Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border
They were as good as they looked. Interestingly, the process was a lot more orderly than I’m used to. We ordered from one person, who gave us a ticket, which we then handed to the taquero.
Most people also drove up in cars or SUVs. Some even ate inside their vehicles, which I personally think is blasphemy. Everyone knows that street tacos should be eaten while standing up, or sitting on a plastic stool.
Crayton’s co-worker Carlos is a huge Chivas fan, so on Sunday we trekked out to the Estadio Olímpico at UNAM to see Chivas play Pumas, one of their biggest rivals.
This was my second Mexican soccer game, and I gotta say, I’m becoming a fan. (As fan-ish as I can be. I tend to get very nervous during close games, and then my stomach starts flip-flopping, and then I can barely watch. So I try to stay low key about the whole thing.)
Compared to Estadio Azteca, Estadio Olímpico is on the small side, with two tiered sections of seats. But Pumas fans are notoriously rabid, and so it took us awhile to actually enter the stadium. First, an employee at our ticket gate shooed us away, saying that Chivas fans had to sit “in section 23.” When we walked to that section, we were told to go to another. At the third gate, the employee there told us we should go back to the first one we went to, where the girl had shooed us away.
We finally found seats — with the help of a high-up stadium employee with a walkie talkie — just after the game started. The seats were okay. They lay directly behind Pumas’ goal during the first quarter, meaning we didn’t have an aerial view of the field. But we were immersed in red-and-white, which was fun.
The guy behind me kept whining, “No maaa-mes!” whenever Pumas approached the Chivas goal. And there were several shouts of, “Dale Chicharo!”, urging on Chivas player Javier Hernandez.
My favorite part was the trash-talking. Pumas fans would launch into their traditional “Goya” cheer, which goes like this:
Gooooya!
Gooooya!
Ca-choo Ca-choo RAH-RAH
Ca-choo Ca-choo RAH RAH
Goooya!
Chivas fans would basically pee on it, singing it back and then tacking on a “Chíngala tu madre!” on the end. You can listen to an audio link of the original Goya cheer here.
A few more pictures from the game:
Starting to realize riot police on horseback are a typical sight for a Mexican soccer game
A sign tacked on the stadium gate, basically meaning: 'Don't worry Pumas, we won't turn our backs on you.' The Pumas haven't been doing too well this year.
A sea of red-and-white Chivas fans...
...compared to even more Pumas fans, probably all dying to toss cupfuls of beer on our heads.
Beer sales stop just after halftime, as written on the very helpful jumbo-tron.
This Chivas fan led the trash-talking Goya cheer.
GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLL! (Chivas ties the score, 1-1.)
After the game we went to El Charco de Las Ranas for tacos. Of course, afterward I also had to try a gaznate from the vendor out front. It’s a typical Mexican street-food dessert, comprising a tube of fried dough filled with a creamy meringue mixture. Been eyeing them for weeks, wondering how they were… but I didn’t like it. Too sweet and heavy. Oh well.
A close-up of the juicy tacos al pastor at El Charco de Las Ranas
The gaznate, which despite its good looks, I won't be trying again.
I first read about tepache (teh-PAH-chay) in a Mexican cooking magazine a few months ago. It’s a beverage sold widely on the streets, made from pineapple rinds that’ve been left to ferment in water.
I was intimidated to try it — my first thought was, “Is this going to make me sick?” — but a few weeks ago, urged on by a friend who swore it was delicious, I bought some. The plastic baggie at the left cost 5 pesos. (By the way, do you now see what I’m telling you about plastic bags?)
My friend was right: It was cold and sweet, with a vague pineapple taste in the background. It was sunny and hot that day, so it was tough not to swig the whole bag in a few minutes.
When I got home, I figured tepache would be one of those weird Mexican foods that few people know about, like nicuatole, which is also on my mind lately. But no. Googling revealed detailed, step-by-step instructions on how to make tepache on the Chowhound Home Cooking message board, including whether or not you should add beer to speed up fermentation. (The basic recipe calls for leaving pineapple rinds in a pot of water for three days, and then adding sugar and spices.)
Others have posted recipes too. Rachel Laudan’s recipe calls for leaving out the sugar for a more tart tepache, which seems more my style.
So this tepache stuff is super easy. Next time I make a pineapple pie, I’m saving my rinds.
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)
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.
…
I’ve been making them at home all the time lately, probably because produce is so abundant and my tiny kitchen suits meals made with one pan. These are spinach and oyster mushroom, with a sprinkling of tomato. Bought all of it at the tianguis.
You can’t really tell, but the tomatoes are a deep, dark red. [insert dreamy sigh]
Next step: Finding sriracha.
