Ernesto's post yesterday brought back my own food memories. As I talked with H about food and Mexico, I realized how connected my memories are to food. I know thills not likely the case with everyone but for me food is an intricate part of my history.
I love Mexico. Not just the food but the buildings, the people, the feel, everything. However when I start to think about Mexico my memories began with food. I remember the first day I walked around with H in Mexico City. We had flown in at night so we couldn't really see anything until the next day. H brought me to Zocalo. We stared at the Catherdal, watched the cops carry assualt weapons (will scan photo later). But what stands out the most was Sanborns. The building was beautiful with the blue tiles all over it. I had never seen a building like that before. And inside there was a giant estrella pinata hanging in the foryer. I remember H telling me that the waitresses looked pinatas in their big skirted uniforms. I was charmed though. I loved the big platters of pan dulce sat on the table (although as H says this is evil when you have kids), and the cups of strong coffee. We had eggs, Mexican style, and I was in love with the salsa.
And many of my memories of Mexico are connected to food. When we moved to Mexcio, H's
parents took us to La Opera and El Popluar for cafe con leche. I was very confused by the whole procedure but H's dad was sweet, and demonstrated for me: first the waitress would pour hot cafe into a tall glass wrapped in steel until you said stop. The cafe in Mexico was the best I ever had. I never had a bad cup of joe in that city. There were so many cafes that became part of my daily landscape.
And the markets...oh, I loved the markets. The piles of fruits and vegetables. The candies, the baked goods. We didn't shop for food at the market near H's house in the Col. del Valle. Instead we went to the Col. Doctores because it was cheaper. My American friends were all horrified that I went there....But the market near H's house had tlacoyos. I went there nearly everyday to get one. I loved the soft, crsipy dough filled with refried beans and the salsa...god it was perfect. Hot but not so hot there was no taste. The woman was there everyday with her husband (whose only job was to chat up the customers and take our money). She had a big white plastic bucket filled with blue dough. She would make the tlacoyols in front of you, frying them on a comal. She would pour the sauce over them, sprinke them with cheese, and as long as we went she handed the one with the hot sauce to H who would hand it to me. She would always act shocked even though this ritual happened at least four or five times a week.
I miss Mexico...H and I have just sat here reliving Mexico. It made us nostaglic and homesick.
Maybe if we don't get accepted we'll go live there for a year (if we can find work). And then I can spend a year eating...drinking....