Eating Out in Real Mexico

 

Eating Out in Real Mexico

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Real Mexico is where I live, rather than in resort Mexico. No beaches, artist colonies, high-rise resorts with all-inclusive services, time-share sales goons here. Just us folks.

Ana said that all the restaurants in the area used to be open air, palapa style with palm or bamboo roofs, just like the place where we went to enjoy breakfast Sunday morning, on the edge of San Marcos.

The kitchen is over at one end beneath its own bamboo roof, a counter island between the half dozen long tables and the stove. We diners can watch the woman patting out tortillas, and, oh, such good tortillas, or be mesmerized by the young girl running baskets of carrots and bushels of oranges through the juicers.

Behind the eatery, across the fence, are pastures with cattle grazing, up into the far hills. Across the highway, fields blue with agave stretch almost to the mountains.

There was little traffic on the highway, so near to where the pavement ran out. Dirt roads cross the mountains into Amitlan de Cana. There were hundreds of bicyclists, a group of whom crowded around two of the tables.

We shared our table with a pleasant young couple.

We had invited friends to join us that Sunday morning. They chose to go elsewhere. In the choosing, according to an email they sent me, they kindly did the thinking for us, listing in bullet points, the reasons each of us would rather they didn’t join us. None of the reasons listed applied as often is the case when someone else decides what we think.

In all fairness, when I think I know what someone else thinks, I, also, am usually wrong.  

Our friends, and they are friends, have relatives visiting and decided to go to the Hacienda del Carmen, a completely understandable destination, one of the tourist highlights, of which there are few in the vicinity.

The restored ancient Hacienda is a lovely site, grand old Spanish buildings, on acres of landscaped grounds, complete with artistic gardens, ponds and pools and swans and peacocks, posh hotel rooms and a spa where one can be treated to massage, facial, pedicure, manicure, mud bath or salt scrub and such delights. 

I’m not being sarcastic. It is a wonderful place with a real indoor restaurant serving delightful food, with a choice of seating indoors or out. Mimosas. Did I mention mimosas?

We could have asked to join our friends for breakfast. They could have easily added three to the reservation. I confess that part of why I didn’t explore the option to eat with our friends was a tiny sliver of resentment that eating here or there was not explored voice to voice to choice.

We will be seeing our friends within the next week. I will explain that it is not nice to do my thinking for me, thank you very much. There will be a lightbulb moment of “Oops”. An apology and a laugh at our foolishness.

We three enjoyed our relaxing meal, without the option of mimosas or other fluffy drinks. I watched my orange/carrot juice being made. We didn’t get to wander around opulent grounds. I know our friends enjoyed their meals, without our option of slipping treats to the brown dog resting in the shade of the palapa, keeping an open eye for any bit which might slip from my plate.

Yeah, Real Mexico. Think about it. Which would you prefer? To eat with the cows in the pasture across the fence or with peacocks strutting the lawns? A choice of four items or an extensive menu with an even larger wine list? Our total bill for breakfast for three was half the cost of a meal for one at the Hacienda, not counting mimosas.

Okay, okay. When you come to visit, I’ll take you to the Hacienda.

Sondra Ashton

HWC: Looking out my back door

April 10, 2025

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________