My favorite all-time Mexican restaurant is Azteca Tacos in Pilsen, 1836 S. Blue Island Avenue, Chicago, IL 60608, 312.733.0219
I’ve eaten there many times over many years. I was still in high school the very first time I ate there. My father and I went to the Fiesta del Sol when it was still on Blue Island Avenue. Rather than eating at one of the vendors from the fiesta, we went to Azteca Tacos and ordered our food through the window with wrought iron grating as we stood on the sidewalk.
It was kind of like eating at a restaurant in México. Authentic Mexican food is served by authentic Mexicans. The food is so delicious–¡Riquísima!–and they serve you large portions. It’s like being in México. Street merchants walk in to sell you everything from chiclets to blankets. Once an elderly man came in with a boom box and a book with a list of songs in Spanish. I picked two songs that I recognized and he sang them for us. I paid him $10 and he left the restaurant with a smile.
I like going there with my friends because it’s a nice place to hang out for a few drinks. Granted, it doesn’t look like a luxury restaurant, the seats in the booths are worn down a little, and the bathrooms remind me of México, but the food and the ambience make up for everything else. You have to go there at least once in your lifetime!
Okay, the one thing that worried me even more than the drive to Mexico was the fear of getting sick there. You know, Montezuma’s Revenge. When I went to Mexico in 1978, my mother advised me as to what to eat and what to avoid eating in order not to get sick. Since she went to Mexico every year, I honestly believed she knew what she was talking about. She told me, and I still remember to this day, to avoid drinking the water and eating fruits, chicken, and eggs. But most important of all: “Don’t drink the water!” I was there for a month, and I really enjoyed myself despite depriving myself of some foods in the beginning.
When I took the bus to Celaya with my aunt and cousin, all my relatives were eating chicarrón and I couldn’t resist indulging myself. Besides, chicharrón was NOT on my mother’s list of foods to avoid. So, I really, really indulged on chicharrón! Well, the next day, I felt nauseous, me who rarely gets sick. Soon, I was vomiting and had the runs. Simultaneously! My aunt attributed my illness to the chicharrón I had eaten. I felt so deathly ill that the only thing that kept me living was the hope that I would die. But blessings sometimes come disguised. After I recovered a few days later, I was able to eat anything I wanted. I even drank the water without getting sick again.
So, when I went to Mexico this time, I dreaded the risk of getting sick again. I remembered my mother’s list. But then I thought that if I got sick immediately I could then enjoy the rest of my trip with my newly acquired immunity. I drank agua de horchata, which is rice water that is very tasty. I assume that it’s made primarily of water, unpurified water, that is. It even had ice cubes! Presumably, also made from unpurified water.
When I went to my aunt’s house, I ate some fruit (I don’t remember what it was called) from a tree in her back yard and she scolded me for eating the peel since I didn’t wash it. Well, I kept waiting for my impending onset of “discomfort” with Montezuma’s Revenge. I remained healthy the entire trip! I felt like a real Mexican!
I have many fond memories of New Year’s Eve beginning in my childhood when our entire family would go to my Uncle Simon’s and Aunt Mari’s house. The party always involved eating a lot of Mexican food and real hard play among cousins. At midnight, everyone, I mean children, too, toasted with a glass of champagne. That was the only time of the year I drank alcohol–until I became an altar boy and my friend once talked me into taking a sip of altar wine before mass. But I only indulged that once because I felt so guilty and sinful afterwards.
Once, we were in Mexico for New Year’s Eve and we celebrated by making tamales and eating them. In Chicago, my mother made the masa during the day and then made buñuelos at midnight as a way of ringing in the new year. I think that New Year’s Eve wasn’t as exciting once we stopped going to my aunt’s and uncle’s house. I don’t really remember too many of those later celebrations now. When I was married, I was content to stay home with my wife and son and watch the festivities in Chicago on TV. When I lived in Bridgeport, I used to take my oldest son to the attic window at midnight where we could see the fireworks downtown. When the twins were born, we moved farther away from downtown, so we could no longer see the fireworks from the window. But we watched them on TV, although not quite as dramatic.
Later, after my divorce, my Mexicana girlfriend decided that we would make tamales for New Year’s Eve. She bought a giant pot for the tamales and lots and lots of masa. We would make tamales together, just the two of us. Actually, I enjoyed making the tamales. In Mexico, I only got to watch the women of the family make the tamales; males weren’t allowed to touch the masa. My girlfriend showed me how to mix the meat into the masa and stuff the masa into the corn husk. She had made tamales a few times and actually knew what she was doing. We even made some sweet tamales with raisins. We had about six different kinds of tamales. We literally did this for at least two hours and the giant pot was still only half-full. However, she insisted that we fill the pot all the way to the top. We filled the pot at about 3:00 a.m. And I was exhausted!
But wait! She put a penny at the bottom of the pot where there was boiling water to steam the tamales. The flame underneath had to be at just the right temperature and you could tell if the temperature was just right because the penny would keep making noise as the boiling water moved it. The only time I really saw tamales made was in Mexico as a boy, but my mother and aunts cooked the tamales over a bonfire.
Well, I went to bed about 6:00 a.m. because I couldn’t stay awake anymore. She stayed up to keep adding water and ensuring that the tamales cooked properly. I didn’t realize they would involve so much work. She woke me up a few hours later when they were done. She had stayed up the whole time! We then ate the tamales and they were so delicious! We ate them later that day. And the next day, too. There were so many tamales that she put some in her fridge and froze the some in her freezer. And there were still some tamales leftover! So I took some home and put them in my freezer. We ate tamales until the Fourth of July! And we never got tired of them. We loved them!
There are Doritos. You’ve eaten them before. Nacho flavored tortilla chips, which some people complain are too tangy or too hot.
And then, there are Mexican Doritos. In Spanish, they are totopos de maíz con queso y chile. They even have their own website: http://www.sabritas.com.mx/. These Mexican Doritos are more potent than American Doritos. You do not need to dip these tortilla chips into any kind of salsa. Mexicans added jalapeño peppers and other spices to the recipe, so these chips are very, very hot! Of course, a true Mexican would still add salsa and / or a whole jalapeño pepper.
As I was driving home from Mexico, I had to buy gas. So as long as I was in the gas station, I decided to buy some snacks. I naturally grabbed the familiar name brand of Doritos since they are based on the Mexican food of tortillas. But I was surprised to discover that Mexicans would sell an Americanized version of a Mexican food. So, I’m driving in Mexico enjoying the scenery, looking at the cacti, watching for drivers who speed up to my rear bumper, so I move out of there way, etcetera. I decide to eat some of these Mexican Doritos. Wow! What a surprise! They were spicy. However, since I had been eating so much hot stuff anyway, they tasted just right. But I have a feeling that I once I eat American Doritos, they will taste rather bland.
I hope that you have recovered from eating all that rich food yesterday, Thanksgiving Day.
When I was in school, we were also off from school the Friday after Thanksgiving. I wondered what holiday it was and everyone told me it was Bellyache Day. But nowadays this day has been converted to Thanksgiving Part II. On this day everyone goes to see the other family and friends whom they couldn’t visit on Thanksgiving Day. And you know exactly what I mean if several members of your family have experienced several divorces and remarriages.
While I was married, I would celebrate Thanksgiving Day with my wife, children, and in-laws. On the Friday after Thanksgiving, my wife, children, and I went to the circus at the United Center. I stopped going to the circus last year when my sons suddenly decided they were “too big” for the circus. So much for family traditions.
In 2003, when I moved into my first new house after my divorce, I had to work on Thanksgiving Day. So my girlfriend decided to have Thanksgiving dinner at my house on the Friday after, her Thanksgiving Part II. However, I was going to the circus with my sons and my father in the morning. She started roasting the turkey at her house and then finished roasting it at mine. Before she came over to my house, she told me that her brother had driven in from Iowa. Yes, there are Mexicans living in Iowa! I was a little worried about how her brother’s family, seven in all, would fit into my little 1100-square-foot house. There were five in my family, three with my girlfriend and her two sons, plus her brother and his family. We would be all scrunched up in my little house!
Imagine my surprise when everyone showed up, plus their in-laws and friends. There were about forty Mexicans occupying only the first floor of my house, or about 700 square feet. I’m sure the Chicago Fire Department would have disapproved. And none of the small children wanted to go upstairs to play because they were afraid to be alone, so everyone was cramped into my tiny living room, my small dining room, and my minimalist kitchen where the women reheated the Thanksgiving leftovers they had brought with them. There were only enough seats for the grandparents, so everyone else had to eat while standing. I couldn’t believe how crowded my house was. So, I called my brother Danny to come over and take a look. But I think he just came because he was hungry. We stood around eating and talking for hours. If you ever go to a party and wonder why the Mexicans don’t sit down, it’s because they’re used to standing at Mexican parties where there are never enough chairs.
My house had never seen so much food while I had lived there. And I was thinking about the wonderful leftovers would nourish me for days to come. I could already imagine myself eating turkey sandwiches, turkey omelets, and turkey tacos. When we said our final good-byes (for about two hours), the women packed up all the leftovers and took them home with them! Sniff! They didn’t even leave one tortilla behind. ¡Ay, Dios mío! They even took the turkey bones home for their dogs!
