Mexico City

My first, self-organized Mexico City street food tour

July 10, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Just around the corner from my house, there’s a line of street food stands maybe six deep. They’re so close, we can hear the dudes rolling out their steel carts in the wee morning hours. At various times of they day, you can find chocolate and rice atole, plastic cups brimming with yogurt and cereal, sandwiches (some made with American-style bread, others on bolillos); flautas, carnitas tacos, tacos de suadero. And sunglasses and ties, too.

It’s a travesty that I haven’t tried any of it yet. So yesterday I grabbed my friend Alice, a street food fiend, and we hit the streets for our first-ever Mexico City street food tour.

Here were our rules:

Keep it manageable. We’d only visit stands near Cuauhtemoc, which is my neighborhood. On the next tour, we’ll delve into other areas. (Like the stands on the south side of Plaza de Insurgentes. GOD they look good.)

Share. We’d split every item, as to keep tummies hungry for more food.

Be efficient. We’d keep the tour to 1 1/2 hours. (This was my rule. I had to be back to continue working on a story.)

Street food essentials to have in my purse:

Here’s how it went to down. Pics and details after the jump.
…

Duff de Mexico: Homer Simpson would be proud

July 8, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Like many industries in Mexico, the beer market here is basically a duopoly. Two breweries, Modelo and Femsa, control pretty much all the options. While I love me some Mexican beer (Victoria’s my fave, and I’ve heard raves about Noche Buena), sometimes you want something different, you know?

Rodrigo Contreras, a young entrepreneur from Guadalajara, apparently felt the same way. In 2006, he successfully registered Duff Beer as a brand here in Mexico, and he’s found distribution in various countries around the world. Duff is a Pilsner-style brew now sold in Spain, Belguim, Germany and Colombia. And not in the U.S., since, according to Wikipedia, Matt Groenig isn’t hot on the idea, for fear that it’ll appeal to children.

Crayton was super excited about the chance to drink a real Duff Beer. So using his crazy Googling skills, he found a bar in La Roma called Lucille that sells it. Interestingly, Lucille also sells other independent Mexican brews, such as Cosaco and Tempus.

Crayton’s Duff Beer verdict: “Real clean taste. Let the aftertaste hit. It’s subtle… I could hang with a six pack of this watching a game. I think that’s what Homer Simpson would want.”

The night I made Crayton eat brains and grasshoppers

June 16, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

My yahoo email account got hacked into last night. I got everything sorted out in a few hours, but by that time I was dying for a beer, and something comforting and horrible for me.

First we tried Chili’s for American brews and queso. (For all the non-Texans out there: Queso is a processed cheese sauce made with Velveeta and Rotel. It’s several notches above Cheese Whiz on the taste hierarchy, but below queso fundido.) Unfortunately, as soon as we sat down, we were informed that Chili’s no longer carries queso. So instead I suggested we go Cantina Belmont, a place I’ve read about in my guidebook.

It’s supposed to be popular with local politicians, and I was expecting a dive-ish place with cheap beer and tacos. Oh no — this place had white tablecloths, and waiters who draped linen napkins on our laps. And… cue the drums… an item called salsa en molcajete, which involved the chef making salsa tableside. Like they do with guacamole in the States. Except, it’s freaking salsa.

So of course we had to order it, and the chef showed up at our table with about a dozen chilies and condiments in separate earthenware bowls.

Among them were charales, tiny fish often served in Patzcuaro; pine-nut sized chilies called pico de pajaro, and dried, fried grasshoppers, among other things. The chef described everything and then asked what I wanted.

I turned to Crayton. “Do you want grasshoppers?” I used the Spanish word, chapulines.

“Sure,” he said.

Surprised at his adventurousness, I nodded at the chef, and he ground up some grasshoppers in the molcajete. Then he added cascabel chilies, chiles de arbol, the pico de pajaros, a good helping of chopped garlic and onion, a few stewed tomatoes, a toss of sea salt and a glug of bottled water. It looked soo good.

He drizzled a bit onto two tortilla chips, and offered them to us. We tasted.

Ooooh. Smoky. Garlicky. Picoso, but not too much. And just a little sweet. I think it was the best salsa I’ve ever had. I told the chef it was perfect, and he nodded and walked back into the kitchen.

“So, can you believe there are grasshoppers in here?” I asked Crayton.

“What?”

“Grasshoppers. I asked and you said you didn’t mind.”

“Ohhh… I thought you said champiñones,” he said. Champiñones means mushrooms.

However, since he’d already tried the grasshoppers, which you really couldn’t taste anyway since they were ground into bits, he let me order a round of quesadillas — one with squash flowers, one with huitlacoche, or corn fungus; one with brains, and one plain. I thought he’d love the brains, since they were meaty and kind of gamey tasting. He pronounced them “an acquired taste.”

For his main dish, he was much more his meat-and-potatoes self. He ordered prime rib tacos. I had a shrimp and octopus cocktail.

A lonely, leftover flor de calabaza quesadilla:

We left happy and stuffed, and got our leftover salsa to go. I might go have some right now. 10 a.m. isn’t too early, right?

Falling in love with birria at La Polar

June 14, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Birria is a spicy meat stew from Jalisco. It’s usually made with goat, but sometimes with lamb or mutton.

I’d always roped it into my “I’ll pass” category, along with pozole and menudo, which have never lit my fire for some reason. But then two days ago friends invited us to La Polar, a cantina near our house. It’s probably among the best-known places to get birria in the city, and it’s always recommended in guidebooks and local magazines.

So we went, and ordered tacos and avocado, and a few orders of birria. The menu had no description, so I was expecting meat wrapped in wax paper, like when you order carnitas in Quiroga. Instead it was a gigantic bowl of stew.

When I tasted it: LORD. The meat fell apart in my mouth, and the broth was spicy and chipotle-tinged. I wanted to slurp gulps of it. Instead I held back and picked at my tacos, since I wasn’t technically hungry, as I’d already had dinner like an hour before. (Did I forget to mention that? But sometimes you have to just eat when the opportunity presents itself, and worry about everything later. This is why my pants are getting tighter.)

La Polar also had live mariachis, and a table full of Mexicans singing at the top of their lungs. I loved it. Wish I would have brought my tape recorder, but alas, it was in my other purse. This gives you a good idea of what it was like, though:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPsMIkGYxFk&hl=es&fs=1&rel=0&border=1]

On the way out, we saw mariachis playing foosball in the parking garage.

My dad’s favorite spots in Mexico City

June 8, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Gotta hand it to my dad. He lives in San Diego and drives a convertible, but he decided to spend his vacation in a chaotic megapolis with me. It was his first time here.

It took him a few days to get used to the rhythm, but he ended up embracing the chaos here. He tried arrachera tacos and beef brains, and went with me to the tianguis. He took the Metro and the pesero. He even learned how to cross the street like a Chilango… kind of.

Yesterday he followed my lead when I ran across the street as the light was changing, and scolded me once we got to the other side. “Lesley! You can’t just run across the street in front of cars like that. The laws of physics are the same as they are in the U.S.!”

Unfortunately, he also suffered from stomach ailments, so maybe no arrachera tacos next time.

Here are a few pictures of some of the spots he liked best:

Coyoacán

Drinks at Condesa DF. I’d never been here before, but sipping a Jamaica Margarita on their rooftop terrace is now one of my favorite things to do.

A tour of the Centro Histórico with More Mexico, where we:

Ate fantastic buttery sweet bread at the original Sanborns, inside the Casa de los Azulejos. (Or…er… I ate it, anyway.)

Checked out the cool national mail palace, which is a functioning post office.

Learned about the history of Mexican art at the Museo Nacional de Arte.

Teotihuacán

The view from Chapultepec Castle. “A must-see for any visitor,” my dad says. “To get a true picture of the size of the city, you need to go up there and look.”

Thanks for a great visit, Dad.

The sounds of a typical Mexico City street

May 19, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

For a long time, I’ve been wanting to record some of the crazy sounds you hear on the street here. Finally, finally, I got my little Olympus tape recorder and captured a few.

At 7 a.m. outside our window, there’s a guy who calls “Aguaaaaaa!” Or at least I think that’s what it is. Thoughts?

The way everyone always talks so wistfully about the camote man’s whistle, I thought it’d be a charming, toot-toot kind of thing. But no. I heard it at 10 p.m. on a weeknight and it scared me.

Also, kinda late for sweet potatoes.

My favorite is the disembodied Oaxacan tamale-seller voice. You hear this throughout the city, blaring from the speakers on different tamale carts.

The interesting thing is that no one knows exactly where the voice came from. You hear it in three different neighborhoods and think, “Is this the same vendor, biking everywhere?” (Forgot to mention, these tamale vendors are on bikes.) But it’s not the same guy. Just the same voice, saying over and over, “Hay tamales Oaxaqueños, tamales calientitos.” Maybe I’m a little obsessed with this voice.

But so is everyone else. It’s even on YouTube.

There are so many more sounds that I haven’t recorded yet, but I want to. The screechy bike horn that signifies tortillas. The ding-dong of the trash man’s handbell. The speedy tweet-tweet-tweet of the parking attendant, who whistles while he waves someone into their parking spot.

If you have a favorite sound and you live here, let me know what it is. I’m fascinated.

A trip to Tlalpan, “what Coyoacán used to be”

May 17, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Lately it seems like I’ve been reading everywhere about the hipness of Tlalpan, a suburb south of here. The local city magazines, Chilango and Dónde Ir, always seem to include Tlalpan in their roundups of cool taco shops and cafes. And several of the cafes are mentioned in my very hip DF de Culto guidebook.

I corralled Alice into taking a trip there after reading that Lonely Planet called Tlalpan “what Coyoacan used to be.” Meaning, bohemian and colonial, but less crowded.

Sounds nice, no?

The Metrobus stops pretty close to the square, so we went last Friday. The place was serene and adorable: Narrow streets, cobblestones, bouganvillea blooming over fencetops. The occasional open door — old, weathered, oozing charm — revealed a patio overflowing with plants, or the occasional fonda restaurant.

We bought tacos de canasta from a lady in front of the mercado and drank agua frescas in the cute little square. We gushed over the cute restaurants, but didn’t visit any of them, because we were too full. Stupid extra-creamy horchata con fresa.

We wandered through a few parks, and walked over to the Antigua Hacienda de Tlalpan, a fancy restaurant and popular wedding site. We browsed in a Tlalpan bookstore, where I debated buying a 1970’s “Gelatins for all Seasons” cookbook because I’m fascinated by Mexican milk-with-Jell-O desserts. But then I decided against it because really, how many Jell-O molds am I going to make?

Before we left, we hit El Jalisciense, a cantina off the square. We slurped spicy caldo de camarón from plastic cups, and drank Palomas and Victorias. Mmmm.

I would definitely go back, hopefully next time with Crayton. It seems like the perfect Saturday day trip.

Although next time, I’m bringing an umbrella. Turns out Tlalpan does not have many gutters, so rain = huge puddles. (=soaked shoes on the Metrobus.)

UPDATE: My dear hubby has wondered why would bringing an umbrella would have any effect on me stepping in any puddles. What I meant was: We got SPRAYED by several CARS that drove through the puddles, because drivers in Tlalpan are not very cautious. In case anyone else out there was wondering too.

My new favorite bar, at Sanborns department store

May 12, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Crayton and I stopped by our local Sanborns a few weeks ago in search of a dish rack. Sanborns is a Mexican chain kind of like Target, but way smaller and not as cheap. They’ve got electronics, perfume, purses, drugstore items.

They don’t sell dish racks. But this Sanborns, a stone’s throw from El Angel, had a bar — a small doorway sandwiched between the digital cameras and boxes of chocolates.

It was odd. I’d never seen a stand-alone bar inside a Sanborns before. (Or any other department store, for that matter.) This one looked like no one had touched it since the 70’s. A sign above the door said simply, “Bar” and a wooden-easel menu advertised mixed, frothy drinks. Inside, cushioned, C-shaped brown chairs sat next to round tables. The entire place screamed “Ramada Inn, 1972.” Of course we had to stop by for a drink.

We made it there last Friday, after the bars finally reopened. We’d lucked into live music: An older gentleman onstage tap-tap-tapped on a tinkly Casio keyboard. “Bienvenidos, damas y caballeros…” he called, and launched into a flowery, synthesized ballad.

A waiter in a jacket and bow tie promptly took our order, and mentioned they had two-for-one drinks. (Dude!) Then he brought us fruit sprinkled with chile powder, peanuts and chicharrones.

Sipping my Paloma, eating free snacks and listening to an old guy espouse the beauty of love — how could you not adore this place? (Full disclosure: Half the crowd had gray hair.)

I kinda wanted to take one of these balloons home with me. They say, “I was at Sanborns.”

We’ll definitely be back.

Tandem Pub, last night at 9

May 8, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

The bars are officially back open. (That’s a bandera with Cazadores, and a Fernet & Coke above.) To quote my 8-year-old nephew: “Yeessssss!”

A trip to Mercado San Juan, and, as I am now calling it, Chicken Row

April 21, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

I’ve been dying to go to Mercado San Juan since I flipped open one of my favorite guidebooks, DF De Culto, and saw a diagram of the market’s best stands. A diagram! The writers didn’t diagram any other markets. Or gush about anyone else’s meat, cheeses, imported oils, vinegars, olives, fish….

Actually Mercado San Juan is one of the oldest in Mexico, tracing its roots to prehispanic times. Mexican movie stars have visited the place, although I’m not entirely sure why. (Maybe they liked to nosh on manchego between takes?) And local chefs shop there, too.

My friend Alice and I decided to go last Friday morning. We first grabbed an atole (a sweet, thick rice n’ masa drink) and pan dulce outside the Salto de Agua metro station, because hunger is a bad idea when you’re in a giant warehouse full of food.

Then, on the walk to the mercado, we passed a small city of raw chickens. Butcher shops lined both sides of the street, chicken parts smothering the countertops: Thighs, legs, roasters; deep crimson gizzards; headless chickens, covered in yellow goosepimply skin. Workers snipped chicken parts as fast as they could, so all you could hear was this weird metallic scissoring sound.

That alone was worth the Metro ride, and we hadn’t even made it to the mercado yet. Of course, once we arrived there, I forgot all about the chicken, because the first guy we saw tried to sell us fried grasshoppers and escamoles (ant eggs). Then we walked in further and saw sharks on ice, and ducks, and skinned baby goats. That’s probably about when I fell in love.

Well, that, and when I saw the curly lettuce and leeks stacked practically to the ceiling in the produce section.

Over the next hour or so, I stuffed my bag with asparagus, spring onions, fresh peas, red leaf lettuce, spinach, blackberries, mamey, mangos, proscuitto, freshly grated parmesano-reggiano, smoked provolone, homemade tofu (“Lo hace un chino aqui,” the lady told me), dried mushrooms and cute mini pita breads. (Yes, I’m buying for only two people. I go kinda crazy sometimes.) The proscuitto and parm I bought at La Jersey; the smoked provolone and pita, at La Holandesa. I willfully ignored the French butter and fresh bread. Mmmm. Next time.

What I made with my items:

1. Blackberry-lime coolers (perfect for sipping on the patio)
2. Arroz con leche (the Rick Bayless version) with mango
3. Pasta with peas, asparagus, proscuitto and parmesan
4. Mamey muffins
5. Sliced provolone with salted pita chips

I’d like to go back once a week, but it does require some advance menu-planning. Guess I better hit the cookbooks.

« Previous Page