I Ate a lot of Food in Mexico, But The Best Taco in the World?

Once again I was back in Mexico City and was literally overwhelmed with good food. Much of it this time around was of the homemade variety, as we jumped from one family affair to another--and even made a road trip around Central Mexico. The following are some highlights:

The first plate was an alambre to end all alambres from the semi-famous Tacos Copacobana of Southern Mexico City, my wife's family's go-to taco stop. Good alambres are hard to find in Denver, though I'm not sure why, as it is a really simple mix of chopped taco meat (in this case pastor), bell peppers, onion, and a couple meat essentials like bacon and salchichas (hot dogs). It is all grilled on a flat top with copious amounts of cheese until it forms a massive, delicious blob that is meant to be pulled apart in sections and rolled into tacos. Besides being simply incredible, this Copacabana version was enormous. I think I could have wrapped it over my equally enormous head (hat size 7 5/8-- I mean I have a really big dome) and wore it like a helmet: A greasy, delicious helmet that would protect me from being healthy.

On the opposite end of the spectrum of what is good about food from Mexico City was the next dish. A delicate, complex mole from Azul Condesa, one of four beautiful restaurants in the D.F. under the "Azul" name by Ricardo Muñoz Zurita. Chef Muñoz does brilliant job keeping the storied heritage of Mexican cuisine alive and thriving with minimal gimmickry and clear reverence for what is one of the world's truly great culinary heritages-- if not the greatest. 

I had a mole with roots in Oaxaca. It was black as the night but not anything like a typical bitter chocolate mole negro that might come to mind. No, the base of this mole was the ash of burnt Chile Chilhuacle. And like all great moles, it was full of paradox: while there was a clear taste of ash, nothing tasted burnt. And though after each bite was swallowed I could grind bits of ash between my teeth, the texture was smooth on the palette. It was incredibly subtle for how clearly complex it was, and had completely different tastes with each other food item on the plate: the beef, the grilled veggies, or the little chochoyones. Although a second trip to his restaurant proved disappointing, this was among the best plates of food I've ever eaten. 

We also took a road trip and stopped in the town of Leon, Guanajautao. You will probably never travel to Leon. It is most famous for being the leather and shoe capital of Mexico, and besides that there is at least one big car factory nearby. It reminds me a little of Detroit maybe for that reason, though the Leon GM plant continues to boom (ouch! sorry Detroit). If I have now sparked a yen in you to travel to Leon, you would not be disappointed at all if upon your arrival you stayed in the Hotel Hotson, which despite its hilarious and awkward name, is a top-notch hotel that has a low-key restaurant tucked in the back serving dynamite food. I was ready to hate the dish I ordered for being so outwardly wrong, and even though I tried to find something else to order, once I saw it on the menu I knew I would get it: Lasagna de Mole.

It was quite simple: lasagna noodles layered with shredded chicken and queso Oaxaca, all bathed in copious amounts of mole Poblano. My picture makes it look rather awful, and even without the blurriness of my photo, it wasn't much to look it. It might be best described as a mound. A mound with cheese and a single roasted tomato. It took my palette several bites to adjust to the texture of lasagna and the taste of pasta without a tomato sauce; and alternatively to rich mole without a crisp onion or a fried tortilla. I almost passed it off to my wife who had a enviable plate of enchiladas with mole de pipian, but when my feeble brain caught on to what this chef had brilliantly done I absolutely loved it. All lasagna should have mole. All of it.

We had barbacoa a couple times during this trip but one stop was notable as it is often mentioned as the best barbacoa in all of Mexico. Being the best barbacoa in all of Mexico is a lot like being the best sushi in Japan. That is, you might as well come out and call it the best in the world. And while calling anything the "best in the world" is essentially guaranteeing that it won't ever be the best at anything, this so-called title was laid upon Barbacoa Santiago by a bunch of food bloggers, so there is pretty much no credibility to begin with and therefore nothing to worry about. 

Were they the best tacos in the world? Of course not, simply because there is no such thing. But they are worth driving out of your way for if you are ever anywhere near them. In fact, they are somewhat conveniently located on a busy highway that leads north from Mexico City to Queretero.  Barbacoa Santiago was just one of dozens of giant roadside truck-stop sized food stands on the highway and could be easily overlooked. But unlike any truck stop I have ever known, these folks pit-roast whole lambs wrapped in banana leaves each day and serve them on fresh, fat, house-made tortillas alongside  fiery hand ground molcajete salsas. The best barbacoa is rich and fatty, simple and satisfying. On a chilly and rainy afternoon, the Barbacoa at Santiago's warmed my soul. It really was perfect. Even if you've never had barbacoa before, you would take one bite of these tacos and know that everything was done with the highest degree of care and quality. It's the kind of taco that reminds you how truly great a taco can be. 

So that's the best of it. From a dirty, street-style alambre (that actually did get my kid pretty sick I think), to fine dining with moles, to the best taco in the world a perfect taco. Here's to another year of good eating. 

The Inspiration

The inspiration for this blog, and for me chasing down good food in Denver or wherever I am, goes way back to the first times I had Tacos al Pastor in Mexico City. Since then, I have had a new appreciation for food of all kinds, but it always seems to come back to this.

Picture this: Mexico City. 24 million people. Bright lights, night sky cloudy and glowing orange, cool air and slight mist of a rainy afternoon now past; car splashing through puddles with my Chilanga wife at the wheel, expertly weaving in and out of traffic while laughing away on her cell phone as only she can do. Then we suddenly u-turn and slow down so as to be coached into a parking spot some three inches longer than our car by the ubiquitous guy on the street who is there to "watch" your car. 

We are here. And there it is. Our evening destiny. Contrasted with the otherwise dark night, under a singular swinging light bulb, through an opening in a grimy semi-transparent canopy: a glorious upside-down cone of red-marinated pork on a spit being expertly turned, charred, sliced and loved (yes, loved) by a man whose knife skills would rival that of any trained classical chef in the world. But instead of slaving away in some boring and dry 3-star hotel restaurant, he stands here in just one of what must be millions of taco joints in this city. With proud red stains on his mostly white apron, he is sharpening his knife and bantering with the regulars who circle him and his altar of pork with casual reverence. Flames are shooting from cinder blocks behind the spit, while conically stacked pork loins artfully arranged rotate in place and a pineapple skewered through the top, drips lovely juices all over.

We enter the plastic, tent-like canopy that covers the restaurant's exterior and extends it almost into the street. We sit facing our pleasure at a small wooden table with napkins, salt, limes, green and red salsa. We welcome the relative warmth of being so close to the flame of the rotating spit in the otherwise cool night. And the smell is amazing. I glance at the laminated menu on the table out of habit then make eye contact with the taco man himself.

"Buenas... seis tacos al pastor con todo, por favor." Six tacos, with everything.

"Tres para mi," chimes in my wife, who also has a love of pastor but in a much saner, reserved and somehow sadder way (sometimes, for example, she orders steak tacos, but I still love her).

"Y dos Victorias." I add in.

He throws down the tortillas to warm and immediately goes to work. It is a thing of beauty. He takes his large knife, sharpens it skillfully while looking around, barks our beer order to a waitress, smiles. Winks. He is king here. He knows it. All the other taco cooks are behind the counter on the inside, slaving away on other, lesser meats, and quesadillas, alambres, even chicken. Here our man, glowing-- he is now, spurred into action, actually glowing in his own greatness-- puts down his sharpener, grabs a warm tortilla from the comal, turns the spit to where the newly crisped pork awaits his touch and gracefully goes to work.

In a matter of seconds he has sliced paper thin strips of pork. "Fffffpp, fffffpp, fffffpp," from the spit, and as they slide off they all land squarely on the tortilla in his other hand several inches away from the spit itself. Meat never touching hand. Then reaching with the knife up to the top in quick strokes, “fffp, ffp, ffp”, the pineapple flies off, is airborne, and like there was a magnetic attraction (and there likely is), like there was no other place it could end up, it comes to rest on top of the pork; and harmony and balance come momentarily to the universe (or at least to me and my tacos). Then in a matter of 40 seconds or so, eight more just like it.

Great skill is before me, and I recognize it although I maybe admire this man more than I should. Regardless, I take it in. Then waking me from my amorous gaze the plastic plate slaps down in front of me. Red pork, yellow pineapple, green cilantro and white onion artfully balanced on the light brown canvas that is the tortilla. A real masterpiece. In the pork hall of fame (that should be opening soon I think) this would hang proudly alongside bacon, Serrano ham and other pork classics. I close my eyes and breathe in the steam. Is there any smell quite like this? Tangy, spicy, sweet, sharp, smoky, porky and lovely. OK. First bite. It's been too long...

Tacos Copacabana can be enjoyed in Mexico City and is consistently rated as one of the best in the DF.