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Now, here's the long-awaited chronicle of our trip to Mexico, in terms of food and drink. It can be summarized in four words: "beer and fish tacos." At least, it can for me. Marina has a somewhat more sophisticated palate when it comes to travel food.
Here we go:
So to clarify, not every single meal we had consisted of fish tacos. For instance, on our first night in Loreto, we ate in a garden at a restaurant called El Papagayo Cantando, or The Singing Parakeet, which is where I imbibed that first beer on Mexican soil--a ceremonial moment, my friends. There, I ate a spicy fish of the day meal that was quite tasty, and listened to Marina converse in Spanish with the waiter and in English with the expatriate owners. I wonder if the locals who work in towns based on tourism like Loreto find a thrill or a sense of relief in speaking to a visitor fluent in Spanish.
Anyway, from that point on, I ate a lot of fish tacos. I believe Baja is famous for fish tacos, and if it isn't, it should be.
After a magical boat ride on Sunday, replete with a dolphins, sea lions, a dead scorpion, and a blue whale, we wandered the narrow, empty streets of Loreto and came upon this small establishment:
It looked to be a converted trailer and covered car-port, with tables in the shade, festively decorated. There was an amazing fabricated shark, being slowly covered in beautiful beadwork by a young man named Mariano, of the Huichol people in mainland Mexico, who talked to us about the art form, which has a dwindling number of practitioners, and how he would like to teach children about the tradtion, but is challenged by the fact that he can't read or write.
We were the only ones in the restaurant, and some of the staff was eating at a back table, watching a soccer game. Marina saw my wistful expression, so mentioned to one of the workers that I was a big football fan. He seemed intrigued, but when he asked me who my favorite team was, any rudimentary grasp of Spanish in terms of using it to discuss soccer flew out of my head like a Wayne Rooney bicycle kick flies into the net. All I could say was "I like Chicharito. He was great at the World Cup," and other bluster in English. I was like the kid who tries to impress his parents with a magic trick that he sort-of-almost-kind-of understands but hasn't quite perfected yet.
But I had fish tacos and beer, so I was undaunted. Be jealous:
There is something delightfully simple about a fish taco. Sweet, crunchy, a little kick from salsa and the cabbage or lettuce, and the beer aspect helps too.
One more bonus fish taco picture, from our lunch in Mulege on Monday as we headed towards San Ignacio:
There is undoubtedly more to talk about when it comes to a food-centric perspective on Mexico, but for now, I must go prepare to make brunch. As a teaser for this next week, though, I will tell you that in a long-delayed response to a reader-survey, I will be experimenting with okra this week while Marina is out of town. Assuming I can figure out what okra is.
