Learning Intuition Part 2 - Sopa Azteca/Olmeca/Mixteca

Mexico was my next turning point. Dad, who became increasingly absent as his career took hold, decided that he would take each of us kids on a big vacation before we went through that unrelenting bitch that is adolescence. He let me decide where to go. I was/am a total nerd, way into archaeology. Mexico was a prime spot for visiting archaeological sites and it was a only short flight away. Dad was an avid traveler and equally nerdy, so he put together quite an itinerary covering pretty much all of the significant sites in the Aztec, Olmec, Zapotec, Mayan and Mixtec empires in Mexico within about a week.

Dad was also a fluent Spanish speaker and linguistic chameleon, who somehow managed to speak flawlessly in whatever dialect necessary. This scored us our own private cabbie on several occasions, actual bargains in street markets, and some amazing places to stay, far from the beaten path of transparently pale Teva'd tourists. It also scored him a case of Montezuma's revenge, thanks largely to a particular taqueria (probably a little to far) off the beaten path.

I managed to escape the notorious ailment's clutches through a budding paranoia of food-borne illness which required me to eat everything piping hot. I probably missed out on some delicious crunchy salads and local fruits, but I had the opportunity to sample similar meals prepared in different parts of the country. Even at that age, with little to no concept of regionality, I could easily detect the differences between each state's version of the dishes.

Sopa Azteca (basically tortilla soup) became one of those dishes. I was fascinated by the huge chunks of fresh avocado thrown in at the last minute, unfamiliar herbs like epazote, and the staggering array of peppers. The combinations of the basic ingredients varied in proportion and variety, from spicy hot, dark broth, full of dark-meat chicken, to light broth versions with large chunks of crisp vegetables and handfulls of herbs (almost like Vietnamese pho). All the while, the name and fundamental components remained the same.  I realized that no matter what liberties the cook had taken, it was good, comforting, immensely flavorful food with the same structural elements. It was so unlike home, where you could get an identical Pizza Hut pizzas in Florida and Alaska and where the only burger joint in town was a McDonalds.

I enjoyed my favorite bowl of the stuff in an open-air restaurant adjacent to our inn near Palenque. Howler monkeys infested the forrest that surrounded the inn and chickens wandered freely through the wall-less loby, reception area and restaurant. The air was thick and damp and there was a constant babble from a stone filled stream that ran right through the center courtyard. A young guy played a decrepit wooden xylophone in the corner as the monkeys interrupted with grunts and howls. Fancy red and piebald hens roamed cluelessly around the mostly vacant tables.  This is where the second epiphany happened: food can be enhanced by the surroundings in which it is enjoyed.



Just to confirm my memories, I stole/borrowed our journals and photo albums of the trip from my mom's place. To prove it, I've included some choice embarrassing photos. See below.

Me on a bench in Oaxaca.

Me taking a picture of a donkey near Teotihuacan.