knocking

I guess the americano wasn't entirely caffeine free. I was wide awake until about 3am last night, and then I still tossed and turned until my body decided that 8am was late enough to be in bed.

I soaked tortilla chips in egg batter to soften them before scrambling the mix to make a surprisingly good breakfast dish.

I caught the bus to the really dangerous Zona Rosa, and checked out two markets there. The first was a really quick breeze through one market, which turned out to just sell touristy crap.

Crossing the street, there is an upscale antiques mall filled with small stores selling high quality wares. On weekends, the passages of the mall become lined with a flea market of really interesting and not horribly expensive antiques, paintings, and other artwork including some old indigenous crafts, for which I am searching.

Asked about a few pieces and found some things that began to pique my interest, but not enough to throw down. I walked the mile to get to the market at la Ciudadella, the massive artesan market by the old cigar factory/library.

This market mostly sells touristy crap, but at a significantly cheaper price than the one in the Zona Rosa. Maybe 10% is the interesting stuff worth parsing. Antiques, carvings, artwork, textiles. You can find your tacky tequila shot glasses and felt sombreros, but there's also masks from Guerero (the state known for its masks and carvings), sculpture from Oaxaca, and pottery from Jalisco and Puebla.

I ended up buying a new cotton guayabara shirt with pockets at the base, and two new tequila shot glasses to complement the four I already have. They actually look great as a group.

I stopped to watch the danzon dancers do their slow, genteel dance imported from Cuba, and, entranced, sincerely wished that when I'm in my 70s and 80's, that I too, could wear nice clothes and dance in public squares with a massive crowd of my peers on a regular basis, rather than tucked away in some senior center or gym.

A short walk away, I found my favorite taco stand. I have never had a better taco in this city. They make their corn tortillas by hand right there, lay in a bed of thin sliced marinated pork from the split, and add a generous helping of sliced pineapple. And that's before you doctor it with fresh minced onion and cilantro, fresh squeezed lime, and a thick line of salsa. I grabbed a cane sugar sweetened apple soda from the ice filled chest and it was all amazing.

There are many small dishes in search of perfection in this world- the right combination of flavors, the right combination of textures, the relative sizes of the constituent ingredients. Tacos in general, are close to the perfection of this ideal. These tacos al pastor are as close to the consumation of the ideal that I have ever encountered. (Although some barbacoa tacos I've had come close.)

Caught a metro home, and skyped with Saori for about four hours to find out how her week has been and how her birthday went. Part of me thinks, whoa, I'm dating a 30 year old, but then I remember yeah, but it's Saori, and frankly, in about a dozen months, I'm going to be knocking on that same door. Let others think I'm in my mid-20s, but don't fool yourself.