Yesterday's post about snack food reminded me that I have not yet related my culinary adventures in Mexico City.
I told you a lot about pretty women thieves, cathedrals, Aztec ruins, canals, archaeological treasures, art and "art," and dance. But that was only part of the adventure in Moctezuma's former home town.
Mexico City, like any great metropolis, has numerous highly-rated restaurants. I didn't get to any of them, but I did have a fun time eating my way through the sinking city.
Before some wag (and there are several in mind at the moment) points it out, let me confess. Yes. Mexico City was where my Olympian bout of "intestinal disorder" had its onset.
Was it something or someplace where I ate while there? I have no idea. But the chances are probably high that it was. Chronological proximity is not always causation. Sometimes, it is.
I do know my stomach is convinced that pizza is involved. I tried to eat a piece in Salem after I had recovered, and one bite was my limit.
But my stomach also thinks there is nothing redeeming in hot dogs. So, I am not certain I am going to trust its diagnosis.
Whatever the cause, I had three interesting eating experiences in Mexico City. None of them come close to breaking into my Top Ten. But they were each remarkable in their own way -- just like Tolstoy's unhappy families.
For fun, nothing outdid La Bodeguita del Medio -- a Cuban restaurant with good food and even better live (and very loud) music. I had ropa vieja -- shredded beef in a creole sauce.
I love Cuban food, and that dish is a classic. But it did not come close to what I get regularly at Versailles in Miami. Not bad. Just not outstanding.
But what made the evening so much fun was getting to know a large portion of my fellow bus tourists. Cuban music and food (not to mention other lubricants) can coax even the stuffiest of northern European descendants to pull that stick out of their spine -- and loosen up.
And loosen up they did. As you can see in the photograph provided by Ruth Hazelwood of Mex-ECO Tours. Well, we did get a bit looser than this.
Mexico City, like any great metropolis, has numerous highly-rated restaurants. I didn't get to any of them, but I did have a fun time eating my way through the sinking city.
Before some wag (and there are several in mind at the moment) points it out, let me confess. Yes. Mexico City was where my Olympian bout of "intestinal disorder" had its onset.
Was it something or someplace where I ate while there? I have no idea. But the chances are probably high that it was. Chronological proximity is not always causation. Sometimes, it is.
I do know my stomach is convinced that pizza is involved. I tried to eat a piece in Salem after I had recovered, and one bite was my limit.
But my stomach also thinks there is nothing redeeming in hot dogs. So, I am not certain I am going to trust its diagnosis.
Whatever the cause, I had three interesting eating experiences in Mexico City. None of them come close to breaking into my Top Ten. But they were each remarkable in their own way -- just like Tolstoy's unhappy families.
For fun, nothing outdid La Bodeguita del Medio -- a Cuban restaurant with good food and even better live (and very loud) music. I had ropa vieja -- shredded beef in a creole sauce.
I love Cuban food, and that dish is a classic. But it did not come close to what I get regularly at Versailles in Miami. Not bad. Just not outstanding.
But what made the evening so much fun was getting to know a large portion of my fellow bus tourists. Cuban music and food (not to mention other lubricants) can coax even the stuffiest of northern European descendants to pull that stick out of their spine -- and loosen up.
And loosen up they did. As you can see in the photograph provided by Ruth Hazelwood of Mex-ECO Tours. Well, we did get a bit looser than this.
The best meal with grandmother overtones was served up by Cafe de Tacuba. Our tour guide recommended the place. But, more importantly, so did gourmand (and my fellow blogger) Don Cuevas.
The place is a Mexico City tradition. Both for its food and the decor of the restaurant. If you never have a mouthful of the food, simply go to look at the colonial-era tiles. It is impressive. Don Cuevas did not sell me a bum steer.
I ordered tongue. For me, it was not an exotic dish. Both my grandmother and mother prepared it as a regular dinner. Just like here in Mexico. (Even though my preference is in sandwiches.)
When my plate arrived, one of my fellow tourists, who I do not recall marrying, asked me: "I wish I had ordered that. May I have a piece of your tongue?"
By this point on our trip, most of my fellow diners had pretty much sized me up. You could hear crickets in the park two blocks away.
Rather than take the cheap shot (and several flashed in front of my eyes), I held my tongue and let her have a piece from my plate. Once again, good, but not outstanding.
But I have saved my favorite experience for last. After visiting the art nouveau post office Porfirio Diaz left behind to Mexico when he fled to Spain, we stopped for lunch at Los Girosoles. Right next door to the Mexican federal senate.
My usual routine at restaurants is to order something new and something I do not prepare at home.
The choice jumped out at me the moment I saw it. Escamoles en salsa verde. Ant eggs in green sauce.
I love anything with salsa verde. And here was my opportunity for a symbolic show of support for my battle against the leaf cutter ants. If they will not leave my garden in peace, I will eat their young. And did.
The eating experience was neither good nor bad. The ant eggs had the appearance and consistency of soaked barley -- those white pieces you often find floating in vegetable soup.
As for taste, all I really noticed was the salsa verde. And what is there to complain about that?
I eventually need to do a tour of Mexico City's famed high end restaurants. And I will.
But I suspect my stomach has taken pizza off of the plate for some time.
I love anything with salsa verde. And here was my opportunity for a symbolic show of support for my battle against the leaf cutter ants. If they will not leave my garden in peace, I will eat their young. And did.
The eating experience was neither good nor bad. The ant eggs had the appearance and consistency of soaked barley -- those white pieces you often find floating in vegetable soup.
As for taste, all I really noticed was the salsa verde. And what is there to complain about that?
I eventually need to do a tour of Mexico City's famed high end restaurants. And I will.
But I suspect my stomach has taken pizza off of the plate for some time.
