There are literally a billion tiny restaurants and food carts in Mexico City. Rather than pick some at random to try, Stephen booked us on a food tour with ‘Culinary Backstreets,’ whose guides specialize in helping tourists like us figure out where to go and what to eat. Our guide was not gay, but he was very friendly and knowledgeable. There was another (straight) American couple on the tour and a twenty-something Australian who now lives in Philadelphia. We made eleven stops, and everything we ate and drank was interesting, if in some cases not something I needed to try again.
I set aside my ‘meat-free’ preferences for the day, which allowed me to sample the chicken enchiladas from Cochina La Abuela (Grandmother’s Kitchen), which came in a broth that made them very moist. It was only the second stop and I was getting full.
Outside, the guide led us through La Merced, which (according to Wikipedia) hosts the biggest traditional food market in Mexico City, although I’m pretty sure the guide said ‘the world.’ Like many places in Mexico City, it was endless, chaotic, and a little decrepit, but bustling with a kind of energy that’s hard to find in New York City, where everyone seems exhausted, even on Canal Street. It occurred to me that our country might be happier if everyone could spend a few days outside of the country.
Although there were ten trillion small things available to buy, the streets were relatively clean, which I attributed to the ban on single-use plastics that Mexico City enacted a few years ago. I made a note to tell everyone in the United States that laws work.
We went into an indoor market where I finally found these mop-like/wig-like things in neon orange that I’ve spent years looking for. There were so many products that were terrible and amazing. Not for the first time, I wondered how the world coped with us, by which I mean all of us.
After trying ‘the world’s best taco,’ we stopped at a fruit stand and sampled some local fruit, which was especially delicious after all the meat I had eaten.
The guide took us up a secret staircase to the second floor, where we admired murals by Grace Greenwood, one of a pair of American sisters who worked in Mexico alongside Diego Rivera. I wanted to see a Hollywood version of their lives starring Chloe Sevigny and Parker Posey.
The guide told us that the market was a bit quieter in January than usual because everyone is broke after partying so much during Christmas and New Year’s, and they need time to refresh and recoup.
We once again made our way down the Avenue of Brides, where live models tried to entice buyers into their stores.
There could be worse jobs, I thought, although I’m sure the work was hard.
We ended the tour in a private apartment owned by a mezcal company.
At first I felt a bit exploited and sleazy in a ‘product-placement’ kind of way, but I felt better when I learned that the company is employee-owned. I said nothing about my reservations because I had already subjected a few of my fellow travelers to a brief TED talk about the sad, capitalistic exploitation of community spirit that is basically ‘professional sports.’
And I felt even better after sipping five varieties of mezcal, which left me feeling more high than drunk.
