rainy saturday

Saturday morning began with me rolling out of bed around 8 am and my roommate emerging from her room shortly after. We caught a cab down to a fonda about a mile south of us, Fonda Margarita. This place was highly recommended in a few articles about culinary backstreets in Mexico City as a breakfast joint for pretty much everyone from politicians to working families. Actually, I was kind of surprised about the quantity of press relative to the development of the restaurant.

A fonda is basically a very simple restaurant which generally serves popular food of the countryside, a healthier version of American soul food, so to speak. Typically the building it is in is very crude- I've eaten at fondas that were basically tarp-covered- and food is prepared in large batches in giant clay bowls over rough propane stoves.

Anyway, this Fonda Margarita had been reviewed in numerous publications, lonely planet travelers ranked it #2 of things to do in Mexico City, and the website which was half in English had had obviously more money put into it than a lot of the restaurant.

We got there at the right time- perfectly situated between post-drinking rush (the fonda opens at 5:30am expressly for this purpose) and standard breakfast crowd. We were seated at long picnic tables with other diners and we perused the giant menu printed on a vinyl banner on the wall. I opted for the chicarones salsa verde, fried pork skins drenched in mild green salsa and a coffee.

The family across from us shared some tortillas while we were waiting for our food. The clientele looked very mixed. I could easily imagine some of the diners were very wealthy. There was also a guitarist who played and the doorman turned out to be a singer as well. I'd definitely go back there again. When we left, the line stretched around the building.

From the apartment, I struck out for the monument to the revolution, where I'd heard there was going to be a market, music, and lucha libre wrestling. I got there too early, and hung around watching them build the wrestling ring, which was kind of interesting.

Wandering around the monument site, I was accosted by two gentlemen who inquired about my spiritual beliefs, and so I spent the next half an hour talking and arguing with some Jehovas Witnesses while the luchadors wrestled in the background.

Lucha libre is pretty ridiculous. It's somewhat entertaining, and all the moves and antics are kind of fun, but maybe it just seemed more absurd given the middle of the day and the somber nature of the plaza (the major heroes of the revolution are entombed in black volcanic rock nearby).

Apparently at the big fights in the arena, they dress midgets up as gorillas and throw them into the mix too.

Next stop was Fusion: casa de disenadores (house of designers) in the Zona Rosa. This is actually a bonanza for me since I've had a very hard time trying to track down independent designers in Mexico City. It still feels very nascent even compared with places like Buenos Aires. What it is a complex filled with about twenty or thirty small stores and stands of designers selling tee shirts, jewelry, shoes, bags, books, and some other small housewares. 

I was also there to try to find Carlos. Way back in 2006, when Saori was still living with Joyce back in Tempe, Joyce, a young Taiwanese woman also studying at ASU, was dating Carlos, and I actually met him one night in their tiny apartment.

I remember thinking how badass it must be to be a jewelry designer in Mexico City, so its funny to meet up with him here. I did find him with his work at the design fair and after a somewhat protracted introduction, he remembered Saori and grasped our connection. Actually, I barely remembered what he looked like.

Anyway. From there I walked through a part of the city dedicated to auto parts and auto service and stopped for some tacos in that neighborhood. Mexico City is very strange. You do have a giant mix of uses in most residential neighborhoods, but as you get closer to the center of the city, the uses become a lot more specialized. For example, near the Chinatown, there is a street of nothing but small shops selling lighting. And a street of small appliances and repair. And a street of nothing but shoes sellers.

The tacos were unbelievable, one of the best tacos I've had here. Oversized, with hand made tortillas, meat was perfectly seasond and the right chunkiness, and not stingy with the pineapple at all. I doctored it with onions and cilantro and a bit of spicy green salsa, and it was gone.

Caught the metro south to find a church designed by Felix Candela. It was close to the station, which was good because it was closed. I dove back underground under skies beginning to get cloudy and headed to El Mercado.

There is a giant fruit and vegetable market in Mexico City in the historic center, a vast hall filled with stalls and vendors. This building is invisible because it is surrounded by second ring of markets of various temporality. The ring is so thick, when you emerge from the metro, you emerge in the middle of the market.

Or to be more accurate, I emerged into a full scale flood. The first sign of trouble was the waterfall cascading down the metro stairs. The market was under the seige of a torrential downpour of rain and the tarp coverings and patched roofs only go so far. There was rain from above, water coming up from the overwhelmed drains, and the crowds of people choking the narrow alleys of the market literally brought everything to a standstill. It's actually quite claustrophobic because there's really nothing you can do except shove along with the crowd. There's no outlet and no escape except literally into the merchandize filled stalls on either side. Needless to say, I could have picked a better time to visit the market.

Overwhelmed with the masses of people and the tight spaces, I finally entered the market proper and got a few shots before deciding I needed a little more space, so I fought my way out and emerged into the rain and the southwest corner of the centro historico. I walked through the old core of the city, skirting the edge of the Zocalo, and only stopped for churros and chocolate at Casa Churra.

This place suckered me in with the churros, but actually it kind of sucked. I ordered chocolate and churros. It took them about 30 minutes to bring out the chocolate, and the churros 15 minutes after that. Then it took me 30 minutes to get my check and get change. And it was more expensive than el Moro. Skip Casa Churra, walk the extra ten minutes and get to the better place at El Moro.

Last stop of the day was the pasteleria Ideal where I loaded up with bread. It was also packed, and navigating with a precariously balanced tray of pastries was a task. Somewhere after I paid, I dropped my recipt, and I spent a worried 10 minutes trying to find it before a little girl gave it to me. I thanked her, grabbed my bread, and dragged my sopping wet shoes home.