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Meat Streets Cover Photo

MEAT STREETS: A Rolling Steakation & Beyond

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MEAT STREETS: A Rolling Steakation & Beyond

Meat Streets Cover Photo
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

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We Had No Choice

Some things out there are pretty hard to ignore. I’m talking about the good things. Double rainbows, online videos of canine antics, Jackie Chan’s every single move in Drunken Master 2. The smell of frying bacon when you least expect it and Sam Elliott’s hair also tend to do the job. Oh, and denim-clad Mexican cowboys drinking beer and char-grilling steaks while rolling down the middle of a busy boulevard on a random Saturday night. Hard to ignore.

Flame GIF

Véro and I were walking along one of Mazatlán’s main thoroughfares one evening, just minding our own business, when something caught my eye. Ok, more like wrenched it right out of its socket, forcing multiple double takes and a full stop. Something deliciously, searingly, smokily out of place. On the other side of the busy 4-lane artery and heading in the opposite direction, a man in full cowboy regalia stood in the rear of a moving pickup-towed trailer, holding a pair of BBQ tongs and tending to some kind of improvised grill station as smoke billowed all about him and his hat. “Are you seeing this?” I asked my wife, turning to her and finding her equally stunned. “Is that guy grilling in the middle of the fucking road?”

Camaron Sabalo Street Mazatlan
Camarón Sábalo, Mazatlán. Clearly ideal grilling conditions. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

As we were trying to compute what we were witnessing and determine how many parts mirage it was, the pickup truck slowly came to a halt. A few other cowboys and cowgirls descended from the trailer and went into a convenience store while our main man stayed at his post and kept on cooking. This was our chance – there was no way we were not going to investigate.

Crossing this particular roadway can get a little Evel Knievely at times, but we knew that whatever lay on the other side would somehow be worth the close brushes with vehicular misadventure. Stealthily making our way over like Costanza with his Frogger machine but decidedly faster, we jogged up to the back of the trailer and engaged. 

“Who are you and what is this?” we demanded in Spanish, only far more politely and in entirely different words. The grilling cowboy looked down at us, smiled from ear to ear, grabbed a couple of pieces of sizzling sirloin with his tongs and offered us both a bite. 

Bbq Tongs

As we confirmed with each juicy chew that this was indeed no mirage, the convenience store faction of the group climbed back onto the trailer with fresh cases of beer. A dozen cowpeople in all, including the guy driving the pickup truck, everyone rocking denim, rootin’-tootin’ boots and hats, and the same shirt emblazoned with a name that we would very soon come to love. 

“We are the Cabalgantes de Nuevo León,” the grill meister proudly declared. “Would you care for a ride?”

As fate would have it, Véro and I didn’t have any plans, but even if we did, there was no way we were refusing this. We hopped on board, were immediately handed a couple of freakishly frosty beers – seriously, Mexico is home to the very coldest ones on Earth – and the rolling BBQ was back in gear. 

Cold cold Pacifico
Bien fría. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Alejandro is our gracious host’s name, and he explains to us that their group is part of a horseback riding organization out of Monterrey, Nuevo León (cabalgantes means “horse riders”), and they’re in town for an equestrian event that just wrapped up a few hours before. We’ve caught them in the very thick of some unsaddled revelry and well-earned kicking back, and we are most welcome to join in for as long as we like. That would be a resounding absolutamente. Alejandro offers us another delicious morsel, cryogenic beers crack open all about, someone pumps up the jam, and we’re off. 

Cabalgantes de Nuevo Léon, Monterrey, Mexico. Horseback riding.
Cabalgantes de Nuevo León, Monterrey, Mexico © Cabalgantes de Nuevo León, A.C.

Beyond Funderdome

Mazatlán is no stranger to rolling parties; in fact, they’re a municipal specialty for which the city is famous across the land. On any given night (or afternoon) of the week, at any time of the year, the roads here are a-rockin’ with an array of fiesta-friendly vehicles souped up with kaleidoscopic lights and ear-bruising sound systems, not to mention an implicit drink-‘em-if-you-got-‘em passenger policy that is happily respected by all. From the city’s legendary pulmonías (think vintage white Volkswagens that look like converted golf carts) and aurigas (red party pickups that comfortably fit a drunken family of eight) to full-on booze buses and Batman-esque ATVs, your choices here for mirthful-to-shitfaced transportation are ample. The BBQ though, that was something special.

Pulmonía de Mazatlán
Pulmonía de Mazatlán (newer generation) © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
Auriga de Mazatlán
Auriga de Mazatlán at max mirth capacity © Los Noticieristas
Pulmonías, Camarón Sábalo, Mazatlán
Did we mention some of them have super powers?© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

It was apparently a rental, along with the trailer, and was attached to the very edge of the rear, with no barrier or anything to keep you from grilling right off the back in case of an unhappy bump. A couple of times, I forgot how precariously I was positioned while watching Alejandro at work, and he softly reminded me, very possibly saving my life. As we rolled, sparks were jumping off the coals right into the windshields of motorists in our wake, all of whom seemed downright delighted with what was happening while their passengers enthusiastically aimed their phones at us. The whole scene was a little like Mad Max, only cheery and with free food. And we clearly weren’t the only ones who had never seen anything quite like it before.

Trailer grilling in Mazatlán
Rolly Rolly Rolly Alejandro © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Watching the sparks fly, I couldn’t help pointing out that in Montreal, all of this is so illegal on so many levels that it’s not even a thought. Go ahead, just try “firing up the barbie” while cruising down Sherbrooke Street standing up, let alone grilling your heart out with ten other beer-toting people looking on, not a seatbelt in sight. Good luck to you with that. At the mention of Montreal, Alejandro’s lovely wife Claudia chimed in: “Yeah, too many rules”. 

It turns out they had recently been there on holiday (had an amazing time, despite the rules), and they came back home with this one French phrase of unmistakable Montreal origin packed in their linguistic luggage:

Prochaine station, Place-des-Arts.

It’s already exceedingly rare to encounter Mexicans who have been to Montreal in this neck of the woods. To hear an imitation of the metro’s PA system on the Green Line, now that was just priceless.

Montreal Metro Map
"Prochaine station..." © STM Montréal

Fallen Steaks & Foreign Shores

A bonafide hootenanny on wheels, we’re officially truckin’. Alejandro is a meat-flipping beacon of mirth, keeping the good times rolling both inside and outside the vehicle as we go. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see him lean off the side of the trailer in an attempt to feed all his new friends in the other cars at 30 km/hr through their windows, that’s just the kind of guy he is. Thankfully, he did not try. Along the way, his cowboy hat flies off on more than one occasion and we have to stop, taking turns going to play in the traffic to fetch it or tending to the beef. One of these little hat halts ends up leading to a quick intermission of spontaneous dancing in the middle of the street. Again, for the record, other motorists loving it. 

At one point, Véro and I are asked if we want to be dropped off somewhere since we’re getting pretty far from where we got on, but if we want to continue, we’re more than welcome. Are you kidding? ¿Estás bromeando? We’re taking the gimme-danger steakmobile with the marvellous horse riders of Monterrey as far as it’ll take us.

Trailer grilling in Mazatlán
Sorry, these are the only pics we have. That kind of evening. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

The cabalgantes tell us that they’re heading back to where they’re staying for the weekend, something about a mansion that was once featured on Acapulco Shore, Mexico’s answer to Jersey Shore. We’re cordially invited, but again, if we want to get off, no problem. 

Did you say “Acapulco Shore”? Yeah, no, we ain’t budging. 

The traffic begins to thin out as we leave the main hotel district, as do the street lights. Before long, we’re on what seems to be a country road, a faint glimmer of ocean waves crashing in the dark distance to one side. All of a sudden, the aluminum pan holding the steak flies off the grill station, flipping into the night. The street meat is now quite literally in the street. We stop again to pick up the pan, climb back on and keep going, and just as we’re coming to grips with this shitty little turn of events, we finally arrive at “The Shore”. 

Uneasy Watchin’

Acapulco Shore, Mazatlán
You get the idea. © Acapulco Shore 7

Now, for those of you who have not had the misfortune, I’ve done some very brief research on the show in question to save you the pain of an actual viewing. Acapulco Shore, altogether true to the spirit of the cultural dumpster fire that inspired it, proudly keeps the cologne-and-drama-fuelled torch of its New Jersey predecessor burning bright for all to see. Based on what I managed to watch, it’s a morass of bling, cleavage and dysmorphic grooming, where scantily-clad, inebriated twenty-somethings alternate between relentless hooking up and getting in each other’s faces for reasons unwaveringly asinine. Things regularly degenerate into up-in-the-club-style, hair-pulling mayhem, and I get the feeling that no one ends up learning any lessons. Now in Spanish! Muchas gracias, Snooki.

As seen in season 7, the house is a sprawling, walled, hacienda-style building with a hint of cartel, situated right on the beach in the middle of nowhere. The overall decor is done in the seizure-inducing style of Pee-wee’s Playhouse, with plastic flora and fauna accents, randomly strewn disco balls, a basketball hoop in the kitchen, and a paint job seemingly courtesy of the Starburst candy company. There’s a fountain out front for relieving yourself when you can’t find the bathrooms, a jacuzzi out back for throwing drinks in the faces of your bikini-clad “friends”, and the pool is perfect for an all-out brawl under the glittering stars. Sleeps twelve comfortably.

Acapulco Shore house, Mazatlán
Casa de la Shore © Acapulco Shore 7

Nochépica

No, for the record, our evening was nothing like anything that ever was, is or will be featured on Acapulco Shore, or any other “Shores” for that matter. First of all, the house had obviously been jacked up for the show since there was no sign of any on-air garishness, from the ludicrous paint job to the inflatable cacti, and what we walked into was very much easy on the eyes, and the brain. Hashtag: tasteful. 

We were warmly greeted by some new cabalgantes as soon as we walked in the door, and then, no more than fifteen minutes later, a full-on feast was underway. As if the street steak wasn’t enough, we were treated to a sumptuous spread that appeared out of nowhere and even included a couple of high fives to classic Mazatlán cookery. The shrimp aguachile – ceviche’s spicier, à-la-minute cousin featuring whole raw shrimp in lime and hot pepper-infused “chile water” – was freshlicious as F&%K, and don’t get us started on the gorgeously fried, golden-gooey smoked marlin quesadillas.

Shrimp Aguachile. Aguachile de Camarón
Aguachile de Camarón © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Drinks flowed, as did the conversations, the music kicked our culos, and absolutely no one had a fistfight in the pool. As the stars twinkled away over the ocean and our heads, we danced and screamed along to the likes of No Se Va and Malumababy, somehow without ever waking up the hulking cowboy who had passed out on a patio couch almost immediately upon arrival. These were proper good times, and the cabalgantes’ casa was most definitely our casa. To make matters merrier, it turns out that one of the riders was celebrating her birthday, but while her custom-ordered cake was being carried out of the kitchen, it slipped to the floor and exploded all over the terracotta tiles. After a gasping pause, our collective reaction, including hers, was to point at it and laugh. Once the laughter subsided, only then did we bother to clean it up.

Party pastiche
Pretty on-point pastiche. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

I don’t use the term lightly: the night was epic. La noche fue épica. The hospitality we were shown was borderline tear-jerking, and every one of the cabalgantes treated us like fellow riders, albeit riders without an inkling of the required skill set. (We no lasso.) In fact, after he beyond-generously drove us all the way back home in his pickup truck later on, Alejandro took off his road-rolling Wrangler hat as we bid each other adiós and put it square on my head. Refusal of this sudden and most humbling gift was evidently impossible, and I am now looking at it as I write this. In the unlikely event that we should ever forget, a few decorative fleck-n-smears of steak grease and asphalt remain on the fine wool as little reminders of the amazing time we had that evening with our new friends. And no, I have no intention of cleaning the thing.

Stained cowboy hat
A hat to remember. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Gracias Cabalgantes, Gracias México

At the end of the night, as we made our way out the front door through a tornado of hugs, Claudia said something to us that was as sad as it was funny: “You see, we’re not murderers.” And just a few minutes earlier, another rider had sincerely thanked us for trusting them enough to tag along, let alone agree to come all the way out there, beyond the city limits. You mean there was no master plan to kidnap two unsuspecting gringos by posing as a mixed group of equestrian enthusiasts (some married to each other), lure them onto a rented trailer in the middle of the main strip with some very conspicuous barbecuing, drive them out to the previous set of an MTV reality show, ply them with more delicious homemade cooking, and then…? 

Now that’s an M.O.

Let’s just say that thanks to the always-glowing and unfailingly balanced coverage that Mexico regularly enjoys across the news media spectrum and then some, Claudia’s comment needed no explanation. We’ve all heard it before: “Mexico is dangerous”. That’s it, all you gotta know. This is the woeful extent to which far too many people are willing to think about this place we love so much. A country so vast and variegated, of such ineffable splendour, beauty and richness, and whose overwhelming majority of citizens embody the exact opposite of that sweeping statement. We’d like to think that goes without saying.

Papel picado, Mexico
Papel picado, México © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

No doubt about it, there’s some bad shit going on in this country, you have to choose your destinations and your movements wisely, and the wrong place and wrong time can happen no matter what you do. We’re not foolish enough to suggest otherwise. That said, we live in a state famous for all things narco, our place about a five-minute drive from where El Chapo was captured (again) in 2014 and a few towns over from where his son was infamously arrested last year. And we feel safer here than we ever would have believed had we put all our faith in the prevailing message. Seriously, the negative experiences we’ve had with other people over almost 2 years in Mexico can be counted on one hand, and they’re not even worth mentioning. This has been our personal experience of course, and we’re well aware that you never really know, but it needs to be said: “Mexico is dangerous” is a lamentable oversimplification.

Mexico flag map
❤️ @ The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Our new home has received us time and time again in the very same spirit as did the great Cabalgantes de Nuevo León that evening. The riders even invited us over for a part two the next day, which was going to involve a whole roasted piglet and some live banda music, but we very unfortunately couldn’t make it. As sad as that is, our night was already beyond anything we could have possibly asked for, most definitely one of the best ever. That’s right, yet another notch in the best-ever ledger, once again courtesy of Mexico. And once again, we’re somehow even more in love with this place and its people than we already were. That, dear friends, is a whole lotta love. Un montón de amor.

And all we wanted was to see if the steak man in the street was real.

The Hungry Herald Icon Lavendar

Thank you so much for reading, and if you ever happen to find yourself in Monterrey, by all means hit up the Cabalgantes de Nuevo Léon for some no-doubt unequalled equestrian escapading, hopefully some horseback hijinks, and definitely a warm welcome you won’t soon forget. Giddyup.

cabalgantesdenuevoleon.com

 

Michael Emeleus

Michael Emeleus

Michael is a freelance writer, translator, purveyor of English lessons and Tai Chi enthusiast who has been following food ever since his dad fed him caviar one Christmas when he was a toddler, and he tried to grab the spoon. He has written and translated for renowned restaurant guidebook Gault & Millau, and has dishwashed, bussed, bartended and served his way through three action-packed decades in the Montreal restaurant scene. He likes walks on the beach, the smell of gasoline and taking pictures of plants, and he is also pretty much guaranteed to order the most challenging thing on the menu.

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Peking duck meal celebrating Chinese New Year's

PEKING DUCK TALES

PEKING DUCK TALES

Peking duck meal celebrating Chinese New Year's
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

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新年快乐!
(Xīn Nián Kuài Lè! Happy New Year!)

The Water Rabbit has left the building. 

We hope it was good to you in every which way, but this is no time to live in the past, people – a new boss is in office. Thus, in the name of celestial succession, The Hungry Herald would now like to bid a warm and eager welcome to the mighty Wood Dragon, wishing one and all a 2024 bursting at the scales with such dragonly signatures as good fortune, prosperity, strength and power – in other words, get ready for a whole lotta 太好了!(Tài hǎo le = 👍👍!). The wood element brings with it a creative, innovative and nurturing energy, combining beautifully with the dragon’s natural courage and ambition, making this year a perfect time to embark on some serious inner and outer growth journeying. So ready your arts and ready your spirits, this is bound to get interesting. 

Chinese New Year 2024 Year of the Dragon
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

To celebrate the Chinese zodiac’s only cloud-breathing mystical creature in the proper regal style it deserves, we can think of few better offerings than to turn your attention to that most festive, elaborate, sumptuous creation, once a dish reserved for emperors, now available without a 24-hour notice: the altogether magical Peking duck. To kick things off, we would like to now rewind a couple of dragons (that’s 24 years by lunar calendar metrics) and take you all the way back to the sunset of the last century. The year of The Matrix, 1999. 

1999
What do you see? © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Y2K, Szechuan Style

Some strange days they were. Michael Jordan decided to retire for the second time, kids were robbing each other for Pokémon cards, the Quebec ice storm was still echo-cracking away in our collective mind, and the talk of the town the world over was a new monster of a digital kind lurking right around the corner. Something about a seemingly ridiculous computer formatting oversight that was eventually going to have people eyeing their living room ceilings on New Year’s Eve 2000, worried a jumbo jet might come crashing on through. This all made it a little harder to party like it was 1999, just as Prince had intended, but we did what we could.

Y2K was super underwhelming it turns out; living room ceilings remained perfectly intact, while Windows 98 and Internet Explorer 5 continued operating and browsing relatively unscathed and unbugged. The whole thing kind of ended up being an abstract, lukewarm relief, but I really couldn’t be bothered by the zeroes and ones of it all anyway. I was too busy shovelling General Tao. Lots of General Tao. 

Ok, things were actually a little more glamorous than that. Waiting tables and banquets at Montreal’s premier Szechuan restaurant at the time, I was dishing out deliciousness to be-jewelled and be-cufflinked local nobility and a globe-jetting set of who’s whos just passing through town, out and about and hungry for Hunan. Dumplings that is, and the best ones anywhere, bar none. The peanut sauce alone bordered on controlled-substance classification, and the dumplings were snuggly pouches of pork-filled joy. Don’t get me started.

Hunan Dumplings Peanut Butter Sauce
Hunan Dumplings © The Healthy Foodie. All rights reserved.

Strange Writings & Good Bad Words

The lone non-Asian waiter on staff and affectionately referred to as “guai lo”, or “ghost person” — not as offensive as it may sound but it can be, depending on who might be speaking and how they feel about you — I graduated to waiterdom from busboy through the rite of passage of having to learn to write the menu in Chinese. To be fair, they gave me an alternate, dumbed-down version of approximated characters to memorize, but still, when you’re “in the juice” and frantically scribbling what someone has told you means moo shu pork but not really, you might get the sweats. Seriously, I technically had no idea what I was sending to the kitchen; for all I knew, I was ordering moussaka with a side of onion rings and a bowl of Cheerios. Nevertheless, I always got what I asked for.

Moo Shu Pork
The Real Moo Shu © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Seeing the intentness with which I wrote orders down, every now and then a client would jokingly ask if I was writing in Chinese. After the yes, they would invariably want to see my pad. Always a fun moment, and I would then often get asked what part of China I was from. “The North,” was my go-to reply. Got a table-wide laugh almost every time. 

I was quickly adopted into the fold by my colleagues, in no small part thanks to my already being armed with a grenade box of the foulest Cantonese words and expressions out there, something I had acquired working as a dishwasher at a previous Chinese restaurant. It would seem that cursing out my colleagues in their native tongue on my first few shifts did untold and immediate wonders for my workplace relationships. I colourfully insulted them and their families, they responded in kind, and bonds were somehow forged. Who knew that all you needed to open hearts and minds was just a little bit of “diu lei!” and a dash of “pok kai!” (I cordially invite you to look these up). Seriously though, nothing but respect for those guys, my mentors forever.

The Red Pepper

Le Piment Rouge logo
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Le Piment Rouge. What a place. Mrs. Mah, the legendary, award-winning restaurateur behind it all, had painstakingly created an experience that was as delectable as it was transportive over a twenty-year period, to countless accolades. It was like being whisked away to a sorta Ming dynasty for an evening, but with modern fixtures, valet parking, Amex Black Cards and maybe Paul Newman at the other end of the dining room. The ornate vases and exotic fresh flowers, the chandeliers, the occasional live erhu music, the twenty-foot-high glass wine cellar like a twinkling, crystal monolith in our midst, the sesame beef. That’s right, more crack. 

The Szechuan shrimp was all sizzlingly sinful and dressed up in red, the ma-po was ma-perfect, and the Peking-style spare ribs rightfully ribdiculous (one celebrity client – let’s call him Forest Whitaker – would happily confirm that last one if I had his number). The crispy spinach – at that time something of a novelty – was like sugary fried money and a guaranteed smile-inducer, while anything involving a noodle wound its way right around your heart. And the aforementioned General Tao was some of the best I’ve ever had, always served with a stern warning from the waiters to watch out for those roasted (be careful!) chile peppers. 

General Tao Le Piment Rouge Tastet
General Tao at Le Piment Rouge © Tastet. All rights reserved.

They did indeed pack a punch, but that was nothing compared to being in the kitchen when a lone cook would dry-roast them in a wok between services, usually with a cigarette hanging at the edge of his lips. Fume-wise, to be anywhere near this event was akin to spraying Easy-Off right down your throat, but the cook in question was always, amazingly, totally unfazed. And yes, I said cigarette. Again, this was 1999, and not only were the chefs smoking like it was indeed going out of style, but one of our now-unbelievable service tasks in those days was changing ashtrays in that fantastical little place we once called the smoking section. The very stuff of smooth, full-flavoured, filtered legend.

Hot pepper
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Ok, back to the food. Everything that came out of that kitchen was on point, wok-tossed into being by a squadron of the city’s finest, every one of them a machine, some not so lean. Although the banquets often featured dishes like crispy suckling pig, sea cucumber and shark fin soup – I know, I know – the menu was admittedly catered to a non-Chinese audience for the most part (did I mention the General Tao?). The meals we enjoyed behind the scenes, however, were as authentic as can be. A bowl of barbecued duck hearts at the kitchen pass was a regular snack while working, and the staff meals were often delectable forays into the unsung backstreets of Cantonese cuisine. Some tasty shifts I had.

Tableside Hand-Eye

Our service was delicate, deft, discreet and attentive. Except for that time my colleague spilled a tray of 11 bottles of Tsingtao beer onto a single Japanese ambassador before a dozen of his shocked colleagues at lunchtime. We comped his meal and footed his dry cleaning bill of course, but such soaking shame in a suit I have never seen since. 

Tsingtao Beer
Sailing the Tsingtao Seas © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

The way things normally went was far more suave. Unlike at your average Chinese restaurant, rather than putting the dishes in the middle of the table and letting lazy Susan do her thing, we served each and every client around the table individually, carefully depositing their desired portion into their plate, using a fork and spoon as tongs. Noodles were pretty tricky, but the dish that really showcased our CAA-4-Diamond-caliber hand-eye coordination was none other than our crazy delicious, glazed bird-in-a-blanket of the hour, Peking duck.

Using two spoons in one hand and one in the other, we would spread a dollop of homemade sweet bean sauce on each fluffy crepe fresh from its bamboo steamer, follow that up with tender, perfectly sliced duck and its lovingly lacquered skin, add in some julienne of cucumber and scallions, and then roll those suckers up as our clients looked on. It was a brief tableside performance that always had me feeling a little proud while drooling on the inside; although in the spirit of full disclosure, I actually prefer the store-bought Hoisin sauce to the homemade stuff. Please don’t tell Mrs. Mah.

Hoisin Sauce
This stuff. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

WTD?!

I had been a huge fan of Peking duck since it first knocked me on my ass when I was a kid, and to be so close to it on a regular basis, whether rolling it up at dinner time or seeing it hanging in the kitchen after hours, behind the scenes and in all of its glazed glory, was a treat that really took me back. That first time I had it was both a dreamlike and pivotal experience, and I would every now and then reminisce on it while going about my work.

rolled side table
Wrap Music © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

About a decade earlier, on a visit with family in Toronto and on our way out for Chinese food, much ado was being made about this very special dish we were to enjoy, one that had to be ordered 24 hours in advance for some arcane reason. The only thing I was more fascinated by than the prep time was the fact that a single duck was responsible for what turned out to be three magnificent courses. We had the Peking duck works that evening: the duck bone soup with cabbage and soft tofu, the stir fry with mixed vegetables, and, of course, the pièce de résistance, the crepes. Let’s just say that a little mind was blown to Peking smithereens that night. These were some of the very best things that had ever passed over my teeth, and as my palate was going super-sonic, I wondered how and why I was only now being made aware of the existence of this dish. What the D&#K?! How long had this been going on, exactly? 

800 years it turns out, give or take. 

A Slow Roast Through Time

duck painting
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Let’s now jump back a whole bag of dragons, straight on down to the 13th century. First of all, let it be known that “Peking duck” is something of a misnomer. Although roast duck has been around since at least the 400s in China, the first mention of this particular dish appeared in a 1275 depiction of daily life in Hangzhou, a town close to Shanghai. Originally a type of street food sold door-to-door, the dish eventually became a specialty in nearby Nanjing, the first capital of the Ming dynasty (1368-1644). When the capital moved from Nanjing to Peking (Beijing) in the early 1400s, the ducks came along too, so to speak, getting themselves upgraded over the years to better suit the recipe. It was in Ming dynasty imperial kitchens that Peking duck took the elaborate form that we know and love today, and court chefs would eventually breed a special, white-feathered variety of duck that was perfect for the dish, prized for its crispy-conducive thin skin as well as its tenderific flesh.

Peking Duck
Hang Time © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Preparing Peking duck for roasting in the classic way is a painstaking process, hence the famous 24-hour advance notice. Once the plump duck is plucked, cleaned out and rinsed with water, air is pumped under the skin in order to separate it from the fat. It is then blanched with boiling water and then hung up to dry, which tightens the skin and encourages eventual crispiness. While hanging, it gets lacquered with maltose syrup to bring on that beautiful mahogany colour and then rinsed again inside with boiling water or broth. Next, a second layer of glaze is applied, combined with a five-spice-based marinade, and the duck is left to itself for 24 hours in a cool, dry place. From what I’ve seen, this can mean hanging in a specially designated ventilated room as much as it can mean dangling from a ceiling pipe by a coat hanger. Whatever works, I suppose. One full day and a few games of pai gow later (think Chinese dominoes), and we’re ready to roast.

qaQ
Pai Gow © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Back in Nanjing, the duck was cooked in a men lu, a square, closed brick oven in which chefs would light a fire in the middle with sorghum straw and let it burn down to smouldering embers, roasting large batches by convection, the meat and fat combining for some very juicy and very tender final results. Later, during the Qing dynasty (1644-1911/12), a new oven hit the scene in Beijing: the gua lu, or “hanging oven”. This technique, developed for the Peking duck-happy Qing imperial family by chefs in the Forbidden City, allowed for ducks to be cooked carefully, precisely and to order as they hung openly on hooks in the intense heat of a fruitwood fire, the chef adjusting each one with a pole as it roasted to perfection. This would end up becoming the premier approach to cooking Peking duck, yielding a crispy skin that has been melting knees for centuries, my knees among them.

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Crispy skin, dipped in sugar. Insane. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Go To The Source

Back in 2012, I had the infinitely great fortune of spending a summer semester studying in Beijing. Our classes included intensive Mandarin, Chinese cinema (syllabus mainly consisting of the Ip Man movie franchise) and a “culture” class which felt more like a not-so-secretly recorded survey of foreign outlooks on contemporary Beijing society (“How would you better our transport system?” was one of several off-putting questions we were presented with).  Whether or not the ceiling camera at the back of the room moved a couple of times still remains a mystery, shrouded in a haze of cheap baijiu hangovers. Good times. 

Between and after classes, my most excellent roommate and I tended to venture off campus in search of wonderful things to eat, and we were never let down. That said, our visit to Wangfujing “Snack Street” – a long alley of kiosks selling everything from tarantulas to “stinky tofu”, all to snack on as the name suggests – was admittedly a little much. The giant grubs were exactly what you think, the starfish should only be eaten under extreme duress, and the deep-fried scorpion skewers were the perfect combination of crispy, battery-acid mouthfeel and fear. We recommend the grilled snake, though. 

wangfujing snack street
Snack Street Scorpions. Just so you know, they're alive. Pre-fry. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Véro came to join me in Beijing at the end of my semester and I brought her over to “Snack Street” one day. In the scorching middle of July. She’s a brave one, but with one whiff, she turned to me and asked if I was happy that I had visited with my friend back in the spring. I said yes. “Good,” she replied. We then quietly walked away.

(Editor’s note: Snack Street is a celebrated Beijing destination and definitely worth the visit. Maybe just skip it when the temperature is above 40ºC.)

Wood-fired Revelations

On one of our days off, my roommate and I decided it was high time for some of the city’s signature 北京烤鸭 (Běijīng kǎoyā – literally “Beijing roast duck”). The dish is one of the capital’s prides and joys and choices are aplenty, some legendary. World-famous duck hub Quanjude, for instance, opened its doors in 1864 and has been going strong ever since; it was one of the first establishments to bring the dish from the palace to the masses, originally staffed by a team of former court chefs. If that isn’t mileage enough, another institution, Bianyifang, traces its history back to a small tavern that opened in 1416 – as in 1416!! As remarkable as that is, fate would bring us to another place, and there would be no looking back.

Li Qun
Welcome to Li Qun © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Li Qun Roast Duck Restaurant is a humble – some would say ramshackle – little spot nestled somewhere in the centuries-old hutongs, warrens of enchanting residential alleyways frozen in time, now thankfully protected emblems of the very heart of Old Beijing. One of them is over 900 years old, to give you an idea. Getting lost along the way is a guarantee, but, with the help of some duck graffiti on the alley walls to point the way, and the heavenly smell of firewood roastiness hanging in the hutong air, you’ll get there.

Upon arrival at this family-run restaurant tucked away in an old courtyard, the big pile of fruitwood logs out front lets you know you’re in the right place. Inside, the first thing to meet your eyes is an open gua lu (remember, “hanging oven”) in front of which a chef is hard at work in a small valley of logs, roasting and adjusting a row of hanging ducks with a long metal pole. This is about as low-tech as it gets, and for a moment, you could easily mistake the century you’re in. 

Roasted Peking Duck
Gua Lu View © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

After having been greeted by the legendary and super-friendly owner, Zhang Liqun, we sat down and took in the cozy yet bustling, no-nonsense surroundings and checked out the menu. We of course knew what we were getting, but next time, I’m definitely trying the duck heart with alcoholic fire. For obvious reasons. 

At Li Qun, there’s no need to order in advance as the ducks are pretty much an endless, full-time occurrence, so we just went ahead and ordered one, done with all the trimmings, house style. The soup, the crispy duck on the bone, the side dishes, I could go on and on, so let’s just cut straight to the meat. The overall tenderness as well as the perfect skin were beyond (no glaze involved – please see video down below), but the clincher was the flavour. The fruitwood – that includes apricot, jujube, pear and peach; don’t ask me in what order or measures – lent a fragrant depth to the meat that had us simply nodding in agreement the entire time. With each bite, we understood why this cooking technique has remained virtually untouched for centuries. This, dear friends, was a whole new bird. Every Peking duck I had ever had was cooked in a gas or electric oven, and I’m here to remind everyone, once again, what Postal Employee Newman told us all those years ago:

“It’s the wood that makes it good.” Especially the fruity stuff. 

Peking Pato

Peking duck has followed us everywhere over the years, or rather we’ve followed it. We discovered our favourite Chinese restaurant in Montreal, Mon Nan, almost twenty years ago simply because we found out that they were serving it with no need to reserve in advance (they got lotsa birds). One of the very best Peking ducks in town, hands down, and it just so happens that the rest of the menu is off the hanging hook as well. Try their salt and pepper egg tofu – little silken discs of pure, heaven-fried flavour (and if you don’t like tofu, doesn’t matter, just shut up and order it. You’ll thank us later).   Oh, and their Cantonese-style ginger lobster? You’ll thank us forever.

Mon Nan Montreal Chinatown
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

 

One place we did not expect Peking duck to show up was in our new home, Mazatlán, Mexico. As much as we love pretty much everything about this town, the one thing we persistently miss is quality, authentic Chinese food. Virtually non-existent. There are, however, some unexpected little sparks here and there. Nao Kitchen Bar is just such a spark. In this sleek, charming little eatery in the city’s enchanting old quarter, award-winning Mazatleca chef Andrea Lizárraga fuses pan-Asian cuisine with a Sinaloan spirit for outright brilliant results. We’ll be looking more closely at this amazing chef and the magic she makes in the near future, but for now, there’s just one thing we have to say. Peking duck tacos.

Nao Kitchen Bar Mazatlán
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Our search for these actually goes way back. There’s a taquería that set up shop in Montreal’s Chinatown years ago, La Capital Tacos, the first non-Asian restaurant in the neighbourhood that we know of. On one of our visits, while sipping on mezcal with a side of fried crickets and orange slices, appreciating the little nods here and there to the location like the old-school Chinatown plateware, I realized there was something missing. Wouldn’t it be amazing if they offered a Peking duck taco as the ultimate nod to the history of their digs? Their tacos are great and they have the luxury of proper roast duck suppliers all around them; seemed so perfect that I couldn’t believe it wasn’t on the menu. Still isn’t. Probably should have said something back then, but La Capital, if you’re listening, DO IT! Chef Lizárraga has, and it’s exactly what I imagined: perfectly executed Peking duck in a tortilla. Dios mío, say no more. Wait till we tell you about the rest of that menu. Some other time, though. 

And They Call It Ducky Love

Chinese New Year Year of the Dragon Lucky Envelope
Peking Luck © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Nothing brings people together quite like Peking duck. A ridiculous meal to eat alone, it is an event that needs to be shared, defying partakers to somehow not enjoy. The proceedings, the undeniable deliciousness, the tableround mirth it always brings; when it comes to festive foods, this dish is a proper slam dunk. Seriously, I’ve never heard of anyone trying the stuff and not loving it. From friends and family to Nixon to Castro to Kublai Khan, it’s one giant YES. Some things just have that kind of sweeping appeal. Sort of like dining on Bob Marley’s discography rolled up with Hoisin sauce. If you haven’t noticed, I remain smitten.

Before we go, I have to say that those tacos got me thinking. P-duck potential seems to me woefully untapped. There are some moves being made out there, some less ducky than others (KFC recently teamed up with Australian electronic music duo Peking Duk to create the Peking Cluk burger, with chicken instead…), but when it comes to finding places to hide this heavenliness, I say we can do a heck of a lot better. I’m not just talking Peking duck dogs (PDDs), but what about souvlaki, shawarma, calzones, samosas, pierogies, knishes, Finnish karjalanpiirakka, some kind of Wellington? I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for a whole new season of exciting adventures. With extra sauce.   

Tune in next time for more Peking Duck Tales…

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© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
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恭喜发财! (Gōng Xǐ Fā Cái! – May you have a prosperous New Year!) Thank you so much for reading, and may the Wood Dragon breathe great cumulonimbus clouds of good fortune for you and yours, the whole year through! 

再见!(Zài Jiàn!)  See you soon!

Bonus Bite: As a sort of mouthwatering little audio/visual loot bag, we’d like to leave you with this video below about Li Qun Roast Duck Restaurant and the story behind it. Please enjoy.

Michael Emeleus

Michael Emeleus

Michael is a freelance writer, translator, purveyor of English lessons and Tai Chi enthusiast who has been following food ever since his dad fed him caviar one Christmas when he was a toddler, and he tried to grab the spoon. He has written and translated for renowned restaurant guidebook Gault & Millau, and has dishwashed, bussed, bartended and served his way through three action-packed decades in the Montreal restaurant scene. He likes walks on the beach, the smell of gasoline and taking pictures of plants, and he is also pretty much guaranteed to order the most challenging thing on the menu.

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CASANOVA CAFE La Paz Mexico - Cover Photo

A NEW CASANOVA

A NEW CASANOVA

CASANOVA CAFE La Paz Mexico - Cover Photo
Casanova Coffee House, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS

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Casanova por Dentro © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Another Magic Meeting

So there we were, standing in the very eye of Hurricane Sergio, knee-deep in new knowledge while the grandmaster of Gratitude rained fresh bolts of caffeinated facts onto our heads from his cosmic bag of roasted thunderbeans. It was an epic afternoon. (If you have no idea what the macchiato-hell I’m talking about, we recommend you first enjoy our last post, Beans of Light, to infuse this reading with a little added richness and complexity. Go ahead, we’ll be here when you get back.)

At one point during our interview with the owner and head roaster of Gratitude Coffee Makers, he broke out a portable Delter press, brewed up some of his favourite beans  — while of course geekifying on temperature control and fusion points — and then poured out three little cups for us to sample. One for Vee, one for me, and one for a young man seated behind us who had quietly entered the coffee shop just a few minutes earlier. We had figured him for a client at first, but his keen interest in everything going on, as well as this invitation to join us in the dégustation, suggested there was perhaps something else afoot.

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Definitely. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

The three of us kick back together, sniffysipping away at Sergio’s sweet Sarchimor while striking up a conversation and exchanging impressions (nutty notes, cocoa, maybe even a smidgen of cannabis…) Fernando is our new acquaintance’s name, it turns out, and he tells us that it’s his day off and he just wanted to drop in on his friend, mentor and the man who makes his coffee shop’s special house blend. “Oh, are you a barista?” we ask. He is, he tells us, at a nearby café that he owns and runs. “Wait, what? How old are you?”

When I said young man, I meant young man. He tells us he’s twenty. 

So, when I was twenty, my chief preoccupations were things like John Frusciante’s first solo album and hitchhiking my way to the sands of Tofino for some frolicking fun in the psilocybin sun. The very last thing on my mind was starting my own business, let alone running it successfully. It should be noted that as I write this, there’s a good chance that Fernando is now 21. Ok fine. So when I was 21, my interests included drinking ale like a mountain troll and creating hard-listening soundscapes on handheld microcassette recorders for pure sonic shits and giggles. Again, no business. 

Already very impressed, we ask Fernando which café he owns in town. Casanova, he tells us, a block from the Malecón. “Wait, you own that place?!”

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Yup, that place. @ The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

There Is A House…

Walking along Mutualismo street in the Zona Central of La Paz one sunny afternoon two months earlier, Vee and I were halted in our tracks by a singular building that pretty much tractor-beamed us toward it with its unignorably heavy charm. To our delight, it turns out it was a coffee house, and the house itself was unlike any other in the area. Standing alone beneath a twinkling grove of soft-swaying palms, it looked like it had been there long before its neighbours, giving off some easy-on-the-eye rustic village vibes that had us thinking of a couple of cafés we had visited in Estonia years ago. We wanted in. There was just one problem: Closed on Mondays. It was a Monday. 

We had made a mental note of the place, but somehow just never ended up going (and it was always a maldito Monday whenever we happened to pass by). It was just sad. And now here we were, our second-to-last day in La Paz, chatting with the soft-spoken, unassuming young entrepreneur behind it all, whose passion, knowledge and total sweetness were increasingly winning us over as we spoke. Vee and I once again silently agreed: here’s a guy who knows his shit, and we wanted to find out more. Perhaps we could make a last-minute visit before leaving town to continue our chat and do a little brain-picking of the barista kind? The immediate invitation from Fernando came as cordially as it did enthusiastically. 

Casanova, here we come.

VideoCapture 20240117 164001
Corner Coffee © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Splendigs

There really is nothing like a great café. The coziness, the toastiness, the grinding beans and turning pages, kindled brains and meeting minds. At the centre of it all: the froth-taming, crema-weaving coffee smiths who do justice to those splendid Italian names up on the board one perfect cup at a time. There’s something that crackles in the air of a proper coffee house, something that enwraps, enlivens, feels ripe with potential and smells wicked good. These are places where ideas spark, dreams take form, plans get made and the conversation flows – places that just seem to bring out the better in us. And Casanova Coffee House is most definitely such a one.

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Barista Rincón © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

In terms of aesthetics, what’s promised on the outside here is more than delivered within. 

The place is one big snuggle for the eyes: deep wood tones, brick and stone, kissed about by the sea breeze and sunbeams coming in through cottage windows and open doors. With its comfortable, spacious seating, country-style coffee nook and bar, once-upon-a-loft cathedral ceiling in dark timber, not to mention some clutch feng shui flowing right on through, everything here conspires to make you just not want to leave. It was clear to us as soon as we walked in that the tractor beam doesn’t end at the front door, and we weren’t going anywhere. Fernando later tells us that the overall feel he was going for was that of a “cozy house”. Mission fully accomplished, dear sir. 

VideoCapture 20240117 163949
Follow the Chi © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Full Of Beans

Pretty much immediately upon arrival, Vee and I just know that this is a good idea. We exchange warm greetings with Fernando and go straight into coffee talk as if our conversation from the day before had never ended. We haven’t even sat down and we’re already discussing comparative bean acidity, the beauty of the honey process, the different local roasters he works with (Gratitude obviously included), as well as the surprisingly enjoyable barnyard aromas that heavily fermented coffee can emit. We teach Fernando a new French term: “cul de vache” – cow’s ass. He giggles knowingly. This is gonna be fun.

VideoCapture 20240117 163341
Wait'll you get a sniff o' this. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Before we know it, we have coffee in hand, me sipping away at a fantastic espresso brewed with their house blend – courtesy of Gratitude – and Vee falling steamily in love with a dirty chai latte made with Fernando’s own experimental spice mix (“dirty” since it’s made with coffee instead of tea, not for any other reason… Shame on you). Meanwhile, our host is giving us a tour of his wares and breaking out a variety of beans for us to sniff with the infectious enthusiasm of a prodigy guitarist showing us his collection of Gibsons and Fenders.

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Sneaky Sweets © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

As we finally sit down to a beautiful little spread of sweet things he sneakily conjured up – including a guava cheesecake that has Vee now mildly freaking out – Luis Fernando Mendoza Escobedo begins telling us his story, taking us all the way back to when he was 16. As in, like, 5 years ago. Give or take.

Casanova, Take 1

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Fernando in The House © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

“I’ve always been a barista at Casanova,” Fernando says with a laugh. Some blessed people find what they love to do very early on, and let’s just say that this young man took the espresso lane. He began his work life as a barista at another Casanova, his family’s previous coffee shop he ended up running with his mother, and he was hooked right away. Although there wasn’t really a demand for specialty coffee and skilled baristas in La Paz at the time, this was a direction Fernando was itching to explore as far as it would take him. Like Sergio, he followed that feeling with copious research, reading whatever coffee-related materials he could get his hands on and taking courses while working his skills. It certainly paid off, because he now regularly gets asked if he gives courses of his own, something he would love to do, but this new Casanova is a baby that requires the all of him until further notice.

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Casanova, Para Llevar © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Although Casanova 1 was a thriving coffee shop with a mutually beneficial relationship with a nearby hotel, Fernando and his mother ended up having to close its doors due to a very sudden eviction that came about through no fault of their own. To make matters worse, his mother fell gravely ill at the time and had to be hospitalized for a few months, and Fernando found himself needing to take things real seriously, real fast. Such a situation would have sent most people his age along a decidedly different path, but the entrepreneurial barista wunderkind in him wasn’t about to change course. With his mother’s blessing and full confidence, as well as the help of a network of friends and allies, Fernando set forth to build a whole new Casanova in a whole new place on the other side of town. And I mean build.

Total Rehaul

Admiring everything around us, we ask Fernando what his main challenges were in making it all happen. You mean aside from the fact that the building was ancient and decrepit and required a complete rewiring and renovation of the interior, leaving nothing but the floors, the stone walls and a brick arch? Piece of guava cheesecake. That includes absolutely everything we see made of wood, he humbly adds. “So you’re telling me that wasn’t there?” I ask, pointing to the gorgeous, rustic cathedral ceiling in all of its bygone-attic chic. Nope. And here I was thinking they had just spruced it up to its previous storied glory. Turns out the glory is just a few months old. 

IMG 8241
Good Renovations © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Speaking of wood, one of the few remnants of what once was is a wood-burning pizza oven (the place was previously a pizzeria), a serious bonus that Fernando was not about to let go to waste. I tell him that where we’re from, those things can only be grandfathered in, which is exceedingly rare, so if you got one, definitely jump on it. Although Mexico is far more liberal on the charcoal/wood-smoke front, this was serendipitous nonetheless, and Casanova proudly – and wisely – offers a selection of wood-fired pizzas on its menu. Next time we go, we’re definitely trying the Hawaiian, not to mention their mouthwatering breakfast and brunch offerings, and as many more desserts, pastries – basically anything baked – that we can possibly get our hands on. All of it freshly made in-house, for the delectable record. 

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Check out the specials! © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Fernando tells us that his mother, who is now thankfully back in good health, allowed him complete creative freedom in everything from look to layout to logo. So yeah, it’s all him. Love that logo by the way, a clear-cut meta image of a corner of the building itself that reminds us of where we are while celebrating it at the same time. Looking around, Vee and I find ourselves bursting with pride and we hardly even know the young man. We can just imagine how his mother feels.

V60, In Bloom

The time eventually comes, and we knew that it would, when Fernando goes full-throttle science on our asses. He grabs some freshly ground micro-lot Huatusco coffee from Finca Corahe in Veracruz (prepared by beloved local roasters, Docecuarenta), a natural and honey-processed, anaerobically fermented mélange of Caturra and Garnica varietals grown at 1400 meters above sea level. He places a glass coffee pot fitted with a plastic grooved drip cone onto a Hario scale and then scoops 20 grams of ground beans into a pre-soaked paper filter (pre-soaked to remove any potential paper taste.) Picking up a gooseneck kettle in which he has prepared 300 grams of precisely heated water, he carefully begins to pour.

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Weights & Measures & Micro-lot © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

This is the V60 method, he tells us, while spiralling the water in with some totally Taichi fluidity and intent. It’s a hallowed technique in the realm of taking your coffee dead seriously, one that yields a super-clean cup where the subtlest tasting notes come racing up to the fore and smack you right in the flavour bone. He explains that the grooves in the filter –  inclined at 60 degrees – create pasillos, little corridors that allow for more oxygen flow and optimize extraction. His first pour is exactly 45 grams of water, just enough to initiate that lovely little thing known as the bloom.

A Bloomin’ Sidebar

For those unfamiliar, blooming is basically pre-wetting your ground beans with hot water and letting them sit for a moment before continuing with your extraction, a step that any pour-over aficionado is most unlikely to skip. It’s kind of like stretching the coffee before working it out, opening it up so that its flavour potential is given every possible opportunity to flex and shine. As with any food that browns under high temperatures, roasted coffee is jam-packed with all kinds of deliciousness thanks to the sugar-and-protein shuffle ‘n shake known as the Maillard reaction. One offshoot of this, however, is a buildup of CO2 in the beans, which interferes with the brewing water getting in and grabbing all the yummers that it should. Wetting the beans beforehand essentially degasses them, something you can actually see as the water giggles and foams when it hits the coffee. Once the party settles down, your water won’t be fighting the farty fight against escaping CO2, and extraction can go ahead, unfettered and unflatulent.

daisy blooming

Cuppa Calculation

As Fernando pours away once the blooming is done, he introduces us to the vital importance of coffee-to-water ratios, the most common being 1g of coffee to 15g of water, hence the 20:300 ratio at hand. Like so much in the highly experimental barista borderlands, such rules can be bent, but they are nevertheless quite golden should you ever lose your way. Once upon a time, Fernando was having trouble getting the flavours he was after from a batch of Jiribilla beans (a renowned Mexico City-based roastery he also proudly showcases), so he called up Sergio. The very first things the master wanted to know: “How are your ratios?” and “What about your bloom?” A little adjustment later, problem solved.

Sparkles
Pour-over Magic, Fernando Style © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

For Fernando, “coffee is experimentation”, and he finds very obvious joy in constantly calibrating, constantly looking for those optimal levels he’s after. He’s a true technician and coffee is his medium, Casanova his workshop. One of his plans, he tells us, is to accrue a sweet collection of different types of brewing gear and just try stuff out, tinkering and tweaking away while sharing the unconventional and exciting results with his clients. This is how great things happen, and Fernando has innovator written all over him.

3rd Wave, 4th Wave, 5th Wave, Casanova Wave. Don’t be surprised.

Just before the coffee’s ready, Fernando fits in one last geek attack, messing with our already limited understanding of extraction. He explains to us that you can actually program the flavour profile of a brew containing two different roasts using two water temperatures in the same coffee bed. Specifically, you can combine a light and dark roast, both with their own infusion points, and then administer two separate pours at differing heats, the waters targeting each bean individually for a unified flavour experience. We’re still wrapping our heads around that one. The bloom, the ratios, the temperature and timing; as Vee says, it’s like turning one big radio dial and deciding which flavour station you want to tune into.

Radio bean button
Radio JAVA © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Zen & The Art Of Coffee Loving

The whole time our coffee is taking form before us, we find ourselves increasingly relaxed. There’s just something about Fernando’s all-around approach: something soft, meditative, incisive – a methodical and clarifying energy one would expect from a bona fide tea ceremony. When all is said and poured over, and the science has done its thing, together we sip. Vee begins excitedly listing off aromas and flavours she’s detecting, from cocoa, dark cherries and rose petals, to cedarwood and pine planks. Fernando lights up at all of this, completely absorbed and focused between sniffs. “I really like it,” he softly comments, a seemingly simple statement, no doubt containing worlds.

More Beans Of Light

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Sunbeams & Sea Breeze © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Mondays aren’t so bad, it turns out. If it weren’t for Mondays, we never would have met Fernando the day before, who had decided to spend his precious time “off” with his peers at Gratitude; he actually ended up lending them a hand to close up shop after we left. The passion – there’s really no better word for it – that we had witnessed over the past 24 hours coming out of these two mutually supportive operations has irrevocably marked us, and looking back, we get jolts of inspiration every time. These guys probably have no idea the effect they’ve had, so it bears repeating: lightworkers also work with beans, it would seem. And Fernando is yet another beaming example.   

Sitting back and enjoying our host’s masterfully rendered cup, I’m reminded of something Sergio had said about the interconnectivity and teamwork involved in the Mexican producer/roaster/barista chain. The producer has the power to grow great coffee, and if they do that, the roaster can roast great coffee, and then it’s up to the barista to brew great coffee. Obvious enough, yet no so obviously realized. 

Watching Fernando at work, at the end of that beautiful chain and in this new Casanova he has built, we hope that he’s as proud as we are, because he should be. From floor to ceiling to cheesecake to dirty latte, everything in this magical little coffee shop (and that includes the amazing staff by the way!) is a shining link that makes every other link in the chain shine in turn. And it all began with one teenager’s love for brewing a bean, all those years ago.

2018, was it?

CASANOVA CAFE La Paz Mexico - Cover Photo
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Location

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Thank you so much for reading! Be sure to check out Casanova’s Facebook and Instagram pages to find out more about the great things that Fernando and his kickass team are up to. And if you’re ever in La Paz, be double-shot-Nutella-Latte sure (yup, on the menu) to drop by and pay these wonderful peeps a visit. If you find yourself staying for way longer than you originally intended, that’s very much Fernando’s doing; consider yourself warned. 

¡Gracias a Fernando y a todo el equipo de Casanova por una visita realmente espléndida, y esperamos verles más pronto que tarde!

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Michael Emeleus

Michael Emeleus

Michael is a freelance writer, translator, purveyor of English lessons and Tai Chi enthusiast who has been following food ever since his dad fed him caviar one Christmas when he was a toddler, and he tried to grab the spoon. He has written and translated for renowned restaurant guidebook Gault & Millau, and has dishwashed, bussed, bartended and served his way through three action-packed decades in the Montreal restaurant scene. He likes walks on the beach, the smell of gasoline and taking pictures of plants, and he is also pretty much guaranteed to order the most challenging thing on the menu.

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GRATITUDE CAFÉ facade La Paz Mexico Baja California Sur

BEANS OF LIGHT

BEANS OF LIGHT

GRATITUDE CAFÉ facade La Paz Mexico Baja California Sur
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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Videos: "Beans Of Light", Parts One & Dos

“Gratitude,” she said to him one morning out of the blue.

“Gratitude?” he asked, perplexed. “Gratitude what?” 

“That’s the name.”

Coffee Bean - Beans Of Light Gratitude Coffee Makers

Sergio and Gloria had quite literally run away with the circus. Leaving their home in Mexico, they worked as trapeze artists in Oakland, California, for a spell, eventually moving on to Buenos Aires with the intention of opening up a circus school. Plans changed, as they do, and somewhere along the way, coffee happened. 

Boy, are we ever grateful that it did.

Cafe Para Todxs Board - Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz
A Good Sign © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Magic Market

(The word “magic” appears several times from this point on, for good reason.)

Vee and I had a really great idea one day. After a sustained, steady stream of tacos, street meats and sea treats, we were a little on the saturé side of things and in dire need of some fresh fruits and vegetables. A little while back, upon our arrival in beautiful La Paz, Google Mapster Vee had zeroed in on a local farmer’s market not too far away that we had yet to visit. Hungry for plants, we decided that it was high time, promptly put on our backpacks, grabbed some sacks, and headed straight for vitamins. And, as it turns out, more than we could have possibly known. 

Just off the Malecón de La Paz, the Mercado Orgánico & Artesanal is a colourful corridor of kiosks running the length of a full city block where craftspeople and vendors from all around set up shop twice a week to lovingly sell their wares. And I mean lovingly. From local honey, magical pulque and grrr-rilled chorizo sandwiches to beautiful handmade abalone shell earrings that now regularly dangle from m’lady’s lobes, the street here is bursting with artisanal tesoros from La Paz and beyond. But the real reason to visit is the people who sell them. 

This brings us to a humble little coffee stand that you’re likely to find set up at the very edge of it all.

MOA La Paz Mexico Organic Market
MOA © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Good Thing We Stopped

After loading up on fresh produce and some solid meandering, we were on our way out in search of vitamin Beer, but we decided to make one last stop. A striking young man with unequivocally good vibes and the dictionary definition of a winning smile stood behind a table laden with small bags of coffee, a big banner behind him announcing “Gratitude”. We felt naturally drawn in, indeed almost as if nudged from behind. He offered us a little tasty taste of some gotta-try brew he had going for passersby and we struck up a conversation. 

Within minutes, while sipping the wowzer, choco-forward beans that it turns out he roasted himself at his shop, not only was the door opened for us unto the wonderful world of Mexican coffee we never knew, but our heads were abuzz with unfamiliar words and terms of the java kind like micro lot*, honey process*, Sarchimor* and then some. After he quickly and enthusiastically vulgarized anaerobic coffee fermentation* for us, Vee and I silently agreed that we were in the presence of someone who truly knows their shit. Like well-beyond-10,000-hours knows it. And more importantly, he absolutely loves it.                     

*See glossary below  

gratitude coffee makers market moa la paz mexico bags
Sunny Beans © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

We had sampled some other great Mexican specialty coffees during our stay in La Paz, but all roads ended up leading back to Sergio. A couple of days before shoving off to Mazatlán, Vee and I stopped by for a final bag of Chiapas Dark – in all of its chocolatey-sweet-lime glory – and an always-energizing chat. We had yet to visit Sergio at his headquarters and we wanted to sit down with him and talk a little shop (a Hungry Herald first) before we left. If he was cool with that, of course. His response was to invite us for a morning roast the very next day. 

A Flying Start

Standing at the counter of the utterly charming, cosy, bright and thriving La Paz coffee shop and roastery that is Gratitude Coffee Makers, a fresh batch of Veracruz blend cheerfully crackle-dancing away beside him and filling the air with its heavenliness, Sergio Hernández beams when we ask him how it all started. He loves being asked this question; it brings him back to how something so beautiful began, a memory that even further widens that winning smile. 

Sergio Coffee Bag Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz
Sergio In The Shop © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Funny enough, it had “nothing to do with coffee”, he tells us. Instead, it started with him hurtling through the air and catching his airborne peers as a lead flying trapeze instructor in sunny California. Again, he and his wife had literally run away with the circus. The usual coffee roaster backstory. In fact, Sergio’s interest in coffee was as lukewarm as it gets on that fateful day when one of the people he was coaching asked him if he likes drinking it. “Not really, but yeah, why not.”  A hilariously tepid response, given what the future held.

Sergio Hernandez Owner of Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz Mexico
Sometime BR (Before the Roast) © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Robocoffee

It turns out the person asking the question was Linsey Fan, founder of RoastLog, a company that develops software for coffee roasting operations. One day, he brewed up a cup for Sergio at his home, an experience that sounds more as if Inspector Gadget were the barista. He broke out alien pour-over equipment, ground the beans and weighed them, then asked Alexa to join in to time the infusion. The result? 

“What did you put in this coffee?” Sergio asked, socks blown off.

“Nothing, just coffee,” was the response. From beans that he roasted himself in his garage, no less. He showed Sergio the little Huky 500 roaster, loaded him up with information and data, introduced him to the software, and then asked what he thought about it all.

Yes. Just yes.

Ok then, time for literature.

Coffee Prep Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz Mexico
Precision Pour-overing © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Sergio began voraciously reading up on everything to do with coffee, eventually finding himself selling for RoastLog after he and his wife Gloria, the other pillar of Gratitude, moved to Buenos Aires. Unfortunately, the circus school didn’t end up happening, but a new passion was firmly taking hold, and the couple would soon find themselves on a path to creating something as exceptional as it was unforeseen.  

When The Student Is Ready…

In 2018, Sergio went to Diogo Bianchi, head roaster at the 4 Seasons, Buenos Aires, in an effort to sell him some software. He never made that sale. Instead, he found a craft. No surprise to us, they hit it off from the get-go and Sergio started hanging out with the master roaster from Brazil, who graciously took him under his wing, letting him help in the roasting while he learned everything he possibly could.

It didn’t take long for the apprentice to become head roaster at Bianchi’s Arabicca Coffee Roasters, in charge of production and profile development, roasting beans from all over the world virtually non-stop, from 7 AM to 9 PM, Monday to Saturday. “I spent a lot of time with coffee,” Sergio tells us, a gleam of beans past flashing across his eyes. He still gives thanks to this very day for having had the opportunity. 

Diogo Bianchi Diploma Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz Mexico
Jedi-certified © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Cold-Brewing Up A Storm

As Sergio evolved in his craft, he soon found himself wanting to create something that was truly his own. He began by experimenting with cold brew in the comfort of his home. Gloria, a trained sommelière with beer-brewing chops and considerable knowledge in these areas – plus a personal library to match, which came in very handy – acted as their official quality control as they trialled and errored, their digs essentially turning into a cold brew laboratory. Sunlight, oxygen, CO2, pH; all of these things took on new importance along the way. “Everything affects everything,” Sergio asserts. 

Cold Brew Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz Mexico
Primordial Brew © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

After painstaking effort, applying different processes to a variety of beans whose profiles he had developed himself, Sergio nailed the recipe they were after, and then repeated it. This was the beginning of something great. They would start off by selling cold brew (and things would only grow from there). Now all they needed was a name.

🙏

Gratitude Coffee Makers Counter Art
Another Good Sign © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

The pandemic was breaking everyone’s beans, and Sergio and Gloria had been away from their family for a long while. Times were tough, yes, but they had their own place in Buenos Aires, they were both in great health, Gloria had recently given birth to their daughter, Mikaela, who was also super healthy and playful, and they were starting a business together, debt-free and in no need of financial aid. As a result of all this, there was something they were both consistently feeling. And one morning, Gloria said it out loud.

Back at the coffee shop, Sergio tells us how much he loves the name. The way he sees it, people start their day going straight to the coffee machine, and not only is that word right there in their kitchen, but they’re literally going to make themselves a cup of it. 

Espresso Machine Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz Mexico
Streams of Thankfulness © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

“Yes! Let me brew some Gratitude coffee. I’m gonna start my day with gratitude,” Sergio says, making a drip motion with his finger over his head. Indeed, there are few better words to have percolating through one’s skull first thing. Gives a whole new meaning to “the best part of waking up”, we think.

Bertha La Bella & The Fine Tuning

The whole time we’re talking, there’s some serious roasting going on. When we arrived, Sergio and his assistant Jorge, a young man with downright angelic chi, were hard at work, ensconced in front of the roasting machine that stands in the centre of the coffee shop like a magic grandmother cooking up a storm and tying everything together. 100% Mexican-made and designed, this custom, 5-kilo Promor machine’s name is actually Bertha, and she not too long ago celebrated 1 year of roasting her gas-powered heart out for Gratitude, an event that was announced on Facebook like a living team member’s birthday. 

Bertha The Coffee Roasting Machine Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz Mexico
Bertha On Break © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Hunched in front of Bertha, Sergio isn’t only keeping a close eye on the beans as they swirl around in their drum, but he’s listening to them intently, checking and calibrating here and there like he’s tuning a Stradivarius. It’s a multi-sensory experience, he tells us, and you have to pay attention to when and how the beans crackle and pop, as well as their temperature, colour and smell. The fermentation level of the particular ones he’s roasting is also being taken into account. He is on the hunt for overall balance and knows exactly how to go about it. 

At one point, Sergio says that he’s getting the smell he’s looking for and promptly empties out the beans, a torrent of dark, lightly smoking jewels tumbling into the rotating cooling basin below. A fresh waft of one of the world’s all-time greatest smells envelops us once again.

Coffee Roasting Machine Close up Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz Mexico
Scratch & Sniff © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

The precision involved is impressive, and on the subject of timing, the trapeze artist in him comes right out:  “While catching, one second too early or one second too late and you don’t make it. And coffee is the same. Everything is timing. You just have to time it and keep the rhythm and let the bean tell you what to do.”

Dripping Some Knowledge

While the freshly roasted blend of Marsellesa, Garnica and Typica beans are cooling down, Sergio does not disappoint us on the geek-out front. He graciously takes us into the mechanics of roasting (while Vee and I are still trying to retain those names I just mentioned). Patiently answering our questions along the way, he introduces us to things like RoR – Rate of Rise – the speed at which the temperature of the bean in the drum rises, and how that dictates everything thereafter. He then guides us through the colourful and fragrant progression toward first crack, a hallowed moment in the roaster’s world signalled by – yup – a cracking sound. It’s an exothermic main event when the bean releases its pent-up energy and the roaster decides the level of their roast and where they want to go, flavour and complexity-wise. Put in Sergian terms, it’s “when all the magic happens.” 

Bag of Beans Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz Mexico
Roast With The Most © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

We talk coffee bean altitude, density, humidity. He literally draws us a picture at one point, sketching out a graph to illustrate a hypothetical situation where two beans grown at the same altitude but harvested at separate times require different heats due to their differing densities. Things then get nice and immediate when, with a look around the room, he tells us that the unusually humid weather at present is affecting the very roast we’re looking at, so he has to adjust accordingly. 

And then there’s the human being. Coffee roasting is a highly subjective endeavour, and the person who’s doing it brings to the equation all their is-ness: their cumulative experiences, their mindset, their diet, how they breathe, and so on. “Everything matters,” Sergio reminds us. Coffee, like the roaster, is alive, and even those beans in the grinder that are about to be turned into your flat white are still very much in flux.   

The Magic Makers

Coffee cherries
The Fruit of It All © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

When it comes to the 100% Mexican, single-origin beans he roasts, Sergio bursts with pride and feels a great responsibility toward the producers who make it all possible. In fact, their names are emblazoned on every bag of Gratitude coffee sold, and he speaks of them with the utmost respect. One of them, Emmanuel Rincón from Finca La Esperanza, is an acclaimed coffee champion and something of a prodigy, his beans having been nominated the very best in Mexico. “This guy knows what he’s doing,” says Sergio with conviction.  High praise. 

Gratitude is a link in a beautiful chain that begins with the small, fair-trade producers they work with based in Chiapas, Veracruz and Puebla, Mexico’s prime coffee-growing states, along with Oaxaca. For Sergio, they are the true magic makers, and he feels it is incumbent upon him to do justice to their superior coffee through the roasting it deserves. 

Unlock your potential Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz Mexico
Bags of Fortune © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Gaining well-deserved attention amongst specialty roasters far and wide, Mexico boasts an impressive number of small-scale, family-run plantations guided by the very highest standards, and is also a global leader in certified organic and fair-trade coffee production. Sergio believes that it has all the bases covered, from the beans to the machines to the people in between, to be in the top 3 countries in the world, quality-wise, and one of his main goals as a roaster is to bring Mexican coffee, and Gratitude along with it, to ever higher levels. Fortunately for us, Sergio and Gloria ultimately chose to come back to Mexico and set up operations in Baja California Sur, a strategic point bursting with potential, perfect for spreading the good word about Mexican coffee not only to the rest of the country but to the rest of North America.

Bitchin’ Beans & Shiftin’ Gears

Near the end of our stay, the conversation naturally flows into one of Sergio’s other passions: surfing. A self-proclaimed adrenaline junky who digs rock climbing and fixie biking (no brakes), he likens the feeling he has at the end of a long roasting session to the high he gets after a full day out on the water looking to get tubed. “It doesn’t matter if I caught 11 waves or one or none, just being in the water is calming, is relaxing for me.” Wipeouts and all, he just feels good. Like with surfing, coffee roasting keeps him constantly in the moment and ultimately brings him that same feeling of fulfilment. 

Surfin' Coffee Bean
Bean Barrel © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

As a dad, Sergio has recently toned down his thrill-seeking tendencies, riding bikes with brakes like the rest of us, for instance. Wanting to share what he loves with his daughter – but without all the altitude – he built a rock-climbing wall in their home so that he and 4-year-old Mika can go for a little climb together whenever they feel like it. (And she no doubt has a blast whenever they do.) He used to be jealous of his “me” time, he tells us, but now his time is for his daughter, his wife, his family, and his business. “And I love it!” he exclaims, that smile at full capacity. As busy as he is though, he still finds time to hit the waves and get a little gnarly every now and then.

Bean Me Up!

While Sergio and Jorge generously share their time with us, customers steadily filter in and out, many of them clearly devoted regulars. One guy is even sporting some Gratitude merch, the same “Make Coffee Not War” T-shirt Sergio has on. Between clients, we talk about all kinds of things, from the wonders of yerba mate and the chemical friendship between caffeine and cannabinoids to coffee crema art gone wrong and how good Peruvian Chinese food is. We feel completely at home and in the presence of old friends, Sergio whipping up the occasional delight to sample – done with Spock-like precision, of course. He redefines the cortado for us, and later, over an incredible flat white (both made with coconut milk and crazy silky smooth), we have a little chat with Jorge on the sidewalk outside; in no time, we feel like we’ve known him our whole lives.  

MAKE COFFEE NOT WAR SHIRT
Amen. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Lightworkers come in many forms and work in many ways, often quite unaware of the effect they have. After spending half the day at Gratitude and leaving with our frequencies clearly amped up several notches, Vee and I realized that some of them out there even work with beans. Unfortunately, Gloria couldn’t be there when we visited, but we briefly met her at the market the next day, and let’s just say that the picture was complete. Seriously, this team brews up pure light, along with one hell of a cup.

Chiapas Dark Coffee Cups Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz
Cuppa Cuppa Beamin' Love © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

In The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot’s protagonist famously laments that he has measured out his life with coffee spoons. Perhaps if he had measured it out with piping hot cups of organic, micro lot Sarchimor lovingly roasted by the good people at Gratitude, he would have had a little more pep in his step.

On our way out, Vee and I wanted to take some coffee with us so that we could continue brewing up thankyouccinos once we got to Mazatlán. Every bag at Gratitude (all made with recycled paper – did we mention the operation is as green as can be?) has a hand-written message on it that pleasantly surprises upon opening. Sergio grabbed one that had the word “descansa” on it, “rest”. As he sealed the full bag with his signature kung-fu-prayer-palm technique, he let us know that the bag had chosen us. Claudia, another cluster of good vibes back at the market, told us the exact same thing about her pulque.

The Hungry Herlad Having Coffee at Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz
Toast To The Roast © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

A New Magitude

Walking on the street on our way back home, a couple of OG cold brews in our hands, Vee and I were wobbly. Not drunk wobbly of course, just really good wobbly. Yes, our heads were bubbling with things we had never heard before, and, truth be told, I was sitting on piles of coffee notes before starting on this post. But the more I thought about it, the less it became about the facts and figures. 

No, we were wobbly from something else…  

As a result of our experience that day, we’ll be placing a lot more focus on the extraordinary people we encounter along the road and the stories they have to share, those magic makers without whom there would be very little to write about. And for that, to the incredible team at Gratitude Coffee Makers, we are truly grateful, and all we can say is, naturally, THANK YOU. 

¡Muchísimas gracias por toda la magia y, por supuesto, la gratitud!

Let’s all please have another cup.

Gratitude Coffee Makers La Paz Door Logo
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Nota Bene : Location

Gratitude Coffee Makers has since relocated to brand-spankin’-new digs at Avenida Revolución de 1910 #1243 , near Sorstis Restaurant in the Zona Central.

(The hollow brick coffee bar gets a gold star. ⭐) 

Thank you so much for reading! Be sure to click on over to Gratitude’s Facebook and Instagram pages to find out more, and be double-shot sure to swing by their coffee shop or the MOA if you just so happen to be in La Paz.

During our visit with Sergio, we had the good fortune of meeting another exceptional maker of waves in the local coffee scene who we just can’t not talk about. Stay tuned for our next post where we sit down with the talented young barista and entrepreneur behind Casanova Coffee House, another must-visit spot for some of the best-brewed beans you’ll find in La Paz (Gratitude included). See you soon!

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Glossary

Honey Process: A production method where the skins and pulp of the coffee cherries are removed from the seeds (friendly reminder, them beans are seeds), but the sticky mucilage reminiscent of honey – hence the name – is left attached during drying. This process uses less water and yields a sweeter “bean”. Mmmm, mucilage.

Sarchimor: A resilient, hybrid bean produced as a F#&K YOU to the coffee plant’s arch nemesis, coffee leaf rust (“la roya” in Spanish). The result of crossing the Villa Sarchi and Timor varieties to produce one badass super plant, it’s one of Sergio’s favourite beans to roast and drink. 

Micro lot: Definitions tend to vary so we hope we get this right: a specially selected, traceable, limited-quantity batch of a single coffee varietal grown, picked and processed separately from the other lots on a plantation. These exclusive coffees are valued and enjoyed for their unique flavour profiles.

Anaerobic fermentation: Controlled fermentation of coffee beans through the complete removal of oxygen from the equation, a process that encourages the formation of lactic acids, resulting in unusual and exciting cupping characteristics prized by specialty coffee makers, Sergio included.

For all other definitions, we invite you to please rock the GoogleTube:)

Michael Emeleus

Michael Emeleus

Michael is a freelance writer, translator, purveyor of English lessons and Tai Chi enthusiast who has been following food ever since his dad fed him caviar one Christmas when he was a toddler, and he tried to grab the spoon. He has written and translated for renowned restaurant guidebook Gault & Millau, and has dishwashed, bussed, bartended and served his way through three action-packed decades in the Montreal restaurant scene. He likes walks on the beach, the smell of gasoline and taking pictures of plants, and he is also pretty much guaranteed to order the most challenging thing on the menu.

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Fish soup in Playa El Tecolote La Paz Mexico - The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog

FISH SOUP IN PARADISE

FISH SOUP IN PARADISE

Fish soup in Playa El Tecolote La Paz Mexico - The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog
© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

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Aquafan

Hi, my name is Michael, and I’m a fish soup fiend. 

More broadly, if it comes from river, lake, ocean or sea, and it bathes in bouillon, I’m all over it like slime on a trout. To wit, I once went on a road trip to Boston with my great friend to see a Tom Waits concert, and he is shocked to this day by how much clam chowder I consumed on the way there, while there, and on the way back. Regardless of the venue, whether diner, tavern, truckstop or phone booth, if there was clam chowder to be had, it was mine all mine.

Fish soup in particular, in all of its forms, fires up my heart’s little cockles, and for reasons deeply nostalgic. From my grandmother’s kitchen to the coast of Finland, I have been marked over the course of my life by more than one bowl of note. One place, however, where I didn’t expect to be falling head over heels one steaming spoonful at a time was on a beach in Mexico in my damp swimming trunks. We’ll get to that, but first, a little souped-up prelude.

CLAMS - The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog

Soup ‘N Sauce Saga

My grandmother used to make one mean fisksoppa, Swedish for fish soup. That, and one hell of a stiff drink. 

The soup was an exquisite and rustic mélange of Atlantic salmon, onions, potatoes, carrots, celery, fresh dill and whole peppercorns. I was always amazed at how sumptuously rich it was, until I one day saw a fistful of butter get slipped into the broth as it roiled and boiled. It’s no secret, my grandmother, Saga, tended to be sneaky with the butter, along with the salt and the gin. She lived to be 91.

Salmon Soup Grandma - The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog
Fisksoppa. Not my grandmother's, but about as close as a stock pic can get. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

While the fisksoppa simmered, the chances were that Nana would be enjoying her signature cocktail, a drink she taught me how to make once she found out I had been to bartending school, not that that helped in any way. It was a troubling libation, blending vague measures of cranberry juice, Molson Ex beer, boxed white wine and Beefeater gin (and/or Finlandia vodka) on ice. Sometimes there was soda. I invariably found myself making it in a glass that was already very much in use, smeared about with butter and lipstick and which, like absolutely everything in or around her fridge, was redolent of dill. This was not negligence on my part, she actually wanted it that way. 

For lack of a better name, the Nanatini (or Nanarita, if the sun was out), was the stuff of liquid legend – although admittedly not nearly as marketable as the name suggests – and it was directly to blame for my grandmother lapsing into singing (or rather, yelling) Finnish drinking songs about birch bark shoes on far more than one occasion. I still remember the lyrics, sort of. 

Again, serve on ice, in the very filthiest glass you can find. Skål!

THE NANATINI - The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog
The Nanatini © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Nana’s fisksoppa remains one of my all-time favourite dishes and is one that I have been making for years, with a less alarming amount of butter thrown in, to be fair. It was a soup I had never encountered outside of her and my respective apartments until just a few years ago, when my wife and I found ourselves just minding our business, loafing afloat on a Finnish boat. 

(If you’re now thinking of Andy Samberg in his “nautical-themed pashmina afghan”, you are not alone.)

One Hyvää Lunch

The MS J.L. Runeberg is a postcard-pretty, operational steamship built in 1912 that makes regular trips along the southern, archipelago-riddled coast of Finland, between Helsinki and Porvoo. Our family cottage is located just outside of Porvoo, and on our first visit together about a decade ago, Vee and I had decided to make the trip by water and in style; we just weren’t prepared for how much style.

The MS J.L. Runeberg
© The MS J.L. Runeberg

Making our way slowly through the Gulf of Finland’s total charmscape with its tiny islands dotted with tiny cabins on a summer’s afternoon, the very last thing on our mind was soup. That was until we saw someone wobblingly emerge from the lower deck holding a tray on which was a piping hot bowl of something unmistakably special. Instantly animated by a fresh bolt of “what the hell was that?!”, I got up, marched straight downstairs and discovered what may as well have been pirate booty in the hold.

Unbeknownst to us, there was a small galley down there wherein a couple of crew members were hard at work dishing out lunchables for the passengers. The main event? Salmon soup, almost exactly like my grandmother used to make (granted, without the butter grenade). 

Back on the deck upstairs, I almost wept between uncanny spoonfuls under the glorious blue of the Nordic sky. Even though Nana had left us over a decade before, I was tempted to go back down below to see if she was somewhere hiding just beyond the stove, instructing the chef between hammered gulps of a cocktail that perhaps should never have been. Then again, without the Nanatini, there’s no way I could have known about those damned birch bark shoes and how “they don’t keep out the water, and they don’t dance”… Or something along those liquored-up lines.

- The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog
The Finnish Archipelago © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

While we’re here, it’s very much worth mentioning that our first stop upon arriving in Porvoo was the totally enchanting river-side bar/café, Porvoon Pahtimo. Their Wi-Fi password at the time: Lohikeitto. Translation: salmon soup.

I can’t tell you how much I love that country.

Talkin’ Tecolote

The soups of time have flowed favourably over the years, and along the way, we have been cuddled and hugged by many a stock, broth, bisque and pottage. Only a select few have seared themselves onto our all-time hit list, and just a few months ago, on a beach outside of La Paz, Mexico, a new addition to the ledger was made. 

Speaking of things of the bisquey sort, here in Mazatlán, there are seafood restaurants all over the place that offer a piping hot cup of complimentary fish or shrimp stock before you begin your meal, sometimes as soon as you sit down. Just one of the countless reasons that we’re still here. 

End sidebar. Now back to La Paz.

Playa El Tecolote La Paz Mexico - - The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog
Playa El Tecolote, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Playa El Tecolote is a beach so spellbindingly beautiful, we clumsily find ourselves referencing things one finds in a convenience store when trying to describe it. With its jujubesque, Gatoraded, Mr. Freeze-blue waters, and its fine sand like pulverized Pringles (ok, too far), Tecolote’s beauty just seems unreal. It’s funny how when we’re struck with how spectacular the natural world is, we have a tendency to talk about the artificial, and rarely is it the other way around. We never hear things like “Wow! This Jolly Rancher looks like Lake Louise!” But we really should.

The trip to Tecolote, located about half an hour’s drive to the north of La Paz, is almost as stunning as the destination itself (like something out of a movie!) It’s a glorious ride through an otherworldly coastal hillscape where joyous cacti lovingly flip you the prickly bird as you roll on by. There are several stunning beaches to choose from along the way, but once we discovered El Tecolote, there was just nowhere else. If you’re up for a hypnotic, chi-smoothing little taste of this place and the ride to get there, please check out our video at the end of this post. Your pineal gland will definitely thank you. Filmed and directed by Vee.

IMG 6637 Large
Hermoso Camino © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Tecolote – the name is so much fun to say, we try to say it once a day for health reasons – lies on the Sea of Cortez, just opposite the sprawling island nature reserve that is Isla Espíritu Santo, party central for sea lions and friends from all around. The waters here are limpid and calm and the backdrop of cactus-stubbled, rocky hills provides a contrast that never ceases to impress. Despite how breathtaking the location is, development is thankfully minimal, with no hotels or stores, just a handful of humble restaurants and bars, as well as a coconut stand or two. In terms of public transportation, there’s a beach bus that makes multiple trips a day from the city centre and that – pleasant warning – can get most rapturous on the ride back to town after everyone’s been kicked in the head by a day’s-worth of vitamin D and generous pours. 

Playa Bus to Playa El Tecolote La Paz Mexico - The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog
Vee getting beach bus-ready © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Maravilloso Mario

In the centre of it all is Club de Playa El Tecolote, the largest establishment on the beach by far. Housed in a palm-thatched pagoda of a building, this place not only specializes in fresh seafood sorcery worth writing home about, but they offer “water safari” tours of the local wonders as well as equipment rental if you’re looking to hit the waves with some umpf. On our first visit to Tecolote, we took a seat right on the beach at their smaller satellite restaurant next door, and let’s just say that it’s impressive we ever got back up.

Club de Playa El Tecolote La Paz Mexico - - The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog
Our spot. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

We went to Tecolote several times over our two months in La Paz, and we ended up at that exact spot on almost every visit. One of the cardinal reasons for this was a young gentleman by the name of Mario. Vee and I know a thing or two about serving tables, and this is the kind of guy you want as a colleague, as much for the team as for the clients. Warm, professional, friendly, chivalrous, Mario is simply the man. He even offered us a lift back home one evening and gave us an impromptu tour of the city outskirts on the way (did you know John Steinbeck lived in La Paz?) Seriously, an un-Marioed day at Tecolote just wasn’t the same.

¡Muchas gracias por todo, amigo, y esperamos verte de nuevo muy pronto!

New Bowl On The Block

With all those liquid Skittles lapping the shore a few feet away, seafood is the main thing going on here, as it should be. From whole fresh fish – either finger-lickinly fried or wood-burningly grilled – to “crushing-it” coconut shrimp, to clams so fresh they look like they’re getting out of bed when squirted with lime (see video below), everything we had here kicked us straight in the fins. This, of course, brings us to the soup.

Chocolate Clams Playa El Tecolote La Paz Mexico. The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog
Fried pargo (red snapper) & almejas de chocolate (chocolate clams) © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Fresher Than Fresh © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

At sundown every day at Playa El Tecolote, squadrons of pelicans flock to the beach to kamikaze-knife-dive themselves at the schools of deliciousness swimming beneath the surface in a deft dining riot that is spectacular to behold. This is very much the spirit in which I tackled the insane bowl of fish soup that Mario brought to the table one day, although my deftness was nowhere near pelican-level. It was my very first bowl of soup on a beach, and I now plan to eat soup on a beach for as long as I can eat soup on a beach.

Fish Soup at Playa El Tecolote La Paz Mexico. The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog
The Unbearable Seriousness Of Soup © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Far from the Nana/Runeberg style but equally as sumptuous, it was the kind of dish that gets me dreaming of being a fisherman, a missed calling that apparently ran in my family way back, unconfirmed legend has it. Big chunks of crazy-fresh red snapper and mixed vegetables in a tomato-tinged herby sea broth with bewitching little hits of coriander seed… I was spinning like my name was DJ Bouillabaisse. This thing managed to have me temporarily block out virtually everything around us, from the CGI beach, to the clarion calls of the roaming banda groups, to the screaming families occasionally zipping by on banana boats only to get collectively dumped into the water like so much bycatch. 

As long as those spoonfuls were happening, none of that mattered, for the universe had collapsed and condensed itself into a singular bowl of lunch. Put simply, there was no Zuul, there was only soup.

That, and my wife, of course.

Soup Constellation at Playa El Tecolote La Paz Mexico. The Hungry Herald Food Travel Blog
Soupa Major © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

A new bowl now burned in the heavens and the conceptual boundaries of beach food had been pushed and redrawn. As I swooned, spooned and harpooned my way by the Slush Puppie-azure waters of Playa El Tecolote, I looked up at the cotton candy clouds and decided there and then that Jimmy Buffett can keep his cheeseburger. That’s right. There was something fresh to sing about under the palm-tickled sun now, and the song would simply never be the same. 

“Worth every damn bit of sacrifice

To get a fish soup in paradise

To be a fish soup in paradise

I’m just a fish soup in paradise.”

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Thank you so much for reading, and if you’re ever in La Paz, hit that delightful road as soon as you can and Tecolote yourself until you can’t handle it anymore, which never happens. A big shout out to the place for existing and to the good people steering the ship at the Club de Playa. Again, if you go, ask for Mario, he’s the guy somehow making things even better. ¡Salud! 

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Michael Emeleus

Michael Emeleus

Michael is a freelance writer, translator, purveyor of English lessons and Tai Chi enthusiast who has been following food ever since his dad fed him caviar one Christmas when he was a toddler, and he tried to grab the spoon. He has written and translated for renowned restaurant guidebook Gault & Millau, and has dishwashed, bussed, bartended and served his way through three action-packed decades in the Montreal restaurant scene. He likes walks on the beach, the smell of gasoline and taking pictures of plants, and he is also pretty much guaranteed to order the most challenging thing on the menu.

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pico de gallo 2

PICO DE GALLO

PICO DE GALLO

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cilantro

Some dishes in life are more like good friends than food. They’re honest, dependable, supportive, encouraging, and when you see them, you feel a little lighter, knowing full well you’re in for a good ol’ time. They’re there for you when you’re up, there for you when you’re down, and should you be in need of a swift kick in the ass, they readily oblige. Also, if the other food unfortunately happens to kinda suck, they just have that special je ne sais quoi for making it all better. Yup, we’re looking at you, pico de gallo. Bless your zing-filled heart.

limes

A versatile side dish/condiment that we at The Hungry Herald can no longer envision life without, pico de gallo is a tried and tested little titan of Mexican cuisine, gracing and brightening tables across its land of origin at any given time of day. Also known as salsa mexicana and salsa de bandera – “flag sauce”, as it proudly sports the national colours – pico de gallo is a wonderfully simple, mouthwatering medley of 5 key ingredients: diced tomatoes, chopped onions, green chile peppers (classically serrano), cilantro and fresh lime juice. Variations abound throughout Mexico, and depending on where you are, you may find the likes of watermelon, pineapple, pomegranate, cactus, prickly pear, jícama and even fresh cheese joining in on the roster. Any visit to the taquería is pretty much unthinkable without it, and don’t get us started on what it does for your eggs.

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Stretching back to Mesoamerican times, pico de gallo’s history, like that of so many other tasty things we love, is somewhat unclear. Same goes for the origin of the name. Pico de gallo literally translates to “rooster’s beak”, and the explanations for this moniker run a colourful and piquant little gamut.

Some believe it comes from the pre-silverware use of thumb and forefinger when enjoying one’s pico back in the day, the hand forming a beak while picking up all the juicy bits of deliciousness. Others imaginatively contend that the consistency of the salsa is similar to that of bird feed while another set of others claims it’s because the pieces look like they’ve been brunoised by a rooster with culinary inclinations. In his gastronomical history of Mexico City, famed writer and chronicler Salvador Novo weighs in on the whole thing, comparing the dish’s bright colours to those of its namesake’s feathers.

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Then there are the spicy theories. One is that pico de gallo has bite – se pica in Spanish – and the eater must be gallo – brave – to enjoy it. Meanwhile, in Sonora, the name is said to be a nod to the similarity between a rooster’s beak and the fiery serrano pepper. And let’s not forget the rather unsettling hypothesis that points to cock fighting handlers getting pecked on the tongue while trying to calm jittery roosters by putting the little contenders’ heads in their mouths before a fight. If this is actually a thing, se pica indeed.

jalapeno and serrano pepper

We’re not really sure what side of the chicken wire we’re on with respect to all of that, but one thing we do know is that those ingredients were simply meant to be together. And if we have to thank a rooster or two for supplying the inspiration, we’re happy to do it. So whether you’ve never had this vibrant little dish or you’re a dyed-in-the-wing fan, we urge you right this very instant to just get out there and get some, make some (see recipe below), have some delivered – for the love of totopos, do what you gotta do, the rooster cock-a-doodles for you. 

PICO DE GALLO BOWL

PICO DE GALLO CLÁSICO

– 3-4 medium tomatoes, seeded and diced

– 1/2 medium white onion, chopped (red works too)

– 1 serrano or jalapeño pepper, seeded and finely chopped (*Please use caution and dose according to tolerance. The Hungry Herald cannot be held responsible for any incidental capsaicin-induced distress.)

– 1/2 cup fresh cilantro, chopped 

– Fresh lime juice (1-2 limes to taste)

– Sea salt and black pepper (to taste)

Mix these beauties up in a large bowl, ideally letting sit for a minimum of 15 minutes so that all the ingredients get nice and friendly. Serve with tortilla chips (totopos) and/or pretty much anything else that fluffs your feathers. Rest assured, pico de gallo won’t let you down.

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Michael Emeleus

Michael Emeleus

Michael is a freelance writer, translator, purveyor of English lessons and Tai Chi enthusiast who has been following food ever since his dad fed him caviar one Christmas when he was a toddler, and he tried to grab the spoon. He has written and translated for renowned restaurant guidebook Gault & Millau, and has dishwashed, bussed, bartended and served his way through three action-packed decades in the Montreal restaurant scene. He likes walks on the beach, the smell of gasoline and taking pictures of plants, and he is also pretty much guaranteed to order the most challenging thing on the menu.

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Eating caviar with my dad - Christmas 1978

A ROUND FOR ROBBIE: TOASTING A TRUE FINE TASTER

A ROUND FOR ROBBIE: TOASTING A TRUE FINE TASTER

Eating caviar with my dad - Christmas 1978
Caviar with my dad - Christmas 1978 © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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The Chronicles Of Fridgia

There once was a man and his fridge. 

More to the point, there once was a man sitting on a kitchen chair in front of his open fridge and staring into it for hours on end. 

I never knew exactly what the hell my father was doing when I would find him hunched forward in his housecoat, bathed in the holy glow of that Westinghouse fridge and seemingly ensconced in matters of crucial importance known only to him, the mustard and the ketchup. Every now and then while going about my kid-ness, I’d stop for a curious few seconds and observe. It would seem that the outside world was no more as he peered within and rummaged. I watched him pick things up, check containers, occasionally taste their contents, put things back, lapse into apparently heavy pondering, and then start the whole thing right over again. To be honest, I had much bigger Hot Wheels to roll at the time, but that’s what I remember from those few occasions I tuned in.

The Thinker looking in an open fridge
The Fridge Doors of Perception © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Looking back, I see him in those moments as an out-of-shape Viking jarl on his throne, surveying the hard-won spoils of some previous glory. But instead of heaps of gold, jewel-studded helmets, chain mail and the echoing cries of his foes, there’s a squeeze tube of Kalles fish paste, rock-hard rye bread, Mrs Whyte’s herring and a can of Molson Ex.

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Precious Kalles © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

I actually always felt that there was some kind of magic infused in the whole thing. Like he was looking into a refrigerated Narnia and simply watching stuff happen. It wasn’t until I was much older that I tried it out for myself, and I understood the fascination instantly. Sitting up close and untethered from the routine pragmatism of simply reaching for cold food, I saw the contents of the fridge in a whole new glow, infused with new life. The eggs told a story, the relish was somehow greener, the baloney had a new bounce and the orange juice seemed more Floridian than ever. Things were different. And no, I wasn’t high.

Frankly, it didn’t really come as a surprise to me that my dad was onto something with the whole fridge thing. Because when it came to food, Rabbe Gustaf Emeleus-Äimä, aka Robbie, was always onto something. He was, after all,

A Feinschmecker

From the German fein (fine) and schmecker (taster), my father was to me the epitome thereof, a true gourmand, the mother-sauce root of all fine foodery that I would come to know, and my introduction to the good stuff started early. Very early. In fact, before I had my first Transformer, my favourite foods included caviar, escargots, lobster and octopus, and this was very much my dad’s doing. 

The type of died-in-the-apron gourmet one could easily see basting a coq-au-vin with Julia Child as they slowly sherry their way into broiled oblivion together, my father was the proverbial life of the party, a bon vivant of the first order, hell-bent on having a good time while making damn sure you had one too. And I mean the kind of good time that leads to lobster shells on the chandelier, Grand Marnier on the sauna floor, Roquefort in your trouser pockets and an ache in your belly from all the laughs, definitely not from the food. Or something along those lines. My dad wasn’t just the guy you want to invite to dinner. He was the guy you want to plan a dinner around. And he would have been 80 years old today.

Pronkstilleven Stilleven SK C 301
Good times . Banquet Still Life, Adriaen van Utrecht, 1644 - Rijksmuseum

King Of Clubs

In his prime, Robbie (his name swiftly changed from Rabbe upon moving to Montreal from Helsinki as a kid to make his life easier, especially with his new peers asking him if he had rabies or something…) was a polyglot/piano-playing/song-composing/joke-telling/cha-cha-dancing/downhill-&-cross-country-skiing/windsurfing/bicycle-&-car-racing/Finlandia-vodka-importing/globe-trotting businessman and merchant of mirth who apparently also made a mean Moules Marinières.

He was a central figure in a variety of Montreal clubs and organizations, nordic and otherwise, at one time serving as president of the Finnish Chamber of Commerce for 8 years in a row.  I’m told that during his tenure, the overall fun and flavour factors were dramatically taken up several notches. In association with said chamber, something called the Finnish Picnic would happen every year at our country place, summoning Finns and friends from far and wide for a weekend of unbridled revelry on the shores of Lac Masson. He was also a member of something called The Viking Club, which I get the feeling was a bunch of guys in helmets who pillaged open-faced sandwich plates and bottles of Aquavit more than anything else. I also found out much later that my dad was a valued member of the Montreal Danish Club (he was in no way Danish), something I discovered at his funeral when two illustrious members came over to me to extend their condolences and share stories.

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Easy breathin' at Lac Masson © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

My father was many things, did many things, and he began leaving us far, far too soon. Of those many things that he lived for, good food was at the top of the list, and it was the number one bond that he and I shared. If I may, I’d like to take a bit of your time right now and celebrate the man by sharing with you a few tasty morsels about that bond.

Follow The Eater

Robbie had what they call in French “le pif”. The nose. Not a big schnoz, to be clear, but a talent. With this pif of his, he could uncannily sniff out and home in on superior food, drink and good times with preternatural ease, no matter the packaging, no matter how things may seem at first glance. I like to think I inherited some of this pif, but my father was the grand master.

One of my first great lessons in life was learned on the streets of Montreal Chinatown one Saturday afternoon sometime in the early 80s. Searching for a place to eat, my dad would stop in front of one window after the other, not looking at signs or menus or anything, just peering within. After a few stops, he turned to me and explained: “We only go in if everyone inside is Chinese. And don’t pay any attention to what the place looks like.” Following this advice, we would soon become patrons of a restaurant my dad lovingly dubbed “The Hole in the Wall” for years. The place was very much that, perhaps in contravention of a number of health regulations, but we couldn’t care less as we regularly enjoyed some of the best Chinese food the city had to offer at the time. I still dream about their squid with black bean sauce…

hole in the wall
Where The Hole in the Wall once was. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

It was decades later that I read an interview with Anthony Bourdain in which he dispensed some familiar-sounding advice: go where the locals are and forget appearances, including the condition of the restrooms. “Some of the best food experiences I’ve ever had are places they really don’t give a shit about that,” he says. I have found this to be the case on too many occasions to count. This brings to mind legendary Montreal breakfast temple, Cosmo’s, where my dad used to take me sometimes after doing my paper route. They had a literal hole in the wall in their bathroom through which you could actually see outside (and did for years – in fact, it might still be there), yet they made the best damn brekkies this side of the Mississippi.

Kid Kaviar & Breath à la Bourguignonne

As mentioned earlier, my first favourite foods were not exactly pizza and Zoodles, although I loved those too. We were pretty well-off in those early years of my life – this didn’t last, but boy am I grateful for the taste I got – and Dad made sure to show me the other side of the menu from the very get-go.

Caviar came ridiculously early. I was 17 months old when my father sat me on his lap on Christmas Day, feeding me tiny yuletide mouthfuls of sweet beluga cheer (see photo above). My reaction was to try to clutch the spoon lest those magical little globes somehow stopped. And just a few years later, again thanks to my dad, I apparently would eat escargots in garlic butter so frequently that my grandmother asked my mom not to let me have any before visiting her because they made my breath a little too “à la Bourguignonne”, so to speak. Now that I think of it, at the time, chances are Nana’s breath would often have been a little too “à la Beefeater”, so to speak, but I didn’t mind.

Skål forever, Nana, with love;)

escargots bourguigogne
Escargots à la Bourguignonne © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Lobster Lessons

And then there was lobster. Some of my earliest memories in this respect involve playing with live ones in the kitchen sink with my aforementioned Hot Wheels, moments before the crustaceans were sent to their ultimate demise. Once I had had my lobster derby fun, my dad would then remove my “toys” from the sink and lovingly slice them in half, hearts still beating, to be breaded and summarily sent to the rack. This may sound potentially traumatizing, but few things were cooler and more thrilling to me at the time. Don’t worry though, I was sure not to name them.

lobster hot wheels
Self-explanatory. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Over time, I was taught about all the overlooked meat compartments that the lobster hides, places nobody cares to check. Glorious, juicy troves where the torso meets the legs. Tender bits hiding under the hood. Not to mention the magnificent roe and, of course, the green stuff, Poseidon’s pâté. Thanks to my dad, sitting down to a lobster is now more like spelunking through a network of delicious, briny little caves, working my way slowly by the warm light of dilled garlic butter with lemon and a beer.

On that note, before I forget, see down below for Robbie’s boiled lobster recipe

Bad Vacay & The Little Hats

Next stop, Octopus Road. I once went on a Club Med vacation with my parents to Guadalupe when I was five, and I only remember two things: hating the kids’ club and loving the octopus. First of all, F%$K that kids’ club. For untold hours every day, I was thrust into some god-awful hand-holding singalong shitshow that had me in tears for the greater part of the slog through. Until I met some kid who always had cool toys with him, and then I was able to deal. We even had to put on a dance number for our parents at the end of it all in which I was dressed up as some kind of ridiculous clown bunny, buffeted about on stage by little gusts of tropical misery. See photo below – I’m the blond kid in the middle, 5th from left, praying for it all to stop. 

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Unhappy camper © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

The highlight of my day was lunch with my parents, when I was temporarily freed from my Romper Room gulag and allowed a precious taste of sweet, delicious reality. At the buffet, there was only one thing I cared about: an absolutely fascinating bowl filled to the brim with steamed octopus suction cups that had been sliced off the tentacles and piled for your pleasure. I called them “little hats” because they looked like little hats, and I loved them. They were pretty much the only things keeping me sane, along with that other kid’s toys. Again, F%$K that club.

Octoplussed

A short time after that, back home and sworn off of day camps forever, I found myself in a Japanese restaurant with my parents. This was back in the eighties, the golden age of sushi bars in Montreal, places that to me were made of pure spun dreams. I was a kid in a candy store, except the candy was sumashi soup, seaweed salad, shrimp tempura and octopus for days. Again, that’s octopus for days.

That first time I saw octopus sashimi, I couldn’t believe it was an option. You mean I can have the hats and the rest of it too? Dad confirmed. “Yes, son. Yes, you can.” I became obsessed. Whenever we would go out to a sushi bar, octopus was now my cardinal concern, and I would often eat little else. In one establishment in particular, the chef would just start piling octopus on a plate as soon as he saw me come through the door. I was a fiend.

My father would be on his own cloud nine while on a visit to the sushi bar, loving everything so much that he would end up drinking the sauces straight from their bowls to top things off. Once a little toasty on the sake, he would invariably regale the sushi chefs with the phonetic similarities, as he saw them, between Finnish and Japanese, repeating this one phrase that translated to something like: “The bed springs were bouncing and the whole family was watching.” It really did sound like Japanese, the chefs always agreed, and when they found out what it meant, they’d be rolling on the ground with my dad every single time. Miss those dinners.

octopus sashimi
Gimme-shimi © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Fish Eye Surprise

We didn’t just do the restaurant thing though; he would take me fishing as well. Ok, correction: he’d take me to the Atwater Market parking lot to fish for rainbow trout out of a glorified kiddie pool with corn niblets for bait. And it was awesome. We would then take them home and fry them up, enjoying their little eyeballs together for “dessert”. 

Many years later, on one of my first dates with the woman I would eventually marry, I ordered a whole grilled fish and polished off the eyeballs at the end, just like Dad taught me. I looked up from the carnage and saw Vee, mouth agape and absolutely horrified. 

“Please, don’t ever do that again,” was all she said. 

I have admittedly slipped on a few occasions over the past 22 years, but she’s found it in her heart to forgive me; she even tells me to go ahead and knock myself out every now and then. Now that’s love.

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You seeing this? © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Sinaloysters

These days, Vee and I live in maravillosa Mazatlán, Mexico. Among countless wonderful things, when you’re talking Mazatlán, you’re talking oysters, and I often think of how much my dad would have loved it here for this very fact alone. They’re practically encrusted in this town’s DNA, with vendors shucking away on street corners or walking the beaches while pushing refrigerated carts or balancing trays on their heads, heaped with a variety of oysters (and clams) fresh from the very same water you just splashed about in. There’s even something in the air here that we like to call “oyster mist”. When the waves crash and spray, there’s a bewitching, fresh-oyster-shell mineral smell that hangs about for a few seconds afterwards that is now one of our very favourite smells on Earth.

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Ostiones de playa © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

A Shucking Good Time

My love for oysters began with, you guessed it, my dad. Surprisingly, it actually began way later, in my twenties. And what an introduction. We’re not talking about a small, pre-shucked sampling served with a little mignonette on the side to make things easier for you. No, Dad decided I was going to like oysters whether I liked it or not, and I was going to like a lot of them. 

He brought me to the Montreal West Rotary Club’s annual oyster party held at Montreal West Town Hall. I had no idea he had any type of affiliation with this organization, but, true to form, it turns out he knew practically everyone there. It was a wholesome, family-friendly affair, featuring raffles, community announcements, easy-listening live music and finger food. Oh, and an aircraft carrier’s-worth of fresh oysters. 

Three very long wooden troughs were laid out in the middle of the whole thing, filled to the brim each one with Malpeque’s that had been trucked in fresh from PEI. At intervals along each column were shucking knives, paper towels, bowls of lemon, bottles of Tabasco sauce and garbage cans for the shells. This was serious. Like shut up and shuck serious.

After clumsily cracking my first one under my dad’s watchful eye, I gulped it down, confirmed it was one of the best things ever, and we then proceeded to dig into the pile before us like a couple of ravenous otters. While feeding at the trough to the sound of people winning movie tickets and romantic dinners for two, I remember standing beside a man who was wearing special gloves for the event, cracking away with what seemed to be a custom shucking knife at competition-speed worthy of being televised. His focus was total, and, thanks to my father and his unclear Rotary Club connections, I now understood why. After watching this man shuck like no one I’ve seen shuck since, I turned to my dad with a nod of solemn understanding, wiped the oyster juice, bits of shell and dirt from my face, and dove back in. For life. 

oyster knife
Release the crackin' © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Rye Deal

Even in his later years, Robbie had a magical knack for making great things happen when it came to food while also making great connections along the way. For instance, there was this bakery close to his home that he frequented regularly, and he one day got it into his head that they could make a fantastic classic Finnish rye bread if only they had the right ingredients and proper guidance. Knowing my dad, his proposal was no doubt impossible to resist, and the bakery agreed. Upon returning from a trip to Finland soon thereafter, he supplied them with a sample loaf, some rye flour, and a traditional recipe that they nailed to a tee after a few tries. In no time, Robbie’s Rye was an established customer favourite, flying off the shelves week after week.

Alas, the bakery has changed ownership and this beloved bread can no longer be found, but what a run it had. Now the stuff of legend.

The Fall Of Frontenac

On another occasion, finding out that his favourite beer, Frontenac, had been discontinued by the McAuslan brewery in Montreal, he marched straight down there on a one-man mission to get it reinstated. He was ultimately unsuccessful, but in the process, he managed to charm the pants off the owner and founder who ended up happily giving him a private tour of the brewery, after which his arms were naturally laden with free beer and merch. For the record, my dad did all this in a state not exactly conducive to running around in an endeavour to alter the brewing and bread-baking landscapes of his fair city. But when the man had a plan… 

All of a sudden, I could really go for a frosty Frontenac with him right now, with a buttered slice of Robbie’s Rye on the side, of course.

rye and frontenac
Robbie's Rye approximation. Not the real thing. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

May The Schwartz Be With Him

Close to the end, Robbie was still enjoying the good stuff as much as he possibly could. At the nursing home where he resided, my uncle would bring him Schwartz smoked meat sandwiches on a regular basis, one of his absolute favourites. Although he may have had difficulty showing it, this no doubt melted his heart every time. Thank you, Uncle Udo.

Kiitos Ja Kippis!

On this day, Robbie would have turned 80. I know that those experiences we shared so long ago set the table for a great many treasured things to come in my life. There’s no wonder I gravitated to the restaurant business for all that time, which is where I met my everything, my wife, so no redos on that front, thank you very much. It’s also safe to say that this thing, The Hungry Herald, wouldn’t have existed either, and I wouldn’t have had the privilege of taking the time, in this way, to share with you some of those Robbieventures that made such a mark. And this is just the tip of the lobster tail, of course. As always, thanks for humouring me. 

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Kippis! © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

So let’s have a round for Robbie now (it won’t be Frontenac in your glass but hey, he tried), and shake that great hall in the sky together in his honour as he raises a glass or three – right back our way. 

To Dad, and to those we miss so much who we know are lighting up that hall with him this very instant,  

Hyvää Syntymäpäivää, Rakkaus, Kiitos ja Kippis!! Happy Birthday, Love, Thank You and Cheers!! 

Love,

Michael

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© The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
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Robbie’s Boiled Lobster

  • (Optional) Play with lobsters and Hot Wheels in kitchen sink for a few precious minutes before saying goodbye
  • Bring a large pot of generously salted water to a rolling boil. It should be as salty as the sea
  • Crack one can of blonde, easy-drinking beer and pour into said raging sea
  • Crack another and periodically pour down your gullet
  • Grab a big handful of fresh dill, rip apart in a care-free way and throw into boiling beer brine
  • (Optional) Add in a dash of sugar. I personally don’t do this as I prefer to let the lobsters do the sweet talkin’
  • Cook lobsters for 12-15 min with pot lid slightly ajar
  • Serve with garlic butter and lemon on the side plus your favourite accompaniments and libations
  • (Optional) For a touch of  grandeur, put the complete works of Jean Sibelius on your stereo, beginning with Finlandia
  • Hyvää Ruokahalua! Bon Appétit!
lobster beer dill
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Taqueria La Paz Food Travel Blog Mexico

LA PAZ TACO TASTER: 8 TERRIFIC TAQUERÍAS TO TRY

LA PAZ TACO TASTER: 8 TERRIFIC TAQUERÍAS TO TRY

Taqueria La Paz Food Travel Blog Mexico
Taco Fish La Paz, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

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All The Hungry Herald food and drink recommendations are based entirely on our own direct experience, and we can’t guarantee that your experience will be the same. We can only hope that it will be even better. Bon appétit!

The taco is a magical little thing that we at The Hungry Herald apparently hardly ever knew, and a few months in Mexico have let us know just how unacquainted we were. From bone marrow to manta ray, the things we’ve found tucked into tortillas so far have had us wowed and re-arranging our brains – which are great in tacos by the way, in case you hadn’t heard. If you’ve checked out our previous post, you know that we’re head-over-heels in love with the city of La Paz, and of the countless reasons for this, the tacos rank pretty high. We invite you to join us now for a brief tour of a few of this town’s taquerías, and the dishes they dish, that really made us smile.  

tijuas 664 tacos la paz mexico
Birriería y Taquería Tijuas 664, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
Birriería y Taquería Tijuas 664 la paz Mexico
Absolutely marrowvellous. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Area code 664 represent! This Tijuana-inspired, Tijuanense-run roadhouse of a birriería/taquería offers something there’s no way we were going to miss out on. We’ve delved into the sublime slow-cooked meat stew that is birria in a previous post. At Tijuas, they slam some tuétano on there. Translation: bone marrow. Vee ordered a couple of decadent quesabirria doradas: beef birria and cheese with a generous helping of marrow stuffed into two tortillas and fried until golden, served with a rich, piping hot dipping caldo, or broth, on the side. I went for a plate of naked birria piled around a grilled marrow bone, also with its consommé. Just nuts. A sprinkling of onions and cilantro and a squeeze of lime came in to shine a light, while the bone marrow lent a fatty gravity to the proceedings that took the birria to newer depths of deliciousness. And that’s deep. 

Fun anecdote. While we were trying to figure out what to have, the super-friendly owner came over and enthusiastically recommended we have something with cheese. After chatting with us for a bit, he then proceeded to get on his motorcycle, which was parked in the middle of the restaurant, and with a wave goodbye, he choppered right outta there. Totally unthinkable back home, totally charming in La Paz.

taco Niku La paz Mexico
Master at work, Tacos Niku, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

This stand, along with its small orbit of tables for onsite dining, comes to life at night, occupying the entire length of an otherwise nondescript alleyway. The main event on the menu: tacos de carne asada. Large, thin cuts of juicy sirloin known as sábanas (sheets) are charcoal-grilled to absolute perfection, chopped up and served on grilled tortillas with your choice of toppings, including shredded cabbage, pico de gallo, avocado and cilantro. Holy smokiness. As Postal Employee Newman once said: “It’s the wood that makes it good”. That, and the chef of course.

We also had their papa rellena, a shepherd’s pie-like mix of mashed potatoes, steak, mushrooms, corn and cheese that was basically comfort food to comfort comfort food itself. Special mention goes to the outstanding service, which was above and beyond considering that we were there for a take-out order.

Tacos Felix La Paz Mexico
Tacos Felix, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

While we’re talking carne asada, this street corner taquería offers nothing but, and that kind of focus is usually a good sign. Classic, no-nonsense, beautifully grilled steak tacos served with a virtual salad bar of delicious toppings to choose from. Goes great with a couple of chelas (cold beers) from the Oxxo convenience store across the street. This is the kind of place where you can just sit back and watch the day – and the cars – go by. Speaking of cars, after making our tacos, the affable chef/owner left the kitchen and went back out into the street to help a couple of stranded motorists with some engine issues they were having. Tacos, transmissions, Felix does it all.

claro fish jr taco pulpo
Octopus tacos at Claro Fish Jr. La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

If Neptune were a taquero, La Paz is undoubtedly where he’d set up shop. Claro. A pebble-skip up the street from the water, this always bustling joint knows how to dish out the briny goods. The catch is big here: fresh fish, clams, oysters, Mexican seafood classics like ceviches, aguachiles, campechanas and molcajates, plus a large selection of tacos, tostadas, burritos, toritos – you name it – all literally stuffed with the sea.

From first-rate Baja fried fish and fried shrimp tacos, to smoked marlin tostadas that had us thinking of Estonian smoked eel (extremely high praise), to our very first exquisitely tender octopus tacos, everything we had was outstanding. The Grand Jury Prize goes to the torito de camarón, a sneaky little taco hiding a whole batter-fried green chile pepper plus melted cheese and featuring some of the best grilled garlic shrimp we’ve ever had. All of it freshly dressed however you like. Shall we throw in some great service and a perfect margarita to tie the whole thing together? Just yes.

Taco Fish La Paz Mexico
Tacos de pescado y camarón capeados, Taco Fish La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
Choyero at Taco Fish La Paz, Mexico
Choyero for the win! © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Another fishtastic spot, this institution, boasting two other locations in Jalisco, has recently celebrated 30 years in business. And we definitely understand why such mileage. The amazing food, the decor, the vibe, the excellent service marked by a palpable pride on the part of the team – everything conspires to make this place a must-stop for any visitor to this fair city. As it says on the back of their T-shirts here: “No somos estilo La Paz, somos La Paz” (“We’re not La Paz-style, we are La Paz”). No arguments there.

The place is bright, breezy and cheerily done up with super cool metallic fish and seafood lamps hanging all around plus an impressive marlin bust jumping right out of the wall, striking reminders of what the menu is all about here. And that would be fish and seafood antojitos done right. We can confirm that the fish and shrimp tacos as well as the manta ray burritos are superb, but please, we beg you, if you go, try the choyero.  Plump grilled shrimp, ooey gooey melted Chihuahua cheese, green peppers, smoked marlin and chunks of back bacon in a fried tortilla. Goodness gracious. This was yet another halt on our taco trek that had us checking ourselves. Again, just yes.

Tacos El Pulpo in La Paz, Mexico
Tacos El Pulpo, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
Tacos El Pulpo La Paz Mexico
Pescado capeado at Tacos El Pulpo © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

You may think that talking about yet another fish place is overkill, but when in Baja, we’re sorry, it’s not. This is the home of the eponymous fried fish taco, and the ones we had at this stand were a home run. Walking by one day on the sidewalk, we noticed a crowd of people gathered around while a family of five was working the stand, one member tending a boiling cauldron of hot oil wherein the magic was happening. The main event was fish tacos, and we wanted in. Dos, por favor.

Having dressed them ourselves with all the classics and then some, courtesy of a small glass condiment cupboard on the side of the stand, we dug in. It was love at first bite, and we now understood what all the fuss was about. The fried fish simply beer-battered us upside the head in a way that would give any London pub a run for its money. A cumulous cloud in fresh fish form had been fried to absolute golden crisp perfection and placed in a tortilla. The fish-to-batter ratio was just as we love it (i.e., all about the fish), while the fresh shredded cabbage, pico de gallo, smooth avocado cream and fresh lime – with a few spicy onions thrown in for unfettered fun – just got the whole thing dancing in the street. Good lunch.

Caguamanta y Birria Los Unicos La Paz Mexico
© Caguamanta y Birria Los Unicos, La Paz, Mexico. All rights reserved.

Manta ray, anyone? We passed this place several times before finally giving it a try, and each time we did, we would eye a little paper sign on the wall advertising their tongue tacos. It turns out they’re amazing and tender beyond belief, but what we weren’t prepared for was an item that we would have rushed to try earlier had we simply Googled one of the words on their sign outside.

Caguamanta, hailing from the state of Sonora, is a tomato and chile-based stew of manta ray, shrimp and vegetables that can be enjoyed in taco form. As the name suggests, it was originally made with caguama turtle, which is now endangered so shrimp is thankfully used instead these days. Ours was just delicious, loaded with a generous helping of nice chunks of ray with a texture somewhere between skate wing and swordfish. This taco had a grandmother’s touch written all over it and was quite unlike anything we’ve had. Unicos indeed. 

Volcan Las Guacamayas in La Paz Mexico
Volcán de arrachera at Las Guacamayas, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
Mango Michelada at Las Guacamayas in La Paz, Mexico
Mango-habanero michelada at Las Guacamayas, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

A guacamaya is a macaw, and, like its namesake, this place is bursting with colour. Very tasty colour. We stopped by for a quick afternoon beer, but things got a lot more interesting real fast. The beers were quickly converted into the first micheladas we met in Mexico, and let’s just say we hit it off right away. A simple Google search of this cocktail can get perplexing as it has countless variations, but you’re generally looking at super cold blonde beer meets freshly squeezed lime, a proprietary house blend of salt, chile pepper, spices and sauces (which can mean anything from Worcestershire to teriyaki sauce), maybe tomato or clamato juice but not always, the whole lot served up on ice in a spice-rimmed glass. Ours came with a spice-dipped straw for some deluxe swizzling, and Vee had the mango with habanero version. Whatever they put in those things, all we can say is that we now understand. Suddenly, we had the feeling we’d be staying longer.

After sampling some of the little accompaniments that came with our drinks, including an impressively spicy grilled serrano pepper whose fumes got us right in the eyelids with every bite, the juices were officially flowing and tacos now had to happen. The volcán de arrachera was a fried open taco-not-taco boasting a joy-inducing crispy tortilla, volcanically gooey cheese and juicy grilled skirt steak that had Vee repeatedly using the Lord’s name in vain. The chuleta taco, a char-grilled pork chop taco served with an adorable tiny chop on the side, was so smokily wonderful that we ordered another right away. And all we wanted was a beer. Oh, what a michelada can do to a day. 

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Come taco time, La Paz did us right, but it didn’t stop there. From freakishly fresh seafood and bar-raising grilled meats to outstanding artisanal coffee and deliciously dangerous drinks of the night, this place tickled our tummies at virtually every turn. Please stay tuned for more posts on the matter, and until then, just know that there’s a guy frying pork with a shovel in this town. And yes, it’s amazing. ¡Hasta luego!

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Michael Emeleus

Michael Emeleus

Michael is a freelance writer, translator, purveyor of English lessons and Tai Chi enthusiast who has been following food ever since his dad fed him caviar one Christmas when he was a toddler, and he tried to grab the spoon. He has written and translated for renowned restaurant guidebook Gault & Millau, and has dishwashed, bussed, bartended and served his way through three action-packed decades in the Montreal restaurant scene. He likes walks on the beach, the smell of gasoline and taking pictures of plants, and he is also pretty much guaranteed to order the most challenging thing on the menu.

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Playa Tecolote Taco in La Paz, Baja California Sur

TACOSCAPE MEDITATIONS

TACOSCAPE MEDITATIONS

Playa Tecolote Taco in La Paz, Baja California Sur
Hard-shell lounging at Playa El Tecolote, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
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The Old El Past

Remember Chi-Chi’s? I don’t.

Although the Tex-Mex restaurant chain with the eyebrow-raising name (go ahead, Google its meaning in Spanish) was big when I was a kid, I don’t quite recall ever making it out to one of their locations, despite my fascination with reports that they were somehow deep-frying ice cream. I guess we weren’t all that hungry for chimichangas in our household. We never went to Taco Bell either for that matter. This was easy since “The Cure For The Common Meal”, as they claimed to be at the time, didn’t show up in our neck of the woods (Quebec) until way later. After having endured common meals for far too long, I finally got around to sampling their product while on a visit to New York City in my late teens, just a few years before that ridiculous chihuahua started showing up in our living rooms. In the spirit of politeness, let’s just say I didn’t require any more of the cure after that one visit, but that’s me.

No, when it came to “Mexican” food when I was growing up, we, like many Canadians in the 1980s, sourced ours from a red and yellow “kit” off a supermarket shelf. This came courtesy of a company owned by General Mills, the good people who bring us Lucky Charms, Count Chocula, Yoplait and Häägen-Dazs. Yup, we’re talking Old El Paso.  

Along with many of my peers, throughout the first chapters of my life, my understanding of Mexican cuisine was pretty much limited to an assemblage of 8 ingredients, give or take: a plastic bag of u-shaped hard taco shells, a pack of spice mix, ground beef, grated yellow cheddar, shredded iceberg lettuce, diced tomatoes, onions and sour cream. And maybe some “taco sauce” for good measure. That’s where it began. That’s where it ended. That’s all we knew.

Don’t get me wrong, the stuff was delicious, and paired perfectly with a summer afternoon in the backyard sliding our hearts out on a Wet Banana (you may be more acquainted with its equally slick, more popular cousin, Slip ‘N Slide). Let’s take a second and give a big shout-out right now to all the moms and dads and level lawns that made those good times happen.

That being said, when I finally saw my first real taco, I had no idea what the hell I was looking at. It was soft and wobbly, the tortilla all weird and round. I had just found out about flat-bottomed hard taco shells – to prevent your tacos from falling over, because that’s crucial of course – and here was a taco that had no intention of standing up at all. And where were the usual fillings? Where was my iceberg? One bite of that taco al pastor though, and everything changed. There was no more Old El Paso. There would be no New El Paso. There was just the rest of my taco-tasting life, and I hadn’t even been to Mexico yet.

A Piece of Peace

La Paz Letters Mexico
Letras de La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
Pearl Scultpure on the Malécon in La Paz
Pearl scultpure on the Malecón, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

The Hungry Herald has been in Mexico for many months now, and, true to our resolution to meditate more on tacos after our first outstanding ones in Cabo, we’ve been doing just that, one taco at a time. Two of those months were spent in La Paz, Baja California Sur, and we’d like to now turn the spotlight on that absolutely wonderful town, our home away from home, as we take a little time out to talk some taco and then some.

La Paz. Peace. Few towns are more fittingly named. The capital of the beautiful state of Baja California Sur, it is nestled in the southern extremity of the Bahía de La Paz on the southeastern side of the peninsula, where arid, rocky, cactus-bristling hills meet the crystal-blue waters of the Sea of Cortez. The contrast is spectacular and otherworldly, unlike anything we had ever seen, and we were hooked at first sight.

We had intended to stay for a month, but we stayed for two. There is, of course, so much to see in Mexico, and we could have done a whirlwind tour during that time. But this town just kept telling us to slow down, focus and disfruta. We felt immediately, uncannily at home in La Paz and loved everything about it: the genuinely laid-back vibe; the unbelievably friendly locals, or paceños, saying hello on the street; the magical and vibrant boardwalk, El Malecón, lined with statues honouring the sea and where something is always going on; the soul-cuddling sunsets; our favourite beach of all time a short drive away (El Tecolote!); the eclectically laid-out sidewalks, the pervading wholesomeness and healthy living; the music, the food, the drinks and the food. Yeah, that’s food twice, and we’ll get to that of course.

La PAz sunset malecon 2
Sunset on the Malécon, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.
Whale Sculpture Malecon La Paz
Whale statue on the Malécon, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Written on the tanned faces of long-term ex-pats who call La Paz home is a special contentment, a constant signal of how happy they are with their decision, and we were beginning to understand why. There was something in the air here that was just right. We were even charmed by the junkyards, not to mention the guard dogs, from pit bulls to chihuahuas, that would occasionally lunge out of the blue against iron fences as we walked by. It gave us a start every time, but they were just doing their job. And all told, that was as intense as things ever got. 

It may be the state capital, but La Paz, with a population of just over 250,000, has none of the hustle and bustle thereof. No tall buildings, no rushing executives, no honking motorists raging against the traffic. Ok, we actually did see one of the latter this one time, but he was wildly out of place and clearly from out of town. Stressing out just didn’t make any sense, and whatever residual tensions we brought with us had a hard time standing up to the surf, the breeze, the occasional hibiscus margarita, and the sheer soothing might of a pace we didn’t even know was allowed. 

Margarita de Jamaica in La Paz, Mexico
Hibiscus margarita in La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Happy Herald

In a clamshell, we were enchanted. Speaking of clams, although we expected to eat very well – pretty much a given no matter where you find yourself in Mexico – we were taken by surprise by just how well we ate in La Paz. From freakishly fresh seafood like very live chocolate” clams (almejas de chocolate) that wiggled to the tune of lime juice in their big brown shells, and “rabbit” oysters (ostiones de conejo) about the size of baby bunnies, to simply transcendental fish soup, to show-stopping meats like carnitas – think pork confit – that were cooked with a shovel and made us weak in the knees, we were consistently blown away. 

Ok, I’m enjoying making lists in this post, so please bear with me. We had mad menudo at the market (not the band), killer pizza – one of which somehow involved peanuts and raspberry jam, outstanding local chorizo, fresh-roasted coffee made by a Jedi, downright dangerous cocktails, super duper ice cream, and artisanal habanero sauce to stop the presses and your heart. La Paz just kept delivering the goods.

Over the next few posts, we’ll be sharing with you the dizzying dishliciousness coming from all corners, but for now, we’re going all out taco. And boy does La Paz pack a punch. We invite you to check out this companion post for a more detailed look at just how much of a punch. 

MENUDO VS MENUDO 1
Menudos © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved. (Menudo™ Grupo Photo @ Menudo™ Grupo. All rights reserved.)

A Baja Fish Farewell

A short walk in any direction from our digs in the Centro neighbourhood would invariably lead to temptation by the taco fairy. We needn’t go far before bumping into a stand or stumbling into a family-run cantina loved by the locals, where seasoned taqueros were working their griddles, fryers and wood-burning grills for the gustatory greater good. 

There was this one stand right around the corner from us that we passed regularly but never tried until our last day in La Paz. Out and about on an errand, we noticed a crowd of people gathered around on the sidewalk. An entire family was working the stand – literally five people in a two-person space, which included a cauldron of boiling oil – dishing out an array of fried seafood delights, notably the classic Baja fried fish taco. The place is called El Pulpo, particularly fitting at the time since the family indeed moved almost like an octopus, fluidly and in concert, while making wonders happen all around. Vee had been craving fish tacos for days, and we were leaving Baja soon. There was no choice. Dos por favor.

Tacos El Pulpo in La Paz, Mexico
Tacos El Pulpo, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

We had sampled some great Baja-style fish and shrimp tacos throughout our stay, but these things were just the ultimate send-off. Like in many taquerías, you dress them yourself, and after being handed two naked, piping-hot fish tacos, our attention was directed to the far side of the stand where a little glass cupboard with sliding doors housed the condiments. We went with some classic Baja fish friends: shredded cabbage, pico de gallo, smooth avocado cream and fresh lime. We also threw in a few habaneroed red onions for some unfettered, fiery fun.

If you could perfectly batter and wizardly fry a cumulus cloud, and that cloud was actually a filet of fresh fish, then that’s what you would have done to create those tacos, and we would have thanked you for it. The uncompromising quality of La Paz seafood met a beer-batter know-how that would give the best London pubs a run for their money. As one’s tooth went from thin, golden crisp to juicy, sumptuously tender white flesh, it just knew it was in the right place. Mixed with spot-on, vibrant condiments and seasoned with ambient street vibes, these were proper tacos. Once again, here were tacos that made you think on tacos.

Tacos El Pulpo La Paz Mexico
Taco de Pescado Capeado at Tacos El Pulpo, La Paz, Mexico © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Un Poquito De Historia

The history of the taco is notoriously hard to tell, since the word only appeared in print for the first time in the late 19th century, and not in the pages of some celebrated cookbook or chronicle of Mexican gastronomy. Its debut was in Manuel Payno’s iconic 1891 novel, Los bandidos de Río Frío, in which a group of indigenous children are seen “skipping, with tacos of tortillas and avocado in their hand.” This widely read mention led to it soon thereafter being adopted into the first dictionary of Mexican Spanish: Feliz Ramos I. Duarte’s 1895 Diccionario de mejicanismos.

Prior to that, we have murky references to Moctezuma using tortillas as a spoon and indigenous people eating them with fish. Writer and chronicler Salvador Novo speculated in his 1967 gastronomical history of Mexico City, Cocina Mexicana, that Hernán Cortés and Co. may have been served banquets where Old World pork was eaten with New World tortillas. Perhaps, but centuries with virtually no written descriptions leave us with a lot of guesswork on our plate. It doesn’t take much of a leap, however, to imagine meat stuffed into a tortilla, taco style, at some point along the undocumented way.

Taco Boom!

We may not have detailed historical accounts of the taco in action, but what we can trace with a little more certainty is both the origin of the word and how it became identified with the dish. In keeping with the taco’s hazy past, however, consensus is not definitive.

For example, some say the term comes from the Nahuatl tlahco, meaning “half” or “in the middle”, suggesting a filling stuffed in the midst of a tortilla. And some, like professor of Nahuatl David Bowles, emphatically reject this notion as “simply fanciful”. Whatever the case, we’re actually intrigued by a more modern idea. 

Jeffrey M. Pilcher, professor of food history and author of Planet Taco: A Global History of Mexican Food – and on whom we’ve happily leaned for much of our historical info – proposes an interesting theory. In his excellent and exhaustive investigation into the evolution of authentic Mexican cuisine and the role that globalization has played in its definition, Pilcher brings our attention to 18th-century Mexican silver mines.

At the time, miners used rudimentary explosive charges composed of gunpowder wrapped in a piece of paper that would be plugged into a prepared crevice and then lit to blast out the ore. The miners called this charge a taco, an old Spanish term with deep etymological roots in Europe that referred to a plug or wedge and things of the sort. As Pilcher says in his book: “In retrospect, it is easy to see the similarity between a chicken taquito with hot sauce and a stick of dynamite.”

Taquitos Dynamite Mexico
Fire in the hole! © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

With increasing industrialization, as well as civil and economic unrest that hit the mining industry hard in the 19th century, Mexico City saw an influx of migrant workers, including miners, who brought their packed lunches with them. One meal that really seemed to have caught on was a simple combination of tortilla stuffed with potatoes and salsa that was kept warm in its own steam. Sold out of baskets by women vendors on the street, these little wraps came to be known as tacos sudados, sweaty tacos. But before that, they were called tacos de minero, miner’s tacos. Pilcher, in an interview with Smithsonian Magazine, thus suggests that the taco “is not necessarily this age-old cultural expression; it’s not a food that goes back to time immemorial.” 

Tacovolution

Officially added to the long list of antojitos (“little cravings” – Mexican street food classics running the gamut from tamales to quesadillas to pozole), tacos eventually spread far and wide from Mexico City as taquerías popped up all across the country, and regional differences yielded seemingly endless takes on the convenient, highly accessible dish. Tacos have their own special way of reflecting the where, when and who involved in their creation, and as circumstances changed, so did they.

For instance, when Christian Lebanese immigrants arrived in Puebla in the early 20th century, they introduced the region to shawarma. Seasoned lamb roasting on an upright, rotating spit was shaved off into pita bread, or pan árabe, for a dish that became known in Mexico as tacos árabes, or Arab tacos. The next generation made certain Mexicanized modifications, switching out the lamb for pork marinated in adobo and the pita for corn tortillas while adding in cilantro and onions. With the ingeniously delicious introduction of pineapple, which remains a culinary history mystery to this day, the taco al pastor, or shepherd’s taco, was born. Named as a nod to its spit-roasted lamby roots, it took off in the 1960s and now tops the list of the most popular tacos in Mexico. Incidentally, watching a master taquero deftly slice off a piece of pineapple from the top of the spit and catch it in mid-air with the taco acting as a baseball mitt is a sight to see.

Tacos Al Pastor
Al Pastor ready for a shave. © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Making Do & Hard-shell Truths

This brings us to that taco kit. Contrary to what you might think, those as-seen-on-TV tacos so identified with brands like Old El Paso and Taco Bell are actually the result of developments made by Mexican Americans. 

Tacos first appeared in print in the United States in the early 1900s, around the time when a large number of Mexican migrant workers began arriving in search of new opportunities. Their cuisine naturally followed and adapted when necessary. Next-generation Mexican cooks in the U.S. found themselves creatively adjusting their tacos to what the foodstuffs industry mainly had on offer at the time, and it certainly wasn’t avocados and intestines. Ground beef, cheddar cheese, tomatoes and iceberg lettuce were what was easily available, so that’s what they used. 

They also invented those taco shells. Patents and cookbooks going back to the 1940s demonstrate that these game changers, designed to increase efficiency as they could be made ahead of time and kept far longer, were actually a Mexican American innovation. Patents for hard shells were awarded to Mexican applicants a decade before Glen Bell, founder of Taco Bell, apparently claimed to have invented them. Scandalous, but we’re not getting involved, this post is long enough as it is. For the scoop and then some, check out the above-mentioned Smithsonian interview, or just get yourself a copy of Jeffrey Pilcher’s book, it’s well worth it. Now back to Mexico. 

Hasta Pronto, Taco Folks

Tacos de cabeza La Carretera Mexico
The real deal. Clockwise from bottom: head, brains and intestine tacos © The Hungry Herald. All rights reserved.

Although we’ve come a long way from those crunchy, hamburger-filled u-turns of yore, we’ve only just begun our taco trek at this point. Of course, we’ve hardly seen a thing, but what we did see back in La Paz definitely got us wanting more. Much more. With every trip to the taquería, our ignorance was made excitingly and deliciously clear in this town, served up with a warm smile, a little lime, and some hot sauce on the side. To give you a tiny taste, we again invite you to check out this post for a pelican’s fly-over of what really hit the spot. ¡Muchísimas gracias La Paz!

Indeed, the trail we’ve taken goes on and on, and there have been countless welcome surprises and some deliciously deep-track dishes along the way, from grilled beef intestine and brains tacos to a crunchy vampiro al cabeza  – “head vampire” – but we’ll get to that some other time. The more we discover, the longer the menu seems to get, and we’re happily certain that we’re never to reach its end. That said, without a clue what else is in store and what else we’re bound to learn, we’re just gonna keep on keeping on as we head further and further into the tacoscape, enjoying all its delectable and surprising tacography as we go. There is, however, one thing we do know for sure:

We ain’t in Old El Paso anymore.

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Thank you so much for reading, and please tune in for upcoming hungry helpings courtesy of La Paz, from some up-close coffee roasting with a local master to a fresh-caught sampling of the fisherman’s bounty spilling out of boats and kitchens all around this wonderful town. ¡Hasta pronto!   

DISCLAIMER:

Backyard water slides like the Wet Banana and the Slip ‘N Slide have apparently slid themselves onto safety watchdog lists of the most dangerous toys around in recent years, along with the likes of lawn darts and Big Wheels. Pogo Ball bad too. As far as I remember, we came out pretty much unscathed by the whole lot in my family, but those were the crazy eighties, car doors still had ashtrays. Slide at your own risk. 

Michael Emeleus

Michael Emeleus

Michael is a freelance writer, translator, purveyor of English lessons and Tai Chi enthusiast who has been following food ever since his dad fed him caviar one Christmas when he was a toddler, and he tried to grab the spoon. He has written and translated for renowned restaurant guidebook Gault & Millau, and has dishwashed, bussed, bartended and served his way through three action-packed decades in the Montreal restaurant scene. He likes walks on the beach, the smell of gasoline and taking pictures of plants, and he is also pretty much guaranteed to order the most challenging thing on the menu.

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Nixtamalization

NIXTAMALIZATION

NIXTAMALIZATION

Nixtamalization
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Welcome to our very first instalment of The Hungry Hungry Glossary, an ever-growing lexicon of intriguing culinarily relevant terms that we hope will add a little flavour to your day. Let’s take a tiny tortilla of a time-out now and talk about a word we’d like you to stick in your pantry tout de suite if it’s not already in there:

NIXTAMALIZATION

nixtamalization mexico food blog the hungry herald

An ancient Mesoamerican culinary technique, nixtamalization is what makes proper tortillas, among other related delights, possible. Without it, they would probably have been known as rough, flavourless discs of badly ground, nutritionally deficient corn. Yum. A boon to maize-dependent cultures like the Mayans and Aztecs, this method was crucial in rendering corn a viable and enjoyable staple that could effectively thwart potentially ruinous disease.

From the Nahuatl nixtli (ashes) and tamalli (cooked maize dough), nixtamalization involves steeping and partially cooking corn in a solution made from water and an alkaline substrate – traditionally the likes of limestone or wood ash, but these days food-grade calcium hydroxide is used. This process softens the kernel while loosening its pesky pericarp, yielding plump hominy known as nixtamal, ideal for grinding into masa (corn flour), which can then be moulded into tortillas, tamales and so on. It also significantly boosts the corn’s flavour factor while dramatically amplifying its nutritional value, unlocking otherwise bound vitamin B3 (niacin), essential for everything from a healthy liver to converting food into fuel.

Evidence of nixtamalization goes back as far as 1500 BCE, but it wasn’t until the 20th century that scientists discovered its crucial B vitamin-releasing powers. Woefully underestimated by newly arrived Europeans as a quaint indigenous cooking style and nothing more, this ancient knowledge didn’t make the voyage over when Columbus and Co. brought maize back with them from the New World. Corn spread widely over the following centuries, but, unbeknownst to its new consumers, it is not a viable staple on its own if left untreated. Unequipped with the know-how and techniques necessary to unlock its nutritional potential, populations that found themselves entirely dependent on maize when other crops failed suffered the consequences. Outbreaks of pellagra hit peasant communities in Spain and Italy particularly hard in the 18th and 19th centuries when their wheat crops gave out. Similar devastation was later visited upon the American Southwest during the Great Depression.

How and why nixtamalization was discovered is a subject of much speculation. One theory points to early civilizations that boiled corn using hot stones placed in cooking vessels that were not sturdy enough to withstand direct fire. Limestone cooking stones, like those used in certain limestone-heavy regions of Mexico and Guatemala, would have provided enough alkalinity for nixtamalization to occur. Some speculate that the first main attraction of nixtamalized corn would have been its grindability, not to mention its new and improved flavour, the incredible nutritional benefits an added bonus to be discovered later. Whatever the details of its origins, pre-Colombian societies dependent on maize would likely never have thrived without this ingenious method.

Check out the great video and podcast in this article for a light geek-out on nixtamalization and find out, among other things, how it “saponifies ester linkages” to release niacin from the clutches of its “starch matrix”. Damn right it does.

Michael Emeleus

Michael Emeleus

Michael is a freelance writer, translator, purveyor of English lessons and Tai Chi enthusiast who has been following food ever since his dad fed him caviar one Christmas when he was a toddler, and he tried to grab the spoon. He has written and translated for renowned restaurant guidebook Gault & Millau, and has dishwashed, bussed, bartended and served his way through three action-packed decades in the Montreal restaurant scene. He likes walks on the beach, the smell of gasoline and taking pictures of plants, and he is also pretty much guaranteed to order the most challenging thing on the menu.

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SIGN UP FOR OUR MONTHLY NEWSLETTER TODAY!
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