Tacos de What? and Other Street Food Adventures

The first time I came to Mexico as an adult, I was pretty shy about street food. I didn't want to spend my vacation in the bathroom, and had heard and read all sorts of warnings. Towards the end of the trip, though, my friend and I were introduced to the street of empanadas of Oaxaca. More like large quesadillas, this food was divine. Large, handmade tortillas put on the comal, with the addition of combinations of cheese, epazote, shredded chicken, and rich sauces, at $15 pesos each ($1.50USD). Two, plus an orange soda, were big enough for a meal. These were also a great discovery for our budgets. Thus ended my ban on street food, though at the time I still would not sample the uncooked greens, though I would look longingly at the cilantro.

These days, I trust that the cilantro is cleaned with purified water, I spread on the salsa after sampling to see whether it's just too hot for me, and I order my meat tacos, my tortas, my tamales, my ice cream, and sit on a nearby bench or a curb to enjoy. Peter and I often use the policy that if a lot of people are eating there, it is probably good (this is actually how we found one of our still-favorite restaurants in San Francisco on our first date).

Beth and I had a day of such sampling around town while she was here. It started when we walked out of my favorite artsy shop and I spotted a bunch of children walking by with something in their hands. "We must go where they came from!" I declared. "I know where it is!" And I led Beth to the wonderful man who sells pineapple ice cream with chili. I got limon and pina with chili, Beth had pina and delicious coconut, sin picante. Later, I went for a slice of the pastel de nata (cream cake) in the mercado. As we exited, we grabbed a bag of fresh, green garbanzos, still in their shells. We elected for only limon and salt on them, and wandered to a nearby square to sit and suck out the beans inside. Some of the beans inside were mature and resembled the white ones we find in cans; others, my favorites, were younger and still green, closer to peas, but with a hint of that starchy flavor. We headed to the next square over, and I saw that a kid of about 13 was selling a drink of some sort out of his family's key-making shop. Next to it was a bowl of white powder. The sign said Cebadina, and I asked him what it was. He explained that cebadina is a mix of agua de jamaica (hibiscus tea), pineapple, and raspberry juices. Then, he said, you add this (pointing at the white stuff) and it gets bubbly. I was in. He ladeled the juice, handed it to me -- who handed it to Beth so I could take a picture -- and brought up a spoonful of the fizzer. He paused and looked at us expectantly. We waited. Finally, he dumped the spoon into the drink, and I started taking pictures -- as the drink overflowed onto Beth's hands. "Drink, drink!" said the boy. So we did, and managed to deal with the overflow problem. Yummy fruity soda was what it was, and it was pretty good, too. Couldn't taste any baking soda at all.

Today was a different story. Rahel and I headed to the Sunday market not far from our apartment. There, the woman from whom I bought used clothes (I think the shirt is a common Target label), told me she got her cafe de olla from upstairs. Upstairs? Peter and I had never known! Rahel and I ventured up. We never found the cafe, but that was ok, because we found the fruits and vegetables! Meanwhile, I started to get a bit hungry. I saw a few taco stands, one that seemed particularly popular. Not sure where to sit, I must have looked indecisive, because an older man working there put together a small serving of a taco and handed it over. It tasted good -- the meat, which I thought looked like beef, was tender. I felt one thing crunch, but decided that was in the salsa he'd poured on. I asked him if this was beef? pork? and he seemed maybe not to hear me, or maybe didn't understand my accent, and waved me off with a smile. Then I spotted two stools, grabbed them, and ordered "dos mas". I had taken a couple bites, when a younger man came to clean near me. By now, there was definitely something crunchy and I was carefully feeling through the rest of the meat to pull out small spiney-looking pieces, along with anything not just looking like muscle. I asked the young man what type of meat I was eating. "Chivitas." I paused. I didn't know this word, but the first thing that popped into my imagination was guinea pig (though I also knew it wasn't that, because I know the word for guinea pig). "What's that like?" I asked. "You don't know what chivitas is?" he laughed. We all laughed. I gave him a big hammy grin and went to take another bite. We all laughed. Just then, I thought, chivitas...chivas...the futbol team!...their mascot is a goat..."Cabra?" I asked. "Si, si. Cabra."