White people who don’t really know me very well like to introduce me to people they know who claim to be from Mexico City. In general, white people don’t understand that the only people who hate Mexicans more than the KKK are other Mexicans.
Most of these meets-n-greet turn into meets-n-who-the-fuck-is-this-asshole shortly after I ask [...]

Read the rest of The Stable of Mexico

No, I did not leave Mexico City without eating tacos al pastor. Yes, I will disappoint you by confessing that my favorite ones in this massive metropolitan area are the best known. (My sister, whose boyfriend exported a trompo to Puerto Rico a few months ago, is feeling shamed as I type this sentence [...]

Read the rest of The Three Kings of Tacos (Third Installment)

Allow me to explain the complete lack of activity since… well, I don’t even want to look because I will grow sad, and all those years under Quine have left me unable to channel that kind of emotion into something that will convince you that flower-slapping is the only appropriate response to me.
The central problem [...]

Read the rest of Triste

Last Sunday I left the cool comfort of the Fog Belt, looking for an acceptable approximation of a chilango Taco Al Pastor in the famously “Mexican” Mission district. I started at El Castillito (2092 Mission St.), which has a decorative pit from which no meat shall escape. The meat is closer to cochinita [...]

Read the rest of On the trail of the German Shepherd

This weekend I had a fine meal in Saratoga at The Plumed Horse (and I had a fine chuckle at the sight of white foam scum on my plate) and drank quite a bit of expensive-tasting wine, but the sensory experience I won’t forget soon is the taste of the tacos al pastor at [...]

Read the rest of Allá en la estación del Metro Balderas