elementary school teachers at the discotheque

Friday after work, I met K and Amanda in a waiting taxi and rode out to Garibaldi station. K had been talking up this pozoleria I'd found online, and one of her friends came along to try it as well. Pozole is a pre-hispanic soup, based on pork or chicken broth and filled with the shredded meat, garbanzo beans, and hominy. Traditional pozoles are served usually topped with baked tortillas or chicharones (fried pork rinds), fresh onion, dried oregano, chopped chiles, and red chile powder. Pozole is a soup of accouterments.

The food website/blog I follow, CulinaryBackstreets.com, highly recommended this semi-secret restaurant, Pozole de Moctezuma, which has been in business for about 65 years.

We walked to a nondescript residential building, and found the buzzer button next to the tiny hand-lettered "pozole" and were buzzed in. Down a dingy and dark hallway, we emerged into the lobby where there was the entrance to the restaurant. We were seated immediately.

The food was really good. I'm not sure the pozole was as good as Tia Calla's pozole in Taxco, but it was delicious and huge. The service was great, very welcoming and happy to explain the correct order to add all the stuff to the soup, and the overall experience was really nice, amplified by the somewhat clandestine nature of the place.

Saturday, I bought some groceries and made pancakes for breakfast. Afterwards, I went to San Angel to start my final souvenir shopping rounds. Didn't come up with much. San Angel is just too overpriced and touristy. The quality is good, but the prices are way beyond the value. I hopped a bus and rode to the nearest metro, jumping out at la Ciudadella market, where the prices are the best in the city, although you have to dig through a lot to find good quality. Did pick up a few things, and after much deliberation, bought myself a new leather messenger bag as a final souveneir/birthday present. Really fell in love with it, and had to think about it the entire time I was at the market.

I stopped for for a late lunch of tacos al pastor at my favorite taco stand near the plaza of the dancers before coming home for a nap.

K was hosting a girl's night out and so about five or six other elementary school teachers came over for drinks before heading out to a club. They invited me to come with them, and I said ok. The club was at polyforum Siquerios, called Dommelite Discotheque, and is a 70's, 80's, and 90's club known for its older crowd. Past the vallet, I found my way to the doorman of the club. "Do you have a reservations?" he asked me. um. no. After shelling out 100 pesos for cover (about $7.50) I went in to find the deadest nightclub I've ever seen. A few guys at the bar, a few small groups of people, mostly in thier 30s-40s sitting around in groups. K and her group occupying a few tables in the corner.

The way clubs work here, is typically you buy a bottle of something and then you also get mixers with it. The Americans were working on a bottle of tequila and the Mexicans were working on a bottle of Capt. Morgan. Rum and whiskey seem to be the drinks of choice among upper/middle class here.

After an hour of drinking, the club filled up, and the teachers broke open the dance floor. There was a lot of drinking, a lot of dancing, fog machines and "Y.M.C.A." and a guy in a white nautica jacket and white pants who finally worked up the courage to come over and chat with the teachers. I was probably the youngest person at the club, with my popped collar Lacoste polo, but age didn't hold anyone back from dancing with abandon. It was quite fun and K and I walked back from the club around 3AM.

I love living in a city where (A) you can walk back from a nightclub. And (B) its not considered strange for people in their 40s to dance and drink all night.

Sunday, today, was a recovery day. Probably, I had too much tequila. I ended up sleeping and resting and reading most of the day. I did end up finally finishing the gargantuan epic Terra Nostra with a desire to simply finish propelling me the last 20% of the book. It is dense, labyrinthine, and simply huge, on the same scale as Atlas Shrugged. I might move on to a history of tacos next.