pesero

The food of San Pedro Atocpan and Milpa Alta, in southern Mexico City

October 5, 2011 by Lesley Tellez

I’m friendly with the guy who sells me chiles and mole paste at Mercado Medellín. Over the years we’ve talked about me visting him in San Pedro Atocpan, the village where he lives, about 90 minutes southeast of the city center.

San Pedro is part of the delegación de Milpa Alta, which, along with Tlalapan, makes up the southernmost area of the Distrito Federal. (Think about that. You can ride a bus for 90 minutes in this city and you’re still within the city limits.)

A few weeks ago I finally had a weekend free, and so Crayton and I and our friend Chris rode the pesero out to San Pedro early one Sunday morning. The bus took us through Xochimilco, and then on a windy, two-lane road lined with cactus and corn. San Pedro is known for its mole, so I figured we’d check out a few markets and then have mole for lunch. I didn’t count on being completely hypnotized by the food.

The Milpa Alta Market

Once arriving in San Pedro, we took another pesero to Milpa Alta, a slightly larger city nestled in the hills. The produce there was even more gorgeous than in Xochimilco.

At a tianguis in front of the market, vendors sold local bluish-red corn, rabbits, herbs I’d never seen, quelites, and piles of wild mushrooms.

Check out the mushrooms for sale, on the sidewalk outside the market. Aren't they gorgeous?

Chile nuevo, sold outside the market in Milpa Alta. It's not very spicy.

This was just on the sidewalk. Erik, my friend, ushered us inside the market and vendors were selling wild mushroom tamales. I’ve never seen or heard of a wild mushroom tamale in three years of living in Mexico City. It was divine — picture meaty bits of mushroom, soaked in a green chile sauce.

A home-cooked meal in San Pedro Atocpan

I was happy just having gone to the tianguis in Milpa Alta. But Erik and his family had prepared a big spread for us at his house, with several local foods: mixiotes, esquites, fava bean salad, three types of mole. Everything tasted just as good as it looked.

Doña Belia, preparing tortillas at Erik's house in San Pedro Atocpan

Those are the mixtiotes -- it's slow-cooked, spicy meat, cooked in maguey leaves like little purses. These were made with mutton.

Fava bean salad, one of my faves. It has onion, cilantro and queso fresco.

Blue corn esquites! I'd never tried esquites with blue corn in Mexico. These were phenomenal.

Cecina and locally made chorizo.

A basket of goodies.

When in San Pedro Atocpan… try the chicharrón

There was a bowl of chicharrón on the table at Erik’s house, and I’m telling you, it was the best chicharrón I’ve had, ever. It was this deep-brown caramel color, and thick and crunchy, not like the wimpy beige stuff I usually see in the markets where I live.

I asked Erik why it was so good and he said: “It’s homemade.”

I thought all chicharrón in Mexico was homemade? If anyone out there knows the difference between the two chicharrónes — the beige, more mainstream variety and the rustic dark-brown stuff — I’d love to hear about it.

The best chicharrón I've ever had in my life, hands-down.

I’m planning another visit out there hopefully in the next few months. If you’re interested in visiting yourself, San Pedro Atocpan is hosting a mole festival through the end of October.

Roasted chicken tacos in the Zona Rosa

July 27, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

On Saturday, Crayton and I were about to catch a pesero to City Market — the Mexico City gourmet market of all gourmet markets, or so they say — when we realized we were both hungry. Not super hungry. Just a little bit.

Thanking the lord that we lived in a country where one can satisfy that kind of hunger perfectly (and cheaply), I suggested we hit Gili Pollos, a roasted-chicken joint on the corner of Sevilla and Chapultepec. The name is a play on a Castilian Spanish word that, loosely translated, means “dumb ass.”

I’m a fan of clever word play. And I’ve been curious about Mexican roasted chicken lately. Unlike in the U.S., where most people buy roasted birds at the supermarket, in Mexico there’s an entire industry of rosticerias, or specialized chicken-roasting joints. Many are open-air, and the birds roast slowly on rows of spits, their skins turning a crispy, dark-golden brown.

Gili Pollas has a certain nostalgic charm, too. The workers wear paper hats, and there are black-and-white checkered floors inside. We grabbed a table underneath the awning above, which overlooked the bustling Avenida Chapultepec. The chicken tacos were 13 pesos each — kind of pricey for one taco, I thought.

“Do you want onion?” a young guy in a paper hat asked us.

“Oh yeah,” I said.

And then he set this in front of us:

It was enough meat for two tacos, easily. And it had onion, and cabbage. Both drenched in chicken drippings. Next to the plate was a bowl of pickled jalapeños for garnish, and red salsa.

The meat had bones, so I picked off a few chunks and placed them in a tortilla. (No idea if this is the proper way Mexicans eat them or not, but who cares.) Threw in some jalapeños and salsa, and gobbled it up in few minutes. The chicken was succulent, and the skin — it was crispy and perfect, and worth the trip alone.

With happy and full stomachs, and only $2 lighter in our pocketbooks, we crossed Chapultepec and caught the pesero to Del Valle.

I highly recommend the place, if you’re ever in the neighborhood. There’s also an outpost in the Centro, at Isabel la Católica and 5 de Mayo.

Gili Pollos
Corner of Avenida Chapultepec and Salamanca, in Colonia Juarez (Zona Rosa)

The low-rider pesero

July 17, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Yesterday some girlfriends and I had coffee in Polanco, and we decided to take a pesero home. I love taking peseros — they’re the rumbly, green-painted mini-buses that go everywhere in the city, usually for around four pesos. Since the routes aren’t mapped anywhere, you usually have to ask the driver, “Oiga! Van por…?” if you want to get to the right spot.

Jesica asked, and we ended up on the side of Presidente Masaryk, waiting. (As a sidenote, pesero knowledge is valuable stuff, and exchanged among my car-less Roma and Condesa friends like a good taxi service number. If someone knows of a neighborhood pesero that stops at a major location, like the Centro or Polanco, this fact is discussed and shared.)

After a few minutes of waiting, a pesero rolled up, but it wasn’t like any pesero I’d ever seen before. It was lowered. And boxy, like a Toyota Scion. Cheap black tinting film covered half the windows. The drivers-side door opened — squeeeeak — and reggae, the kind I’ve heard at Kaya, wafted out, the bass booming. The three of us girls exchanged looks (whaaa?) and got on. You have to get on quickly, or else the driver will hit the gas and you’ll end up half-hanging out the door.

For the next 20 minutes, until I got off at my stop, the twenty-something-year-old, spiky-haired driver kept the reggae blasting, fast-fowarding past the Pitbull and the Will Smith. (Guess this was a mix.) Everyone in the bus ignored the music and stared straight ahead, but I kind of danced in my seat, which I’m sure made everyone think I was a wierdo.

Then Alice, who was kinda jamming out too, had a great idea.

“I wonder if we can rent out this pesero as a party bus?”

DUDE. Imagínate! A pesero-pub-crawl along Presidente Masaryk. Rolling up to Celtics and Irish Pub Concept in the tinted-windowed, Scion-esque mini-bus. It’d be worth it just to see the look on people’s faces. (Of course, we know this could never happen, but the idea made us laugh. ….Unless maybe…. ?)

As my stop approached, I desperately wanted to get a photo of the pesero’s low-rider exterior. But I couldn’t get my camera ready in time. As soon as I jumped off — peseros stop for like three seconds, and not completely; it’s a California-stop kind of thing — the bus rumbled off down Rio Mississipi, reggae tunes fading away into the distance. Oh well. Thanks for the great ride, dude.

*To hear a snippet of the ride, click on the link under the photo.

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.