ODE TO A MEXICAN URN.

By this time next week I'll probably be too excited or anxious to sleep. At 10.30 am I'll have to be at Sydney international airport to check in my luggage for my flight to Los Angeles, with a connecting flight to Mexico City. Two days later, I'll be back in Havana. 

In Mexico I'll stay in a great little hotel called Casa de la Luna ( House of the Moon ), in Bolivar St, which is situated smack in HIstorical Mexico, next to the Aztec ruins, Museums, all the music stores, fabric stores, cafes,churches and bustling commercial life. 

But, what I've really got my sights, or should I say, my taste buds set on, is a little hole in the wall just across the busy street from my hotel where a humble culinary superstar makes the most delectable and satisfying soft shell Tacos in the world. Street food supremo!! The actual shop, cooking area and all is no bigger than maybe two square metres, with upturned wooden boxes on the sidewalk to sit on. There's a steel urn, like a witch's urn, about a metre in diameter and about 2 feet deep which boils and bubbles with oil and spices full of a cornucopia of meats from a variety of animals and animal parts from which the cook serves whatever you pick from the blackboard menu. He makes the Tacos there and on a massacred, indented and brutalised wooden butcher's block, chops and then gently places the soft and tender shreds of sacrificial meat upon your tacos and you add the fresh coriander, diced onions and piquant salsas, cheese and sour cream from an array of bowls. Then just sit, eat and watch the world go by. 

They say that just before you die, you see the most salient moments of your life flash before your eyes. I wonder if these wonderous Tacos will feature in my visions? I can't wait. .....No, not to die. I mean, for the Tacos.

Speak soon. 

 

 

 

 

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