form of what it might have become in the hands of a skilled and loving roaster and barista. It's a shame really, because I would love to write something positive about the coffee, but it was absolutely horrible. Perhaps the worst coffee I've ever consumed.

I wouldn't wish coffee this bad on my ex-girlfriends.

God only knows why she's smiling. That bouffant foam looks hostile.

Evidently, they do their own roasting at El Jaroche. It's a simple gas-fired roaster and it looks to be in good condition. I wonder how much coffee they consume in a week - cause it's nearly 11pm and this place is jamming. So jamming that the neighboring pastry shops and coffee sellers are also doing good business.

Places like this make me wonder why they are so popular. The coffee is absolutely horrendous, could it be the service or just the experience of being in Coyoacan with friends? I don't know.

The drum roaster at El Jarocho - but where's the Tostador?

I hate to go on and on, but it's rare that I run into coffee this bad. It's so bad, I can't drink it. In an attempt to ease the pain, I seek out a chocolate covered donut with sprinkles at a bakery next door. It's dry and not very sweet or flavorful and does nothing to help the coffee. I'm stuck.

As we walk back to the car and through the Zocalo, Ana manages to unload her cappuccino on a young girl asking for money. It's a horrible thing to do to the less fortunate people of the city but I'm glad to be rid of that putrid mess. I look for a place to stash my americano and find some garbage bags stacked outside a restaurant and conveniently lose my cup.

The night is ending and my trip to Mexico City is rushing to a close by the second. When you find someone you truly enjoy spending time with, the end is always a difficult one. It was in Tokyo and it's worse in Mexico City. As with any relationship, there's a lot of confusion, misunderstanding and self-doubt to overcome, but I'm hoping that those problems can be overcome and that this adventure will continue.

Meanwhile, it was the best time of my life - and I only got to see Costco...

Arigato Tokyo from Coyoacan.

Senora Garcia y La Concha Pederse

Senora Garcia and the Missing Concha

Ana, Senora Garcia (her mom) and Tia Cristy waiting for a table at Bondy.

According to Ana, the Sunday Family Meal is taken at the local Los Bisquets Bisquets Obregon, but every once in a while, they decide to go somewhere else. Today was one of those days and we found ourselves at Bondy Restaurante y Pasteleria Vienesa in Colonia Polanco because Senora Garcia wanted to have their famous Conchas. What are these famous Conchas, I hear you saying? They're a slightly sweet bun covered with a sugar-type coating much unlike anything I've seen in the United States. And when it comes to Conchas, Bondy is supposed to be the best.

Problem is, it seems that Bondy's is already out of Conchas and I think Senora Garcia is getting a bit upset.

Once we arrive, Ana meets with the receptionist to get a table. It's going to be about a twenty minute wait. No problem. Her mom goes to ask about the Conchas at it seems that the only Conchas left are floating around the restaurant on peoples' tables.

From my limited experience eating at Mexican restaurants, it seems that for Desayuno (breakfast) and Cena (dinner), the first course is a course of pan dulce or sweet breads. It's a great way to begin the meal and I've really gotten into it. The breads aren't sweet in the way our danishes and pastries are. They're lightly sweet so as not to overwhelm the palate so early in the meal. Add a cup of coffee or some fresh juice and you're good to go.

Except, Senora Garcia isn't. She's on a mission for Conchas and no one is going to get in her way.

Bread and salsa - an unexpected union.

Once we sit, bread and salsa arrives. Unlike the United States, they don't put butter on the table. They put salsa. It's kinda weird to this gringo but the light fluffiness of the bread paired with the zestiness of the salsa are an excellent match. If I wasn't trying to be on my best behaviour, I might have chowed down harder.

Bondy is an interesting place. It's a Viennese restaurant and pastry shop. I make a mental note to check out the pastry shop but forget later. I don't know why, but I'm always surprised to find cuisines from other parts of the world in the cities that I visit. Viennese is a surprise. Good thing the food here is good too. We're seated in the back room. A patio of sorts that's fully enclosed with walls, but with open windows around the perimeter. The deep yellow paint is comforting, or perhaps it's just the woman sitting across from me. I'm not sure which, but at this point, I'm too blind to care.

Senora Garcia and the Chocolate Concha.

Our server and the manager comes over because Senora Garcia is none too pleased. This is Bondy dammit and they're supposed to have Conchas. While she's been nothing but wonderfully nice to me this whole week, you know she's a tough lady. Don't get on her bad side or Zwack! You're dead meat.

Unfortuntely for the dynamic duo, they've gotten on her bad side by not having the Conchas ready. They're famous for Conchas and it's unacceptable and inexcusable that they do not have more for us (at least that's the gist of what I'm understanding Senora Garcia telling these two). I'm the new guy on the scene so I don't quite know how to act. I just keep to myself, while part of me wants to start laughing at these two guys being berated by Senora Garcia, and the other part of me is just glad not to be in their shoes.

Tia Cristy and the Other Concha.

Somehow and from somewhere, two Conchas show up on our table. A chocolate and a vanilla one. They're two beautifully sculpted pieces of bread topped with a delicate sugar crust. They look divine. I don't know where they came from or how they materialized. Maybe they made them fresh. Maybe they were hiding. Maybe Senora Garcia had them lifted off of someone else's trays. I've come to accept the fact that there are certain things in life I don't have to know. These Conchas are one of them.

Turns out, that after all the heartache spilled upon the staff, the Conchas are for Tia Cristy and myself. Me, because I'm visiting from the United States, and Tia Cristy because she's visiting from Mazatlan and will be going home in a few hours. At first, I'm a bit embarassed. After all that work, I thought Senora Garcia should have it. No, no, no - that's not acceptable, but maybe you should split yours with Tia Cristy, suggests Ana, so that we can have a taste of both. Good idea.

The Conchas are wonderful. Light, airy, puffy and lightly sweet. The sugar topping is delicate, crusty and delicious. It's not overtly sweet, just an overall light sweetness that's perfect with a cup of coffee. I make a mental note to find a Concha place back home and buy regularly.

Finally - my Chile en Nogada.

On my first day in Mexico City, Ana kept telling me about this very seasonal dish called Chile en Nogada. The ones at Gigante Supermercado were okay, but I should wait until we go to place that does it better. Bondy is the place. It's a large poblano chile filled with picadillo- a mixture of meat, aromatics, fruits and spices, that is topped with a nogal(walnut)-based cream sauce and pomegranate seeds. It is served cold and is oddly delicious.

Of course, the chile gives it a light zing, but the rest of this sweet, savory and rich delight. Kinda hard to describe but very tasty. In fact, it's one of the only dishes I've ever had that I thought would pair beautifully with coffee. Put those two together and it would be an absolute sensation.

Senora Garcia and her Frijolada.

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To my world, all of this is just a little bit odd. I've been here a week and have spent a considerable amount of time with Senora Garcia and Tia Cristy. While I was a bit worried before meeting them, I'm feeling pretty darn welcome by them and I think I get along with them - especially since Tia Cristy (after getting used to my odd penchant of taking pictures of all our food) has started to encourage me by yelling out: "photo, photo!". Of course, there have been some missteps along the way, like my use of the word "tu" instead of "usted." Ana corrects me yesterday on my improper use - of course, I'm horrified. I'm trying to make a good impression but I might as well be yelling out "YO!" Ana assures me that he mom understands and is pleased that I'm trying to speak Spanish, but that very morning upon getting into the Tracker...

"Hola Jay, como estas?", calls out Senora Garcia from the drivers' seat.
"Muy bien Senora, y tu?"

Bloody Hell. Chihuahua. It seems like I can't stop - even though I stop myself immediately after saying it, it's too late. I'm the monger of disrespect. If I wasn't trying to make a good impression, I probably would have blurted out: "Shit!"

Molletes para Ana.

Senora Garcia is a gracious lady and readily acknowledges that I'm trying and it's okay too because it seems that the Mexican youth are also losing the respect of using "usted" when speaking with older people. It's a very generous accommodation but I feel dumb nonetheless. And I was trying so hard to remember!

Imagine what the reaction might have been like if I was the one without Conchas - Zwack!!!!


Bondy Restaurante y Pasteleria Vienesa
Galileo 38
Colonia Polanco
Mexico City, Mexico
+52 5 281 1818

El Bajio

My kind of goodness: large sheets of Chicharon under a heat lamp.

For the past few days, I've been noticing a trend. Ever since I've known Ana, she's always told me that her days start at 5:30am with an early-morning visit to the gym and on with her days. With this in mind, I expect to have desayuno, or breakfast, at a relatively early hour. So far, we haven't eaten before 11am. Of course, with nights that end around 3am, it shouldn't be a surprise, but I digress.

It's Saturday morning and I'm off again with Ana and Tia Cristy to the local mall so Tia Cristy can do a little shopping before returning to Mazatlan tomorrow. There's a couple choices to eat, like the waffle joint but since I can get that back in "The States", I choose the alternative: El Bajio. But that name rings a bell and I check the notes on my iPhone and find that El Bajio was a place people mentioned as being a great place to eat. That's eat, we're going to check it out.

Of course, we're welcomed by large sheets of Chicharon and instantly, my heart is warmed. El Bajio is located in the upscale Parque Delta mall in Colonia Roma Sur. It's a festive looking place and while I'd like to sit and saunter away the afternoon, we do have to get back to the barista competition and decide to sit at the taco bar for quicker service.

Ana's tacos carnitas and a cup of Atole.

There always seems to be a sweet component to our meals here in Mexico. This time we start off with Atole for Ana and Champurrado for myself. In case you're wondering, Atole is a hot drink typically made using corn masa, cinnamon, vanilla, some piloncillo and, maybe, some fruit. I'm no connosieur but it tastes sweet and thick but it's also my first time tasting it so I have no reference point to compare it with.

In the Philippines, Champorado (note the different spelling) is a sweet chocolate rice porridge and something that I grew up on. In Mexico, Champurrado still utilizes chocolate, but it's an atole-based hot drink that's semi-sweet, thick, viscous and with the slight twang of what might be pepper, but it's so fleeting I really can't tell.

My Chilaquiles with some egg on top and a cup of Champurrado - a most excellent way to enjoy breakfast.

Since we're in a bit of a rush, we order right away. Maybe we'll finish by the time Tia Cristy is finished shopping and we'll be on our way. To start off, Ana orders a couple of Carnitas Tacos that she prepares simply with a little chopped onion, salsa verde and lime juice. She gives me a bite and the meat is soft and heavenly.

If you're unfamiliar with carnitas, it's the richly marbled pork that you find at your butchers called "Pork Shoulder Picnic" that's been slow-roasted for about twelve hours, breaking down the fibers and creating one of the most succulent pork experiences of your life. If served on its' own, the meat is usually roasted at high heat to carmelize the pieces and it's the yin/yang of the soft and crusty meat that makes it so compelling. Ana's carnitas, however, are just the interior pieces for maximum tenderness in the taco.

Senor Monter, our Taquero, the man who makes our tacos and who might be Ana's distant, distant relative. Maybe. Well, maybe not.

As we're sitting there enjoying the moment waiting for our food, I notice that our Taquero's last name is "Monter", which is Ana's mom and Tia Cristy's maiden name. I mention this to her and she asks him about his name. The conversation goes on for a couple of minutes as they compare families and (from what I'm gathering), they're not related but the common name is good for a little conversation.

In America, tacos are kind of an afterthought. The kind of food that some minimum-wage victim at Taco Hell is desecrating with ingredients of dubious origins. Here, in the Corazon de Mexico tacos are serious business. As I watch Senor Monter, I notice his deliberate and calculating motions. He's a work of art. A few slashes of the knife here, a flick of the tortilla there, for the person who can appreciate craftsmanship, it's a pleasure to watch. Senor Monter is at the top of his game and he's not allowing ground beef anywhere near his taco kingdom.

As they say, the proof is in the pudding and judging by Ana's tacos, he's the bling-bling of Taqueros.

According to Ana, the only tortillas worth eating are the ones made fresh for you.

In the relatively short time that I've been in Mexico City, I've become a sudden fan of Chilaquiles. First, Ana told me the tales of the tortilla chips simmered in salsa, then I tried a decent if slightly soggy example at the Crown Plaza for breakfast. Not bad, but not the perfect example. Then, it was the torta from Chilaquiles On The Move. Again, a tasty effort that was a great start to my day.

Fresh from her shopping excursion, Tia Cristy samples an unidentified taco.

But this time, the Chilaquiles were what I would have been dreaming about - if I knew what to dream about. Covered in salsa verde, these Chilaquiles were (to my palate) perfecto. Just the right amount of sauce and simmering to infuse and soften the chips without making them soggy. They still had that satisfying crunch, a perfect balance between the crunch and the soft. Amazing. Saddled with some refried black beans and topped with a little grated cheese and the ubiquitous crema, it was wonderful. Add to that a beautifully fried egg on top and it became sublime. Just the perfect crescendo. Remove one and the structure would fall.

From this point forward, when I dream of Chilaquiles, I will dream of this moment. The perfect balance of crisp and softness and a beautiful woman by my side with her leg leaning on mine, translating the world around me.


El Bajio
Avenida Cuitlahuac 2709
Colonia Obrera Popular
Delegacion Azcapotzalco 02840
53-41-9889 tel
www.carnitaselbajio.com.mx

La Buena Tierra, Parte Dos

Ana and her Buena Tierra Roll.

When I'm travelling around the world, I'm not one who usually eats a place twice. Too many places to try to eat at any one twice. But after a long day at the Compentencia Mexicana de Baristas, Ana, Tia Cristy and myself just wanted something to eat - and we didn't want to go to McDonald's and Tia Cristy didn't feel like riding all the way across town to try another place, so we chose a different location of La Buena Tierra - the same place we had breakfast earlier.

Located on Insurgentes just a few blocks away from the World Trade Center, this La Buena Tierra isn't as nice as the one in Condesa. It's on the second floor and just a big, open space which makes me wonder if we had eaten here first if I would have been as charmed by the food and the menu.

Again, it's the same wide and varied menu featuring a large assortment of blended fruit drinks and traditional Mexican cuisine with a conscious touch. This time, I've decided to forgo the Guayabera and attack the Lemoncito, another blended fruit drink filled with Limón, hierbabuena y menta. It's darn good and I'm tempted to guzzle this one and order another. But the odd thing is that it's green. Maybe I really do need the English menus Ana keeps asking for, but I thought that lemon would be yellow. Whatever the case may be, it's good.

For our evening cena which, I think, means "dinner" Tia Cristy is taking a bit of a turn away from the traditional Mexican cuisine she has been favoring to something a little Italian-inspired: Raviolis Poblanos. It looks to be on the soupy side for a ravioli dish with what I gather to be a light mole (but I could be wrong) and a good bit of cheese.

Is the Raviolis Poblanos too much for Tia Cristy?

Which reminds me of something else I like about Mexico. These people like cheese. They're not afraid of it. They put it on or in just about everything. It's like: "Well, this enchilada de mole is good, but it could use a good dose of fresh cheese." How can anyone find fault with that??? Cheese, lard, fat, it doesn't matter. These people eat it and God Bless Them for it.

Ana is sort of staying with her theme for the day by choosing the Buena Tierra Roll. That's a pan arabe, or pita, that's stuffed with Jamon de Pavao, chicken, frijolitos, guacamole and manchego cheese. It looks pretty good though I didn't have a taste.

For my dinner, I chose the Arracheta de Pollo. That's grilled chicken topped with grilled cebollitas, a side salad and a sort of bean concoction with what tasted like meat (but could have been tofu, for all I know). It was pretty darn good. The chicken was grilled beautifully - just the right amount of carmelization on the meat but still tender and juicy on the inside. The salad was a colorful mixture but a bit bland to the palate and the bean side dish was interestingly compelling - even if I didn't know what it was.

It was a nice way to end a long day. The past few days have been long ones. Some of them tough days - especially last night. But the adventure continues.

A glimpse of my tasty chicken - the Arrechera de Pollo.

La Buena Tierra - Insurgentes
Insurgentes Sur 1026
5575-1549
www.labuenatierra.com

La Buena Tierra

The Guayabito, the California and The Ana.

It's unusual to find a restaurant that focuses on quality, environmentally friendly and organic foods - especially when that restaurant is part of a seven location chain. And since my thoughts and approaches towards food and coffee have been trending that way this past year, it's cool to learn that Ana finds this approach to food exciting enough that we've eaten at Lw Buena Tierra twice in one day.

We started off with breakfast at the Colonia Condesa location (here, "colonia" is equivalent to "neighborhood"). It's a small-ish space with both indoor and outdoor seating, featuring open walls and a large juice bar that dominates the center of the space. It's light earth tones play on the notion of fresh ingredients and a "green" approach. It's inviting and friendly.

The menus are large and pretty exciting for a place that is vegetarian-friendly. They serve meats and fish here too so the vegan freaks will probably find something to whine about, but for this omnivore, I'm pleased to see a balance of foods that are well-executed (not a typical situation for vegetarian/vegan "restaurants). The juice list is extensive. Happily, Mexicans are very serious about their fruit. This means a nearly endless supply of tasty fruit drinks no matter where you go.

My Huevos Motulenos, oh so tasty!

Ana starts off with a California - it's a blended drink of melón, manzana, naranja y jengibre. I'm having the Guayabito - also a blend of fruits featuring guayaba, hierbabuena y jugo de limón. Ana's Tia Christina starts off with some coffee. I chose the Guayabito because it's different and something I've never had before, it's pretty good but I find the hierbabuena to be a bit odd. After a taste of Ana's California, I think that was the better choice.

First round is pan dulce or sweet breads. It's something that we seem to eat at the beginning of every sit down meal here. Our server comes up with a big tray of pastries and we choose. Here at La Buena Tierra, they take the organic approach and the pan looks and tastes delicious. I'm having some sort of lightly glazed cinnamon pastry topped with granola. It's light, slightly crisp and tasty without being too sweet.

Since I arrived, Tia Christina has been hanging out with us on most days. She's visiting from Mazatlan and returns home on Sunday. The thing I enjoy most about Tia Cristina is her disposition. It's very warm and welcoming. She was the first person I met when I arrived on Monday and while she doesn't speak English (and I'm speaking a haphazard Spanish), I feel like we get along like old times. It's strange, odd and comforting all at the same time. Like Ana, Tia Cristina loves to laugh and these two (three, when Senora Garcia is with us) laugh continuously all day and all night.

Ana - pondering her Desayunos Universitario.

The menu at La Buena Tierra is large and inviting, and Ana has started this habit of asking the serving staff if they have a menu en ingles. At first, I'm slightly annoyed - I mean, I've traveled throughout the world, I've eaten Wagyu in Hiratsuka, bought knives from a non-English-speaking master, bounded through the streets of Ethiopia, eaten from the carts at Soi 38 in Bangkok and managed to get by, so I'm relatively sure I can order without an English version of the menu. Of course, I realize that she's only doing this out of the kindness in her heart and to help this hapless gringo and I'm no longer annoyed - especially since I ordered the Guayabito without really knowing what a "guayaba" really is then realizing that, perhaps, it isn't to my palate...

But you know me, I'm up for adventure. I don't want to think too much about it. Sounds strange and interesting? Give me a fork! But really, when I'm with someone who I trust and that knows the cuisine better than I do, I prefer to let that person do the ordering.

With that in mind, Ana directs me to the Huevos Motulenos, it's got fried eggs, tortillas, frijoles and peas smothered in a delicious sauce and topped with plantain chips. It was amazing. Just the perfect balance of ingredients and since I love fried eggs, I couldn't resist.

While Ana's favorite food is enchiladas, she'd been having a craving for La Buena Tierra's ayuno Universitario, a simple dish of ham and cheese on a pita with lettuce and tomatoes - evidently, the average breakfast for the starving college student.

Tia Cristina and her Molletes Los Tradicionales.

Tia Cristina had the Molletes Los Tradicionales, it's a popular dish here in Mexico where you take a piece of bread, slather it with frijoles, top with cheese, bake until the cheese melts and serve. This one came with a side of pico de gallo.

One thing I'm starting to drink less of is Coke. Prior to coming here, I had been looking forward to drinking "Mexican Coke" - that sweet and crisp sensation made with real cane sugar instead of the High Fructose Corn Syrup we have in the United States. Instead, I find myself indulging in the many fruit drinks that are ubiquitiously popular here. Ana tells me that she almost never drinks Coke and I'm starting to understand why. The depth and variety of the fruit drinks here are amazing. The flavors are delicious. Visions of a life with Agua Fresca de Sandia float in my mind and I make a mental note to bust out my blender when I get home.

Of course, La Buena Tierra's juice menu is a bit larger and more extensive than the average Mexican joint but it's a promising beginning.

La Buena Tierra
Atlixco 94
Colonia Condesa
5211-0250
www.labuenatierra.com

Chilaquiles On The Move

In a city of 33 million people street food is everywhere and yesterday morning, rather than spending thirteen dollars at the hotel breakfast buffet, I decided to head out and grab something on the way to the Compentencia Mexicana de Baristas which is being held at the World Trade Center - about two blocks from my room at the Crown Plaza.

It's a short walk but there are a number of choices, most of which I don't know anything about. On the first block, there's a lady deep-frying some sort of cake filled with something or other. Fried food always attracts me but I pass. Maybe it's because I want to see what else is available or probably it's because my command of Espanol is poor and I don't know what to call it much less order.

On the next block, at the corner, is a married couple selling a variety of foods - all of which look delicious. Luckily, there are two women ahead of me armed with a list and ordering everything under the sun for their co-workers. As they prepare this barrage of food, I'm able to spy on the offerings and make my decision - not to mention that it allows me to listen to the name and read the names off the list of the two girls.

Feeling very cosmopolitan with my Torta Chilaquiles while strolling along the calle.

Everywhere I go on this planet, I try to blend in as much as possible. Try to savor the local flavor. See things are the people who live in that place I'm visiting do. Which means I try to pick up some of the local lingo as much as possible. Of course, with such a superficial knowledge of language, one has difficulty communicating thoroughly and I almost inevitably get in over my head with their conversation that I have to admit that I don't know what they're saying and that I'm just another pinche gringo from Los Estado Unidos.

But sometimes, I can move along without being busted (too much).

My turn to order comes and I tell the lady: "Una torta chilaquiles, por favor."
She replies: something, something "...a todo?"

I've learned enough to know that todo means "all", so I reply with a casual: "Si, gracias."

By now, I'm feeling hip, cool and very cosmopolitan about myself. You know, here I am in another part of the world, speaking the local lingo, hanging out with the people, mingling, entertaining - sheesh, I've become The Great Communicator.

Of course, Ana tells me the other night: "You're 'Rs" are not very good." What she means is that The Great Communicator's "r" rolling sucks.

Without a doubt, upon the opening of The Great Communicator's mouth, the lady and her husband have already labeled me as the guy who's thinking he's cool, hip and cosmopolitan while trying to pass himself off as part of La Raza. In other words, they're thinking: Pinche gringo.

To their kind nature, they don't reveal any of this, they just prepare for me a great sandwich.

Until this trip, I was one of the uninitiated on chilaquiles but Ana says they're good. I had some at the hotel buffet the first morning in Mexico City and it was good. Basically, you take fried tortilla chips, mix with salsa rojo and cook until the chips have been thoroughly soaked and softened. And, oh is it good.

To make my Torta Chilaquiles, she took pan or bread and pulled out some of the interior of the bread (it's pre-sliced) to make room for the filling. Add a big scoop of chilaquiles, some shredded chicken, grated cheese, top with a big squirt of crema and you're ready to go.

She wants to know if I'm eating it ahora? Si, I am going to eat it now and she hands me my sandwich with a couple of sheets of wrapping paper "to go."

The torta is good. Not spectacular. Just good, solid eating. These two know what they're doing and it's truly Mexican comfort food. It's also very large. I'm eating mine for the next half hour as I walk to the competition and chat with people with this huge Torta Chilaquiles in my hand and starting to spill out as I near the end of meal. It's good, tasty and a perfect way to start the day - although a good coffee (or Coke) and some fried eggs would be wonderful accompaniments.

One thing I still haven't figured out - mainly because I haven't tried it alone, is what exactly is this "crema" stuff. I mean, it's everywhere and on almost everything. Mexicans are fanatical about it. Ana tried to explain it to me while shopping for groceries the other day and I think it's something similar to sour cream - of course, I'm saying this because the Mexican joints in Ameria use sour cream, but it could be different.

I'm thinking a more thorough investigation is necessary. Time to head out and eat!

El Vipsito

As I'm writing this, it's about 8:15am in Mexico City on Thursday morning. I have been here since Monday at noon. It has been a non-stop whirlwind of a trip with evenings that stretch until 3:30 in the morning and 7:30am wake-up calls. It's been crazy. It's been fun. It's been a quite a bit more than I imagined.

Ana with "his" and "hers" tacos al pastor prepared the way she likes them.

Tacos al Pastor

Since I live in Baltimore, truly authentic Mexican food I'm discovering is kinda hard to come by. There are some decent places that offer tacos with chicken, beef or carnitas but I've never found a place that makes tacos as pastor and now I know why.

For the uninitiated, Tacos al Pastor is a taco (soft, flour tortilla only) made with pork that has been sliced and stacked on a rotating spike that cooks by radiant heat.

Que??? you might ask - basically what I'm saying is that the meat is cooked in the same fashion that you find gyros at greek places.

We're at another sidewalk vendor called "El Vip Sito" - what does that mean? Not sure, but it's Ana's favorite place for Tacos al Pastor and it rocks the house. It's kind of odd. It's one of those holes in the wall that's, literally, a "hole in the wall". It's located in front of a very large automotive service place. And not one of those slick joints, this place is basically a painted corrugated metal warehouse size of a building. It's night and it looks kinda sketchy, but it's packed and jamming.

I'll venture to say that, maybe, sixteen people can sit at the "bar" or at a small table. You walk up and there's a nearly equivalent amount of workers ready and eager to take your order. Order a taco and the guy at the gyro machine cranks up the heat and gets things rolling.

A few slices of his knife later and the taco al pastor is sitting on that ubiquitous plastic plate ready for you to devour. There's a couple cauldrons of freshly made pico de gallo, salsa rojo and guacamole, along with a large pan of cut limes.

I'm an amateur so I let Ana decide the best way to prepare my taco. A little bit of guacamole and pico de gallo, and a big squeeze of the lime and it's time to grind. Just fold up the sides of the taco and give it a bite. The pork is amazing, succulent, juicy and tasty. The fresh pico and guacamole with lime are the perfect accompaniment. I want to eat two more, but she won't let me.

She's got more coming for El Papicito...

Ivan holding a Gringa.

The next course arrives and it's called gringa, which is the typical term to describe Americans. Perhaps accompanied with the words: "Chinga su madre, su pinche gringo pendejo! But I don't know and I don't know why it's called gringa though I suspect it's because of it's very large "Super Size It" kind of size - I think they should have called it gorda.

It's kind of the same, but in large amounts with onions and cilantro on a bigger tortilla.

Ana and the plancha in the background.

Maybe I'm just kinda weird, but I get off on seeing kitchens and how people do their thing. Happily, El Vip Sito doesn't disappoint. Just about everything is done in the open. The gyro machine doo-hickey is outside on the sidewalk along with a blazing hot plancha. Behind the bar they've got an assortment of goodies, most of which I haven't a clue as to what they are. To our right is the cooking line. Basically two guys working two planchas with to large, wooden cutting boards.

These guys make everything else, including the boat-type tacos we're about to eat. Can't remember the name off-hand but these are little crispy corn tortillas that have been fried and slightly curled on the sides to hold the filling. Using the plancha, they cook the beef and then coat it in a very healty slathering of cheese, melting and embracing the sliced beef.

When finished, it comes off the plancha in a large log that the cook cuts into four portions and places on top of the tortilla and you can add whatever toppings you desire.

Just off the plancha on the left, with toppings on the right.

So, how was it? Beautiful. The tacos al pastor were better than I would have imagined. The meat was perfect, delicate and sliced to just the right thickness to make biting easy. Sliced by hand these guys showed tremendous skill. Any thicker and it would be too chewy and difficult to bite. The gringa was a lot more of the same hand-sliced pork. Tremendous. But I really should have stopped there. The last round put me over the edge. It was good. The beef was tender and delicious. From what I could gather, the meat used was from the ribeye - always a welcome meat on my table. However, it was a bit overpowered by the cheese - just a mountain of cheese, which, while very tasty would sometimes be "too much," forcing me to chew-chew-chew.

Alright, that's enough talk, time to head out.

El Vipsito
Avenida Universidad, esquina Torres Adalid
Distrito Federal
Mexico

Quesadillas or Empanadas?

La Maga de Empanada- The Empanada Magician.

I've only been in Mexico City for about four hours and already it feels like I've done it all.

Ana came to pick me up at the airport with her aunt. The aunt can't speak English and I can barely manage a hello in Spanish but she's a jovial lady who's constantly laughing which is always fun - especially as we crawl in traffic through this sprawling megalopolis.

As we make our way through the city, I realize that I have no idea where we are in relation to anything I've seen on any map. We could be thirty miles from the airport or three hundred yards, I just don't know where we are but the sights are amazing. So many things about this city, from the interior design, to the architecture, to the roadways and to the street vendors remind me of life in Manila. It's a foreign country for sure, but it's strangely comfortable. Many people say it's one of the most dangerous cities in the world, and since it's the second largest, I believe it.

Regardless of the danger, there seems to be little concern for driving around with the windows down...

After a brief stop at one of Ana's cafes, we head to pick up her mom and then to the supermercado to do a little grocery shopping. The store is huge and it's like one of those SuperWal*Marts that has everything else in addition to groceries. Of course, the food captures my attention. The diversity of ingredients that I've never seen in the United States in amazing. I'm fascinated. I want to shop. I want to try out a wide swath of stuff they have here. From the fresh peppers and nopales to the amazing assortment of cheeses, like the Queso de Oaxaca. I make a mental note to come back and shop.

After our excursion, mom and aunt are ready for a snack and want to know if I'd like to try quesadillas, little do these women know that I'll try just about anything. We stop in front of the supermarket at an empanada stand and they recommend the jamon y queso "quesadilla".

Being Filipino, I'm very intimate with empanadas - that little pie filled with assorted meats and veggies. And while I like them in general, I'm a fan of the deep-fried empanadas and this lady's got a small vat filled with boiling fat, and I love her for it.

The evidence of sheer eating glory.

As Ana orders, she grabs a few from the pan of fresh next her and drops them in the hot oil. It boils angrily and I'm excited. Once golden brown, she pulls them out with tongs and cuts them lengwise to expose the filling and allow you to add your choice of queso blanco, crema, salsa verde y salsa roja. I go for the crema, blanco and verde.

As I bit into the empanada, it's amazing. The corn based crust is perfectly fried to an outer crisp while still being tender on the inside. The queso and jamon have melted together into brilliance and the shredded cheese, crema and salsa verde add a light punch while smoothening it out.

Ana's mom and aunt ask if I want more, but I decline. Of course, I want more. Heck, I could eat four of them, but I don't want to put a bad (read:proper) impression only a couple hours after meeting.

But I still don't understand why she calls them "quesadillas", I'll have to find out later.

Pasarme un Pan, Por Favor

The "Pasta with Chicken" meal in US829's First Class.

Okay, I'll admit it. After my return trip from Tokyo in United's Business Class, I feel spoiled. And I like feeling spoiled. So when the opportunity to upgrade on USAirways for my trip to Mexico City, I took it. Wide leather seats with power supply for my iBook and with only five of the twelve seats occupied, what more could I ask for?

Well, it would be nice if USAirways extended use of their lounge to International First Class passengers. It would be nice if they treated this as an international flight in their interior design of First Class instead of just an extended domestic version. I spy those lucky first class victims on flights to Asia and Europe with their lie-flat suites (note: "suites" not "seats") and I long to be one of those people. Those people look refreshed and I suspect it's because they're getting a deep-tissue massage (or something like that) once those dark curtains have been closed.

This was going to be my time Behind The Green Door. I too was going to be one of The Chosen Ones. But alas, I might as well have been flying to Chicago with the barely reclining seats and no footrest. Hey, don't they know this is an "International" flight??? Don't you know who I am? You know who I'm with???

The experience was filled with juxtapositions. International means domestic. One of the worst airline meals I've ever endured was juxtaposed by the absolutely best bread I've ever had in the air.

Your choice of meals for your flight to Mexico City today is: a salad with chicken on top or pasta chicken. Hoping for something a bit filling, I opted for the pasta. It came as above with the small salad and a vinaigrette dressing. The salad was pretty good but the pasta was atrocious. The sauce was lifeless. I could have used salt. A lot of salt. The bowties were nice, when they were cooked. So many of them had dried tips that I thought I was eating pasta chips. The chicken was dead, dry and without flavor or remorse. That poor chicken endured a life in coop fighting disease and other horrors only to end up as this monstrocity 35,000 feet in the air. Pathetic and sad.

Cheesecake topped with caramel and strawberry.

Dessert was a caramel topped cheesecake with a slice of strawberry. The cake was moist, smooth and tasty. The strawberry was tart with a hint of sweetness. Overall, the dessert was pretty enjoyable.

But the true piece de resistance was the sunflower roll. It absolutely rocked. Crispy crust, warm and chewy interior. It was beautiful with butter. It was good. It was great. Compared with the chicken, it was decadence defined. So darn good, I used the privilege of First Class and ordered more. Our flight attendant heated one up fresh for me. Bless that lady.

The jump to Mexico City from Charlotte was short - about 3.3 hours. Time flew by and before I knew it, we had crossed the Gulf of Mexico and were landing in the world's second largest metropolis and onward to new adventures.

About to land and already thinking about mole enchiladas.

'Imu Me This, Part 'Elua

After burning for four hours and still unbelievably hot, the stones are ready.

So far, this has been the best 'imu making I've ever been part of. David and his boys have done all the hard work of digging the 'imu, building the fire and the hard labor involved. I have the unique pleasure of stopping by, making sure everything is good to go and just prepping the pig.

Picking up where we left off, it's just a waiting game. For this 55lb. pig, I originally planned an 8 hour cook. When we arrived around 4pm, there was no steam escaping from cracks, which makes me nervous. Was there sufficient stalks and wet material to keep the steam going? Were the stones too small and had lost their heat? There's fifty hungry people waiting and looking to me for their culinary inspiration and I'm about to fail: miserably.

Crap. If the heat had stalled and the pig is half-cooked, I'm going to look like an inept moron not only in front of this hungry crowd, but also to my friends.

Doom on you, pendejo...

I decided to push the cooktime one more hour and announced to the group that we would pull the pig at 5pm. That would give me a little more time and push nine hours - which is the recommended cook time for a 75lb. pig. Would I emerge victorious or slump home with my tail between my legs? Time would tell.

After a walking tour around the farm, it was 5:15pm and time to do the deed.

When you pull a pig from the 'imu, you have to be careful. It's hot and steam will give you some nasty burns. So beware! Using shovels, try to clear as much of the dirt off the tarp. Then pull the tarp, trying not to spill any remaining dirt on the mound. Peel away the layer of burlap (they should be dry) and you'll find the plant matter underneath. Happily, the corn stalks were still wet and green which was a welcome sight. The heat was pretty mild so that could be a problem.

Pulling away the corn stalks revealed a beautiful pig lying in wait. The skin was nearly translucent. Heave the pig out by the chicken wire and remove wire after you've gotten to your work table.

The Spike of Woodberry Kitchen fame working magic on the succulent meat.

Speaking of work table, be sure to have a sturdy table big enough to hold the entire pig cause once you remove the wire, any parts overhanging the table will fall off due to gravity.

Think I'm joking? Grab that foot and turn, POP! Out comes the leg, with no meat. Just the bone glistening in pig fat. It's a miracle.

Taste the meat, it's delicious with the right amount of salt.

Traditionally, we take the parts off and shred the meat before serving. That's a lot of work so I put the pig out and let the crowd go to town on the thing. Meat was flying off the bone, left and right. It was madness. It was delicious madness.

If you're doing this at home and want a very authentic Hawaiian experience, be sure to make some of the side dishes that go great with the pig. Dishes like steamed rice, lomi salmon, chicken long rice and freshly pounded poi.

Enjoy!

'Imu Me This

Doug and his buddy from DC digging the 'imu.

Sometimes you wonder if you've come full-circle to the things in your past. I just returned from Springfield Farm where, tomorrow, we will be dropping a 55lb. pig into a hole Hawaiians call an 'imu and turning it into that magical feast known as Kalua Pig.

Actually, you can kalua just about anything. Turkey is a favorite. Beef is unexplored. Taro and breadfruit are tasty items. Got an extra dog you don't need? Kalua that too!

Reality is that I make Kalua Pig on a somewhat regular basis with my handy-dandy Fast Eddie smoker. Pour mesquite pellets into the hopper, add a big pork shoulder picnic and sixteen hours later: Kalua Pig. No muss, no fuss. Just good eating.

I think we're coming full-circle because it's been about nine years since the last time I was involved with a real 'imu. Back then I was helping out the Imua Canoe Club during one of my visits to Honolulu. There's nothing like sitting around with friends all day while the pig cooks and then standing around shredding the meat later. It's wholesome. It's wholistic. It's healing. Until you burn yourself.

For those of you interested in making an 'imu at home, it's a lot of work. Better to just go to Costco and buy a tub of Keoki's Kalua Pig. Much easier, if you live in Honolulu. For the rest of us, it's a major operation.

First, pull out the backhoe from the barn. No backhoe? Then you, some friends and a shovel for each of you will do the trick. You will dig a hole that's about twice as large as your pig and about two feet deep.

Next, gather some lava rocks. No lava rocks? Then non-permeable river stones will do. None of those either? Then hustle yourself down to the fireplace store and buy yourself a lot of fire bricks. However, if you do go with natural rocks, make sure they don't explode. This is kinda important.

Traditionally, the Hawaiians used Keawe wood to fire the 'imu. If you're not in Hawai'i you're S.O.L. (Shit Outta Luck) but happily, mesquite can be used in a pinch. No mesquite? Then a nice hard wood will do. We don't have mesquite for tomorrow so we'll probably go with maple or whatever wood is sitting in the barn.

Pile the rocks and the wood in the 'imu and light that sucker on fire. You want to burn that fire hot. It can't get too hot. Keep that fire blazing for at least two hours. You want the rocks to be white hot. This is why you need non-porous rock. If water has penetrated the rock, the heating of the rock will cause the water to steam, build pressure and explode. There's nothing more disrupting to a party than your guests being burned, injured and perhaps killed from exploding rocks.

A major part of making the 'imu is the camaraderie. It's a great time to sit around with friends, drink beer, talk story, play music and talk about chicks. However, before you get too drunk, there's more work to be done.

Previously, you've gathered lots of burlap bags (enough to cover the 'imu twice) and you've chopped down about six banana trees. No banana trees? Corn stalks or soaking wet shredded cabbage will do. You've also got a wet canvas tarp that will extend about 12 inches over the edges of the imu. Keep all of those nearby because it's almost time.

Now to the pig. Of course, you've already killed, gutted and cleaned the pig, right? If not, slaughtering the pig is relatively easy, if not a but queasy. Hold the pig down and drive a large knife into its' throat. The pig will scream, kick, run and try to get away from the fate it can't imagine but is already succombing to. It's not a pleasant task but think about all the happy people you will be feeding. That may help. If not, go to confession.

Once the pig is dead (it would be nice to save the blood for something like dinuguan), have a pot of hot water at the ready. Now, pour some of this very hot water over the animal and start scraping the hairs off with whatever tool you have available: knife, hands, brick, whatever. Then take that same knife and cut lengthwise along the belly of the pig, removing all internal organs.

The nice thing about a pig is that most of the internals can be used. Liver, heart and even the intestines. If you're intrepid enough, clean the intestines thoroughly, cut up into bite sized pieces and deep fry until crispy. It's what Filipinos call chicharon bulaklak. Of course, if you don't clean it as thoroughly as you should, there will be "gritty" bites - and you don't want to know what's causing the "grit"...

Rinse out the inner cavity and make sure the pig is clean inside and out, and it's ready to go! If you're using a pig from a butcher, be sure to let it sit out for a couple hours to come to room temperature.

Now you're ready to get down to it. Rub the inside of the pig with a very generous amount of ala'e- the traditional Hawaiian red sea salt. Don't have it? Well, go get some, pinche cabron. Es muy importante!!! Still no? Okay, then use large grain kosher salt instead. Note: don't bother rubbing the skin with salt. The skin and fat will not absorb the salt and you'll just be wasting your time and good salt.

Go back to the 'imu and pull out any remaining wood chunks and spread the hot rocks in a pattern loosely resembling the pigs' silhouette and grab several rocks to use inside the pig.

Take the pig, throw the rocks in the body cavity and wrap it in chicken wire. If you don't do this, the pig will fall apart when you try to take it out and you'll be cursing yourself - not to mention looking pretty dumb and lame in front of the chicks.

Line the imu with the corn stalks or crushed banana tree trunks. You want a thick layer of wet plant material as this will provide most of the moisture to steam the meat. Criss-cross the material to interlock the layers. If you can line the top layer with banana leaves (fresh or frozen) all the better. Add a few ti leaves from Hawaii and then drop the pig on top.

Once the pig is in, continue layering with the banana or corn stalks until it's thoroughly covered. Keep covering with interlaced wet burlap sacks and then drop the wet canvas tarp on top. Cover everything with dirt. Watch for steam escaping around the edges and cover with dirt. You don't want any steam escaping.

Once you've got it covered, kick back and start drinking. For a 55lb. pig, it should take about eight hours. Eat, sleep, drink and flirt with the chicks until it's time to pull it out of the 'imu.

Oye, guey!

Some of the tomes and CDs para estudio Espanol.

For the last two weeks, I've been on a tear to brush up on my espanol before my trip to Mexico City on Monday to attend the Sexta Compentencia Mexicana de Baristas, or to us gringo types, the Sixth Annual Mexican Barista Championship.

Sure, I studied Spanish in high school. Three years worth. But that means nada in the real world when you've limited your spoken Spanish to the menu at Taco Hell: "Dohs tahcos, por fay-vor..." Jeez, I shudder at the thought.

Learning a new language is difficult. Trying to learn it in two weeks is nearly impossible. I'm still trying to remember the basic verbs of donde, que, quien, por que, cuando, cuanto y como. Luckily, my background in high school Spanish, along with my ability to speak pickup line Tagalog gives me an edge in the pronunciation department. It's not much, but it's something.

In my quest to learn, my first stop was the library language aisle where I picked up a Michel Tomas CD on basic Spanish. It was helpful but his pronunciation is much different than I'm used to, so I headed to the local Border's Books to find alternatives. While at Borders, I stopped this elderly gentleman who proceeded to quiz me on what "kind" of Spanish I wanted to learn. Conversational, please. Then he took me on a tour of the books and CDs available.

Martha Higareda as Renata getting pissed in the movie Amarte Duele.

Now, I'm sure all of you have had the experience of meeting someone who just wouldn't shut up. That person, in their earnest, just keeps going on and on about some nonsense you couldn't care less about. At first, I thought this was one of those times, but as he continued asking questions and guiding me through the tomes I learned that he's an old university language professor from the United Kingdom and his recommendations were on the money. In other words, I got the right guy to do the job.

To bolster this learning experience, I've been listening almost exclusively to the local Latin radio station, where I've discovered that they have the same rotation of music over and over again, which is what I hate about the English-speaking pop stations. Then there's the movies. The available selection (to me) of Spanish language movies has been limited to: Y Tu Mama Tambien, El Crimen de Padre Amaro and Amarte Duele, with the occasional jaunt onto YouTube to watch clips from Le Hija del Mariachi, a Colombian telenovela.

An even more pissed Renata.

However, since these are modern-day films featuring regular people doing somewhat regular things, the spoken language is very colloquial, meaning filled with slang and "expressive" language. And since the fun way to learn a language is by learning the "bad" words first, the Spanish in my mind is peppered with idioms such as: guey (dude), cabron (brother or asshole), pinche (fuck), chingar (to fuck), pendejo (asshole), or just general slangs such as: carnal (brother), que onda? (what's up?) or oye (yo).

This means that I can easily come up with: "Que te paso, pendejo?" (what's your problem, asshole?)

But then it's difficult for me to remember something proper, like: "Buenos dias. Senora Garcia. Mucho gusto."(Good day, Mrs. Garcia. It's a pleasure to meet you).

Daniela Torres as China about to attack while Armando Hernandez's Genarotries to hold her back.

The Sushi A-Hole of Tsukiji

More on my visit to Tokyo...

Can't read the name but be on the lookout for it!

Nestled in the outer buildings of the Tsukiji Market is a haven for sushi aficionados. It's a small, one bar establshment run by a surly Japanese dude who won't hesitate to kick you the fuck out.

During our visit to Tsukiji, Bronwen had it in mind that we would eat only at a place frequented by "rubber boots." Don't know if that's an accepted colloquialism or merely Bron-slang. The idea being that the "rubber boots" were the working denizens of the Tsukiji Market and the place frequented by them must be a good place to eat.

Our joint wasn't quite a "rubber boot" kind of place. In fact, I think everyone in the joint were merely shoppers and gawkers. However, they were shoppers and gawkers of the Japanese variety, rather than the run-of-the-mill gaijin tourists, like ourselves.

I had noticed this little shop as we wandered through the outer market after the auction. A long line of Japanese people had formed before the opening. I made a mental note that this must be "the joint" and even snapped a photo so I would remember later.

The line before opening.

By 9am, Bronwen, Teija and myself had seen just about everything and were ready for a proper breakfast of raw fish. Well, at least Bron-chan and I were ready. Teija wasn't keen on fish for breakfast. Perhaps it's her Finnish nature or perhaps they just don't do that in Zambia, but she hung with us throughout.

I'd love to tell you the name of the place, but my reading comprehension is poor and while I can sort of figure out hiragana and katakana, when it comes to kanji, I'm a lost cause. The place is bright and airy - in spite of its' small size. There's a large poster board at the front that shows pictures of all the dishes. Me with the chirashi sushi and Bronwen with a crab dish and more sashimi. That's one for me and two for Bron-chan.

The menu. Mine is on the right for Y1600. Bronwen ordered the two on the left.

The place was packed. Well, it's really just one long bar that probably holds about fifteen people of so. Before the shop opened, the line was long so we came back later, only to be scolded by the staff for who knows what. They only spoke Japanese, we only spoke English, so it was left to pointing at the pictures.

Remember now, that's three meals we ordered - even if it were for just two of us.

Oh, you know what? I was trying to find a nice way to talk about this place, but there really isn't - the people who work behind the bar are complete and total assholes, especially the guy. Yelling at people for holding a camera - as though we're going to steal the "secret" behind their success. The bottom line here is just that the guy is a fucking asshole - no and, if or but about it.

But we're here for food so we press on. First he makes us walk around to the back entrance to sit at the far end of the bar - okay, this is understandable as the place is fucking packed and there's very little room between the backs of the people sitting at the bar and the wall. We get seated but he's yelling at us some more to sit in the "right" seats and that Teija has to leave because she didn't "order" anything. Never mind the fact that we've got three dishes coming.

You know, it's his joint and I hate to act like a Fucking American, so we go with the flow and Teija waits outside.

Only a few minutes have passed and the food comes. Now, I work in the coffee business and there's a lot of "baristas" out there who comport themselves with a lot of attitude but don't have the chops or the coffee to back up their chutzpa. Because he's such an asshole, I'd love to tell you that the food was plain and mediocre, but this fuckin' guy has got the fuckin' fish to back him up. The tuna was phenomenal.

I'm guessing that they buy from the frozen tuna lots. Because the tuna we saw at auction is frozen solid and it's still pretty early in the morning, I'd say this fish was from yesterday's auction, but it was so unbelieveably good. Crisp, icy cold goodness. The taste, the texture - it's nearly impossible to describe other than to say it was immaculate. Fatty, succulent and delicious. I could have eaten three bowls of this stuff. This guy is an asshole and it didn't matter. It didn't matter how much we had to pay because it was worth it. This guy knows his fish and I thank him for it.

But sushi is nothing without the rice, and this rice was beautiful. Warm, fluffy and with the right amount of mirin and sugar to make it complete. It was heavenly. It was the meal we had been looking for.

Bronwen's two bowls were also excellent, although I have to say that I had the better choice. As much as I love fish, I prefer tuna and this was the Spades of Tuna. I can't stop raving about how good it was.

The Unbelievable Tuna. Sublime. Immaculate. Delicious.

In the end, we finished our meals and I took a surreptitious shot of my bowl just to spite the guy. True to form, he remained an asshole to the end. While I departed out the back, he made Bronwen squeeze behind everyone else as though we were going to stiff him on the bill.

In the end, I bid him a fond and happy "Thank you, Cocksucker!", they responded back with a hearty thank you as well and we parted ways with Bronwen, Teija and myself disappearing into the crowds around Tsukiji.

Rub It, Smoke It, Eat It

Oh Madonn', that's good BBQ.

Once upon a time, I was in the barbecue business. Quite honestly, I really didn't know what we were doing. I was just The Guy With The Space, my business partner Sam had all the bbq experience. For that venture, we combined his style of bbq with my style of Hawaiian bbq and something fresh, fun and exciting was made.

Only I didn't really understand any of it.

As time passed and I traveled throughout America, I stopped in various bbq joints trying their fare and seeing how it compared to ours. All of it was very different and I came to realize that we really had a superior bbq offering in our little shack in Timonium. Then Sam had a heart attack and spent the last couple years recovering, which put an end to our bbq venture, for now.

So every once in a while, I like to try a different BBQ joint in the area. Most haven't been to my taste, but I continue undaunted. Today's jaunt was to a place I learned about through the folks at Chowhound.com It's called Kloby's Backyard Barbecue and it's on Rolling Road just off of Security Blvd. They're open from 11am to 8pm and let me tell you, it's pretty damn good.

Of all the BBQ joints I've visited, Kloby's is the closest to the style of BBQ we offered at The Ono Grill.

The problem with being a solo diner like me is that you want to sample everything. This is not conducive to maintaining a slim figure so one must prepare in advance by asking the kitchen crew to box it "to go" so that temptation will not get the better of me. Happily, Kloby's offers a "Three Meat Plate" allowing your choice from a variety of meats and two sides. I decided to go with the pulled pork, baby back ribs and brisket with baked beans and mac 'n cheese, plus an order of french fries and a big cup of sweet tea.

The interior is pretty simple. Six picnic tables with plastic table cloths and concrete floors. I had the misfortune of choosing the picnic tables whose 2x4s weren't quite even, causing my big cup of sweet tea to tip over and spill sticky tea all over the place. Luckily the chef was aware of this and quickly cleaned up my mess - thanks!

Finally, my food was ready. First off, the fries were nicely done. Fresh cut, blanched and then fried to a nice golden brown, though I would have preferred them a bit crispy. But they were perfectly salted and quite tasty. The surprise was the "liquid-y" baked beans. Usually you find baked beans with very little "syrup", these were swimming in a sweet but tart liquid in which real chunks of pork fat floated like little cubic life preservers. The beans were just wonderful. The mac 'n cheese was your basic Kraft mac 'n cheese. I don't know if they actually used the Kraft in a box, but it was very similar. While some may pooh-pooh this kind of thing, I actually applaud it. It's lowbrow fer sure, but BBQ isn't meant to be a stuffy, white tablecloth affair and I get a bit tired of the Four Cheese Macaroni and Cheese we get at so many restaurants today that it's nice to come back to the mac 'n cheese of your youth. I loved it.

Also included with the meal was a big slice of corn bread. I had a bite. It was okay. The crust was pretty brown and I suspect this is a batch that was just a bit overcooked. I would have liked it hot with butter but I was too busy chowing on everything else to look inside the bag to see if there was any butter hiding in there.

First off, they squirted their BBQ sauce over all the meat. It's a thin and light sauce that complimented the meats well. They put just enough without smothering it. The pulled pork was moist, tender and stringy with just a hint of tangy-ness. It was quite tasty and just the right texture that you expect from pulled pork.

At The Ono Grill, we sliced out brisket thin on a deli slicer. The meat was so much more succulent that way and I think it's a shame that most places give you these thick hand slices that makes the meat more chewy. Happily, Kloby's slices them on a slicer and slices them thin. The brisket was good, but slightly on the dry side of moist. I would have preferred a shorter cooking time. However, there were a couple of fat-laden slices hiding beneath the rest and when I ate those, the fat kept just the perfect amount of moisture and it was sublime. But only those two bites.

By far my favorite of the three meats was the baby back ribs. The smoke ring was about a 1/8" thick and just right. Crusty on the outside but falling off the bone tender on the inside. That was some good eating. I really wanted to pound the whole half side of ribs on the plate but I had already eaten too much.

Overall, the food was great. I loved it. Loved it to the point that I had to go and tell the kitchen how much I loved it. "Hellaciously delicious" is what I told them. I will be back for more. In fact, as I'm sitting here, I'm seriously tempted to jump back in my truck and make the twenty minute drive to their shop before they close at 8pm.

But there's more to Kloby's than ribs, pulled pork and brisket. They're got smoked chicken, fried fish, beef ribs, St. Louis ribs, white fish, catfish, brisket cheesesteak sub and more to keep you coming back.

And I will be back. Very soon.

Kloby's Backyard Barbecue
Dogwood Shopping Center
2327 North Rolling Road
Baltimore, MD 21244
410-298-7931
www.klobysbbq.com

Smooth, Creamy, Deep and Complex

I leave for Mexico City this coming Monday and while I've been eating up a storm of Mexican, Peruvian and El Salvadorean food, I'm starting to worry that I'll burn out on the food before I get to Mexico and then my visit will be ruined by heated desires for Outback Steak (okay, maybe not).

As I was out and about yesterday in Rosedale at the local Filipino market, I had the hankering for something to eat. Unfortunately, Rosedale isn't exactly the place for quality dining. There's the Route 40 diners/greasy spoon joints, the local cheesesteak and the national chains.

Overall, I've been eating some pretty darn fresh and tasty food for the last month or so and the idea of a greasy, fat-laden cheesesteak from a random subshop wasn't too appetizing. The only option was for this place called "Fiesta Mexicana" sporting a sign that said "Authentic Mexican."

Oh come on, this is Baltimore. "Authentic" doesn't mean too much around here. Especially in a white area like Rosedale (although I think that's changing). Worried that I would burn out on Mexican food, reluctant to go for the cheesesteak and growing insane with hunger, I decided to check out Fiesta Mexicana.

And a good thing too.

It's a small shop with one table and some stools. The owner is there, along with a helper who's doing much of the prep work. After chatting with the owner, I found out that her and her husband are both from Mexico City and were just as excited about me going there as I was. The shop has been open for just over a year and they're planning a celebration on Mexican Independence Day: September 15th. The owners' vision is to bring truly authentic Mexican food to Baltimore (Gracias Senor Dios).

In the back is a fridge featuring not just Coke, but real Coca-Cola from Mexico. What's the difference you ask? Sugar, baby, sugar. There's no HFCS (high-fructose corn syrup) in Mexican Coke so it's crisp, clean and refreshing.

Ana's favorite food is enchiladas. Being the American Gringo that I am, I didn't quite understand. Most enchiladas I've seen have looked pretty bland and not so appetizing. You know, a little cheese, a little red sauce, a little time under the broiler - Taco Hell kinda fare. Of course, she's talking about real enchiladas and I'm talking about something resembling enchiladas.

I'm game and while I've been trying enchiladas around Baltimore, I decided to give theirs a try. I ordered the Enchiladas de Mole. Three chicken enchiladas smothered in mole and drizzled with sour cream and queso blanco. How was it? Amazing. Sublime. The mole was deep and complex. Sweet, rich with slight hints of cocoa. When she asked me if I wanted the cheese and sour cream, I almost said "no" thinking about the usual way sour cream is slopped on, but decided to go with it. That was the right choice. The cheese and cream were the perfect balance to the mole. Smooth, creamy - I've been thinking about it ever since.

To start with, I had the Totopos, a nice name for chips and salsa. There's an assortment of things you can order with the chips but I chose a sampling of the salsa roja and salsa verde. The heat isn't bad. It builds up on you until your tongue is on fire. But a good, life-affirming, body-cleansing kind of fire. The one down note were the chips. They were those plain, round kind of tortilla chips you get from the local restaurant supply - just crappy. Especially since I spied a container of real tortilla chips sitting in the kitchen from Tortilleria Sinaloa. They need to use those and not these "chips".

All in all, the food was hellaciously good. So good, I think I might go back tomorrow!

Fiesta Mexicana
8304 Philadelphia Road
Rosedale, MD 21237
410-686-0134