Tag: tortillas

Mexican food


Now this is real Mexican food in America!

While in Mexico with my sons, we ate a lot of Mexican food. Even though I had warned them in advance that Mexican food in Mexico was different from Mexican food in America, my sons were shocked that everyone served them Mexican food. But it was nothing like what they had expected.

They were surprised that very few restaurants served steak tacos (de carne asada). And all the food was cooked with the spices already in them. They didn’t want any spicy food. They didn’t even want to try the tamales because they had never seen them or heard of them before, although you really can’t have a Mexican party in the U.S. without tamales. It’s the law. When we were at a Mexican restaurant while we were on the road, I also warned them not to expect the waitress to put a basket of tortilla chips on the table. That’s an American custom!

The last time I went to Mexico in December, I didn’t worry about food because I was alone and I adapt well to different environments.  I ate everything my family served me, causing my one cousin to note that I was really Mexican. Anyway, feeding my sons posed a unique challenge. My cousin suggested taking them to a pushcart vender who sold hot dogs and hamburgers our first night in Celaya. I thought it was an excellent idea. Until I saw the vender preparing a wiener with a strip of bacon wrapped around it. I thought for sure that my son wouldn’t like it. But he ate it and said that he liked the way the hot dog tasted with bacon.

We also went to Pizza Hut, Burger King, and McDonald’s quite often while in Mexico, much to my disappointment. I really thought that I would get away from fast-food restaurants for a while. Well, I wanted to take my sons so they could experience Mexico, and despite the culture shock, they enjoyed the trip and said they would go back again. 🙂

DDR

Moving to Mexico


Could I actually live in a condo in a tourist area? I don’t think so.

Over the years, I have had one identity crisis after another. The identity crisis recurs most often is the one in which I can’t decide if I should live in Chicago or Mexico because I’m not sure if I’m Mexican or American.

Sometimes I feel as if I don’t belong here in the U.S. because I feel so Mexican and like a foreigner here. When I’m Mexico, I feel very comfortable there. Of course, that could be merely because I’m a guest there and the excitement and the newness of my being there hasn’t worn off yet. If I stayed much longer, everyone might not be as friendly toward me. I’ve mentioned to some of my friends that I was thinking of moving to Mexico and they immediately offered to help me pack! Wow! What friends!

I went to Mexico when I was 22 and I seriously considered staying there. But then I realized that I would have to get a job in order to support myself. But Mexicans don’t really want foreigners coming in and taking away their jobs. Besides, I didn’t really want to work a back-breaking job in Mexico when I already had a back-breaking job in Chicago. So I went back home to Chicago. However, I often daydreamed about living in Mexico.

Now, I am actually in a position where I can afford to move to Mexico since I have a small pension. I now have to work a job in order to live comfortably in Chicago, but I could live more than comfortably if I moved to Mexico. And I won’t have to work at all if I lived in Mexico. I could sit at home all day writing blog entry after blog entry. Wait, that’s what I’m doing now! But I have to teach in order to supplement my pension.

In Mexico, I would always find something to keep me busy since they do have the Internet down there. And I wouldn’t be lonely because I have a lot of family in Mexico in several cities. Our family, both on my father’s and mother’s side, was very prolific. That’s why Rodriguez and Martinez are some of the most common Spanish last names in the world. So I wouldn’t be lonely.

And even though I’m American, Mexicans–my family in particular–consider me Mexican, sort of. Since I’m American, everyone in Mexico was surprised that I spoke Spanish and ate tortillas. I’m glad that Mexicans thought of me as a Mexican, at least most of the time.

When I go back to Mexico in July, I’ll take another look at where I could possibly live in Mexico. I really love Celaya, Guanajuato, the home of my father’s family. It’s a fairly big city with a small-town feel to it. And, I have an uncle, two aunts, and fifteen cousins who live there! Plus, there’s a university in the city where I could possibly find a teaching position if I ever have the urge to teach again. That would be quite an adventure for me. So now I’m struggling to redefine myself and resolve my latest identity crisis. I’m sure that this time I’ll find myself. Or, maybe not.

DDR

Going to Mexico


Some of my home cooking.

Okay, I’ve been preparing my sons to go to Mexico. They’re still excited about going even though I told them that everyone in Mexico speaks Spanish. My oldest son used to speak Spanish when he was little because I always talked to him in Spanish, and he went to Cordi Marian and was taught by Mexican nuns. The twins are learning Spanish in school now.

For the past few years, I’ve tried to get them to speak Spanish at home, but they won’t. If they sneezed, I said, “Salud” and they were supposed to respond, “Gracias.” But they wouldn’t. Ever since I told them that we were going to Mexico, they speak a little Spanish with me. I’m glad their attitude has changed a little bit. If I’m writing something in Spanish, Adam will read it aloud and ask me if he pronounced it correctly. I’m happy that they’re trying because now I know they really want to go to Mexico.

I’ve also tried to explain some of the cultural differences between our two countries. They shouldn’t have any problems, but I want them to know in advance that they shoul expect some differences. They probably won’t play any video games while we’re in Mexico. But my sons are very adaptable. They’ll manage somehow. We’ve taken driving vacations before, and we always adapt to every situation. I’m really not worried about much. Well, except maybe Montezuma’s Revenge. If they get it, I hope they get it right away and they won’t get too ill. After that, they’ll build up their immune system.

I warned them about how the food will be different, too. We won’t be going to McDonald’s or Burger King once we cross the border. They won’t see a burger or chicken nugget until we get back to the U.S. And all the food will be spicy. In Mexico, even the candy is spicy.

On Sunday mornings, I make huevos con chorizo and tell them to eat them with tortillas because that’s how Mexicans eat–without silverware. So far, they’re still excited about going to Mexico.

DDR

Speed Racer


Great movie theater snack!

I love going to the show. And I love to spend quality time bonding with my sons. If I can do both simultaneously, I feel like I have accomplished greatness. At least in my own eyes.

When I compare myself to my twelve-year-old twins, I realize that they’re much more mature than me because emotionally I’m ten. When Horton Hears a Who came out as a movie, I wanted to see it with my sons, but they refused to see it because was a kiddy movie. I was rather disappointed to miss seeing Horton Hears a Who because I remembered really enjoying reading the Dr. Seuss book and watching the TV special as a boy. So I’ve missed out on some very good movies just because my sons thought they were childish. But I never once threw a tantrum.

Speed Racer

Anyway, last week I brought up going to see Speed Racer and my sons instantly refused. I was rather disappointed because I remembered watching Speed Racer as a cartoon show on TV when I was a kid. Today, I finally talked them into seeing it. As we drove to the show, they didn’t seem too happy. I knew I was pressuring them to see it.

Well, that got me to thinking about how I used to watch Speed Racer after school. Then, I remembered that I didn’t actually like watching Speed Racer. But my brothers and I had this policy that whoever arrived home first from school could pick the first show to be watched. After that we would all vote on the next show to be watched. If Danny arrived home first, he would watch Dark Shadows. I was the only one who didn’t like Dark Shadows. I liked comedies. After that, everyone except me voted to watch Speed Racer.

I remember now! I hated watching Speed Racer! And now I was driving with my sons to see the movie version of Speed Racer at the show.  Well, it was too late to tell them that I didn’t want to see it. However, as I drove, I realized that I liked the show, but I was just upset that my three brothers had voted against me.

But back to the movie today. My sons didn’t seem too happy about going to see Speed Racer today.  Well, I wasn’t either after I recalled all the surrounding cirmcumstances. However, I was determined to have fun with my sons. So we watched the movie with mixed feelings.

Once the movie started, we were captivated by the music, the story line, and all the color graphics. Plus, I snuck in a bag of authentic tortilla chips for us to eat during the movie. (I’m becoming more like my father with each passing day!) We talked about many of the movie details afterwards. We really enjoyed the movie! We were all surprised at how much better it was than we had expected. Plus, I think we all grew a little closer through this bonding experience!

DDR

Taco Loco


You can’t go to Taco Loco anymore. But I often do. If only in my mind. I remember it well. On the corner of the public parking lot at the northeast corner of Wabash and Balbo, in the shadow of the Conrad Hilton Hotel. Sacrificed to expand the parking lot and Chicago’s dwindling parking availability with four more parking spaces. I should post a picture to show you where it used to be. In the 1960s, we often drove past it.

We, as Mexicans, always wondered who would name a Mexican restaurant Taco Loco. We never ate there because Mexicans didn’t eat at Mexican restaurants in the 1960s. They only worked there. In fact, I never even heard of any Mexicans ever eating in a restaurant. If we ate outside of the house it was at someone else’s home or we brought our own tortillas, bolillos, carnitas, peppers, and salsa. When my parents divorced, my father would pick us up for visitation in his fluorescent-avocado-green 1971 Ford Maverick. Sometimes we would drive southbound on Wabash past Taco Loco. I was always curious about Taco Loco, a small, white brick building that didn’t look very well-maintained. In fact, it always looked like it was about to fall over until they actually knocked it down.

As an adult, when I could finally do everything that was prohibited by my parents, I finally went to Taco Loco. I loved their food. Let’s just say that forbidden fruit tastes the best! No one who worked there was a native English speaker, if you know what I mean. Luckily, I spoke Spanish. I ate there whenever I was downtown. The food was really cheap, too, especially if considered that this was a downtown restaurant. In 1992, during the World Cup semifinals, I was eating, sitting near the window. I saw some drunken soccer fans across the street, waving German flags and singing German songs. Suddenly, they ran out of songs to sing and they started shouting, “Baseball sucks!” They were scaring me. Luckily, they didn’t see me and their bus came right away.

When I taught Spanish at Columbia College Chicago, I often ate there after class. Then one day, the Spanish coordinator told me that I had to take my Spanish classes on a field trip. I wasn’t sure where to take them. When I tried to arrange a trip, we couldn’t agree on a time because every student was a full-time student. And many of them also worked. Talk about complications. So I’m sitting in Taco Loco eating enchiladas when it occurred to me that I could take them to Taco Loco! We were only a block away from our classroom and we could meet in Taco Loco instead of going to class. This actually worked out well for everyone. Since Taco Loco was open 24 hours, we met there for our 9:00 a.m. class. Everyone ordered their food in Spanish from the non-English-speaking waitress and they spoke Spanish as much as possible. Even the Spanish coordinator liked our destination for the field trip. No one else had ever thought of going to Taco Loco. I guess I’m just a trailblazer. I can’t help it. 🙂

DDR