That's My Story

“We want to eat REAL Mexican food.”

How often have I heard that from clients and friends who come to visit. Like what? Taco Bell?

“Well, you know. REAL Mexican food!” (Like made by real Mexicans?) Before living down here, that would be an easy answer. Now, I’m not sure how to respond.

Often when we go out for dinner, they’re surprised.

“They don’t bring you a big basket of chips and salsa?”
“You have to ask for it. It’s not like El Torito back in San Diego.”
“No beans?”
“No, when you order a plate of tacos, you get a plate of tacos. Many places do not even have frijoles.”
“I want a combo #5…you know…two enchiladas, a taco with rice and beans!”
“There is no combo #5. What’s on the menu is what’s on the menu.”

Sigh and exhale. They look at me with disappointment. Obviously, this is NOT what they had in mind. Sure, Cabo and many of the tourist meccas have menus catering to gringo-ized palates, but once you get past the city lights and go to the smaller places, you won’t find Combo #5 any more than you’ll automatically get served a lime in your beer (an American concoction, by the way).

If you want REAL Mexican food. Wake up early. Head out when the sun is just rising and the traffic dust is still dormant and the city has not yet stirred. Find the mercado publico (public market).

Most sizeable cities and towns in Baja have one. It’s a place of small booths and vendors. More like a permanent swap meet of things to eat than a true market, it’s a fascinating conglomeration that is a true cultural treat.

Often, it’s an open air-warehouse and before you even get there, you can smell the fragrances and aromas all vying for your attention and beckoning inspection. There’s the “Café Combate” stand packed with men sitting and standing around folding tables and chairs reading the daily news while sipping thick sweet coffee and arguing politics and soccer scores before heading off to work. For some, this is their “Cheers” bar all day long. Interestingly, “Café Combate” is the actual brand name meaning “fighting coffee” and the caffeine jolt it gives you can surely fire you up!

Walk down the inner aisles and vendors selling meats and chickens chop, pack and sort their wares. Not for the squeamish, the lines of steaks and ribs looks great, but don’t be surprised by the occasional cow’s head or pigs ears for sale next to beautiful pork chops, burger meat, and whole hens.

Here now are the fruit vendors with tomatoes, avocados, oranges and onions packed neatly in open crates like an indoor farmer’s market. “Veinte (20) pesos por kilo!” hawks one vendor as he holds up a head of bright green lettuce in one hand and a cantaloupe in the other. One vendor will yell a price and his neighbor next door will yell a counter price to attract the passersby. Everyone laughs. Bargaining is encouraged.

Past the dairy stands with cases of cold fresh milk, cream and numerous racks of fresh queso (cheese), ice cream and jars of amber-colored honey you walk. Fresh samples of queso fresco, queso ranchero and queso blanco are offered as well as sample dipping sticks of fresh orange or clover flavored honeys. This is better than walking through Costco!

The fish market booths are up next, clustered around ceramic slabs and workers in plastic aprons, rubber boots and gloves heave slabs of seabass, snapper, yellowtail and pargo onto ice while others cut, gut and fillet. Others use huge scoops to fill plastic containers with huge prawns, shellfish and squid. “Tenemos epseciales hoy por callo!” says one man smiling as you walk by. “We have a special on scallops today! Only 100 pesos for a kilo” “Give me half a kilo,” says one patron. “For 45 pesos!” he bargains. No no no laughs the vendor wagging his finger.

And then the food booths. Real Mexican-Mexican food! This isn’t the canned stuff and there is no combo plate. This is the stuff made my real Mexican mamas and grey-haired abuelitas (grandmas). Thick-armed, thick wasted, Mexican mamas who can cook the carb-free diet right outta you. You can smell the food long before you get there. Things being fried. Things simming in pots. Chiles. Garlic. Fresh ground masa. Limes and onions!

Nothing fancy. Most booths are smaller than a bedroom with the kitchens about the size of the galley in your RV. Folks line up to sit at long wooden bench or ceramic tables. Think soda fountain lunch counter south of the border style.

Plates don’t match silverware. Cups don’t match either. Coffee is served from a big pot (not a coffee pot) on the stove that never turns off and is ladled out with a metal cup. “Pass the salsa” and “Coca-cola por favor.” is the universal passcode.

Grandma chops over a sink smaller than my laptop computer. Tomatoes, onions and cilantro fall to her skilled blades. Mama is frying things in a pan encrusted with oil ; stuffing tacos; dumping crushed chilis into a blender to make salsa; ladling soup; grilling tortillas and taking orders from customers in a whirl of activity “Seven to three o’clock everyday” she winks at me!” knowing that I’m watching her ply her craft! She is perspiring profusely in the hot confines and takes a moment to wipe her brow with her apron before asking someone if they want more tortillas with their fried eggs. Daughter is working the register…a simple shoe box. You only pay after you eat and you tell them what you ate as a matter of honor. No receipts. No papers.

And the things that come out of all these little kitchens…white or red menudo thick with pork and hominy. Served with chunks of bread or tortillas. Trays of sopes (like open-faced tacos served on bread); tacos dorados (fried tacos stuffed with meats and lettuce and tomatoes then deep fried); empanadas (deep fried giant Mexican won-tons stuffed with potatoes and beef); tamales (hot and steamed in corn husks) are just a few of the favorites garnished with plates of fresh cilantro; minced onions and various green and red salas. Each booth has it’s specialties and all the locals have their favorite booths!

Lupe has the better menudo. But, Rocia’s place has better tamales. Carmenita will put her tomatilla salsa and empanadas up against anyone!

You get some on your shirt. You make a mess at the table. You go through a ton of napkins. Silverware doesn’t match but finger-eating never fails! You laugh with a new-found friend sitting next to you eating dark savory chicken mole that you promise yourself you will try next time!

You get up to go and the daughter tells you, “22 pesos porfavor!” (2.20 cents please!”) For all that food. You give her 30 pesos and tell her you’ll be back again. Someone quickly takes your stool at the counter.

You waddle past the stand with the carnitas (roasted pork) tacos and see it’s “two for one” Wednesday. You’re gonna have to come back tomorrow!

That’s my story. If you ever want to reach me, my e-mail is riplipboy@aol.com.