OK. Todd and Brenda have been kind enough to take us to very nice restaurants for breakfast in their home towns in Mexico. I thought you might like to see how we denizens of the Casa Algodón start our day. (Well, at least, how I started this day. Professor Jiggs starts his day -- and ends his day -- with the same bowl of dry food and a tasty selection of geriatric medications.) Here goes.
6:30 AM. Saturday. I should be sleeping in. Saturdays are the only day I can sleep in without running afoul of some obligation. I stumble down the stairs to my favorite breakfast spot: El Jacuzzi en la Casa de Algodón. For an eatery, it is a bit eccentric. The waiter always asks you to order before being seated. I open the menu.
The selection varies, but I always have a sense of déjà vu as I pore over it. I find what I want, and give my order to the waiter.
He then shows me to my table. One of the things I like about El Jacuzzi is its lack of pretension. It has an almost natural feel -- simple, quiet, airy. Almost like one of those backstreet cafés in Prague. Just a lot wetter.
I barely settle into my seat when the waiter brings the house bread. (Michael Dickson claims "house" is a synonym for "it ain´t nothing special.") Its only saving grace is its odd resemblance to a catcher's mitt. (And note the authentic touch: el pelo del perro.)
My appetite is now teased for the specialty of the house: the inappropriately named huevos y jamón verdes.
No eggs. No ham. And the only green thing I can find is the spinach fettuccine. But this is good. The sauce is a pepperoni-pork sausage tomato sauce infused with onion, garlic, and chili powder. My British friends would call this child's spaghetti. But what do they know?
Put together, this was a fine breakfast for a morning that promised just a hint of snow flakes in the air.
Sated, I totter back to the world of reality. And just as I did after breakfast with Brenda and Roy, I am heading upstairs for a nap.
Thank you for joining me for breakfast. We must do this more often.
