It's been a long time coming, an icon of the food world, waiting in the wings for its moment. I traded my New York apartment and all the New York iconography that hit my pages, for Mexico city, or as the local cabs refer to it, CDMX (Cuidad de Mexico). In fact, I traded the whole US (more correctly put, the US denied my re-entry) for the safer, more welcoming soil of Mexico. Recently, I got married on the southwest coast of Mexico, I've spent months living in different areas of the country, and when shit hit's the fan in the US, I'm not the only one who retreats south.
Mexico City is vivacious. Mexico as a country and culture is color and taste, and it's culminated in the capitol. The creativity and culinary pursuits of the city are inspiring to say the least, and it's the food and the hand-painted signage that draw me in the most. The preparation of spit-grilled slices of marinated pork originated in CDMX, the method of preparing and cooking al pastor is based on the lamb shawarma brought by Lebanese immigrants to the region. Another story of immigrants making their mark - do you think I'm trying to make a point yet? It's the New York Slice for Mexico City.
Tacos, from my experience, are no better in Michelin stared restaurants than they are on the street, served on paper, polystyrene, or, my personal fav, the plastic bag-covered plastic plate (saves on both washing up and plate waste). Tacos are the everyman food, they're fast, rough, and sloppy, and in CDMX they're made with passion and pride. I'm in awe. I'm in awe with the taqueros, in awe of their hands, dipped, without protection, straight into the boiling oil, or flipping tortillas directly from the hot plate, fingers stained adobada red (the name of the Al Pastor marinade) playing the hot plates like the piano. It's a show, a production, an incredibly well-oiled machine (literally and figuratively), on the factory line of live, roadside taco creation, and it's never tasted so good. Here is my homage.