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Tacos and elotes greet Ed Bedford after border walk
The first restaurant you find in Latin America
Travelers get their first taste of Mexico at Tacos Emmanuel’s counter.
Video:
TIN FORK: Pidalo’s elotes greet Ed Bedford after border walk
“Asada! Adobada! Chorizo! Buche! Suadero! Campechano!” Pedro’s blasting out from this very first cluster of food carts south of the border. I have just had a nice welcome from Mexican Customs; they had a couple of suggestions for places to eat while the officer stamped my passport. Mainly in the Zona Rio. I think they thought I wanted to spend more money than I do. Kinda low on the dosh these days. So I got through the rack of federales soldiers relaxedly guarding the exit into the United Mexican States, and headed out to the long path that climbs past the railway station and the tracks heading south. Now I’m looking at twwwhe bare border hills shining gold in the sun behind, just as the fog starts to roll in. You start to pass guys offering to help you carry bags for a buck and ladies selling “welcome home” flowers, and then you arrive at one of those clangy circulating bar gates. Except it has fallen off its axis. Then you’re through the replacement gate, and that’s where Pedro’s strutting up and down, chanting his chant. “Taco taco taco! Asada! Adobada! Pollo! Chorizo! Buche y Suadero!”
I ask him about Buche y Suadero. Buche is pork stomach. Suadero is meat from between the belly and the leg of a cow. It’s literally the “sweaty part.” Hmm. Is this telling us more than we want to know?
Classic adobada spiked between two chunks of pineapple.
I had thought of looking for a molé place: nice, oozy warm food for a cold day. On the other hand, here’s Pedro. And the thought of that mile of walk over to Revolucion, all the traffic…whereas right here, these sabroso smells are wafting straight out of Pedro’s place, Tacos Emmanuel. When I think about it, I realize it’s the first eatery in all of Latin America. I join a group of line-crossers hooped over the standing-only counter. They’re mostly gouging into tacos, but also quesadillas, mulitas, sopes. Heck, it just looks so luscious. Specially eating here at the end of No Man’s Land, with the hills of “Lines and Shadows” (gotta read that border book!) behind, America to one side, Mexico to the other. Oh heck. Think I’ll just stop for one taco. The one Pedro keeps shouting about, campechano. “What’s ‘campechano’?” I ask.
“Campechano? It’s a mixture of beef and pork. Muy sabroso,” says Pedro. Turns out it can be many things, including flank steak, sausage, and pork cracklings. Also means a friendly open person from Campeche state, way down south. “Is that what you want?”
Heck yes. When I think about it, there’s loads of things here I’d love to nosh on. Including the chicken being prepped by the gal next to the cook with the flying hands. She’s also squeezing corn tortillas out fresh and cooking them on the hot plate. It’s about three in the afternoon and I ain’t eaten nuttin’ all day. Plus, campechano costs about, hey, $1.80. I sit down next to — think he says Ignacio. Works in LA but always goes home to — Jalisco? He’s got three carne asada tacos and a glass of horchata. He sees me fiddling with my iPad, trying to get the camera to work. “Here, give it to me,” he says. “I’ll take you eating your campechano.” And before you know, he’s done it, and we’re talking up a storm. Maybe it’s the instant surprise of this all, this sudden Mexico, but it’s turning into the most delicious food episode I’ve had in a long time. Next, I notice the golden bronze sausages waiting just across from us. “Chorizo,” says Pedro. He’s slicing some meat from the al pastor rotisserie in front of the vertical flames. “Yes,” I say. “And then maybe al pastor?”
Angel squirts lime juice into my corn esquites cup. This is Mexico. Everything’s fresh.
I mean, all this food I think I know like the back of my hand. And yet, it’s like trying it again for the first time. The chorizo is a brilliant mess, strong flavored, but not sausagey. I pile sliced radishes and salsa that they make here. They seem to make everything on the spot. Pedro’s telling me how they’ve been seven years here, and before that, 25 years at a location nearer the northbound entrance to the border. I’m almost full when Pedro brings me a horchata, on the house. I swear, beautiful things happening! And there’s something about all us guys and gals, birds of passage, standing together, facing the setting sun, filling our faces before we head on to our lives. I’ve spent four bucks. Turned down the adobada. Was also tempted by a hot dog stall, resisted. But now I notice out of the corner of my eye, a little elote place. I pop across to where a young guy Angel is waiting. “Elotes, esquites, tostielotes.”
“I’ll have what he’s having,” I say. Angel is handing over a cup with a pile of corn and other colorful stuff to this customer. “Esquite?” says Angel. It turns out that esquites are corn — elote — that has been shucked from the cob. Angel piles the elote in, adds a spoonful of mayo, then a wad of mantequilla — butter — and sprinkles a handful of grated cheese, sprits limón, squirts Valentino Mexican hot sauce, something called “Porpo,” Tajin, some salsa and a flick of salt. Halfway through, he adds more corn. I give him two bucks and start gouging out the freshly mixed elotes. OMG. Such a delicious combo, liquid enough but full to bursting with flavor. Why have I not been eating this every day of my life?
“Taxi taxi!” shout the guys next door who are paid to fill them, them and the mini-buses that pull in here. I half want to snag one, because the sun’s gone and the cold foggy breeze is whipping around my ankles, but now I notice a place across the road I’ve never seen before. “Blue Luna.” It’s a coffee place and deli, and it looks really cool. Or, actually, really warm. And sitting here, Enzo Enzo, Parisian singer and heroine of mine, sings straight from the Left Bank.
Pidalos elotes stand. Try the esquites: Rico-suave!
Blue Luna is part of a Mexican chain, turns out. I get a small — no, a petit coffee. Costs $2. And not to get hagiographic here (just looked up this word online), but the coffee is dee-lish. “We get all our coffee beans from Chiapas and Oaxaca,” says Elizabeth. Lord. I want to call Diane and get her down here.
Icing on the cake? OK. The line getting back is shivery and three hours long. And behind them, all bundled up against the cold, is Juana, who pretends to sing into a mike while she mimes Beatrice Arellano belting out heart-stopping anthems, which sound so, so great as we all jump around to keep warm. When we finally make it to the borderline and get our papers out for U.S. officials, she hits a rising climax of farewell, and we — the line — give her a rousing round of applause. Sigh. You can keep your high-end joints. This has been a night to remember.
The Places: Tacos Emmanuel, Hernan Cortes Soler, 50 yards from border entrance at SD; Blue Luna Cafe, Garita San Ysidro, Av. Ferrocarril 10503-3, Tijuana; Tel: 52-664-676-5714; Tacos Emmanuel, Pidalo’s elotes;
Hours: 6am - 10pm daily
Prices: Coffees, Pesos 39-120 (US$2-$6;
Buses: Various buses including 907, 906
Trolley: Blue Line
Nearest bus/trolley stop: San Ysidro Mexican border
Here's something you might be interested in.
Tacos and elotes greet Ed Bedford after border walk
The first restaurant you find in Latin America
Tacos and elotes greet Ed Bedford after border walk
The first restaurant you find in Latin America
Travelers get their first taste of Mexico at Tacos Emmanuel’s counter.
Video:
TIN FORK: Pidalo’s elotes greet Ed Bedford after border walk
“Asada! Adobada! Chorizo! Buche! Suadero! Campechano!” Pedro’s blasting out from this very first cluster of food carts south of the border. I have just had a nice welcome from Mexican Customs; they had a couple of suggestions for places to eat while the officer stamped my passport. Mainly in the Zona Rio. I think they thought I wanted to spend more money than I do. Kinda low on the dosh these days. So I got through the rack of federales soldiers relaxedly guarding the exit into the United Mexican States, and headed out to the long path that climbs past the railway station and the tracks heading south. Now I’m looking at twwwhe bare border hills shining gold in the sun behind, just as the fog starts to roll in. You start to pass guys offering to help you carry bags for a buck and ladies selling “welcome home” flowers, and then you arrive at one of those clangy circulating bar gates. Except it has fallen off its axis. Then you’re through the replacement gate, and that’s where Pedro’s strutting up and down, chanting his chant. “Taco taco taco! Asada! Adobada! Pollo! Chorizo! Buche y Suadero!”
I ask him about Buche y Suadero. Buche is pork stomach. Suadero is meat from between the belly and the leg of a cow. It’s literally the “sweaty part.” Hmm. Is this telling us more than we want to know?
Classic adobada spiked between two chunks of pineapple.
I had thought of looking for a molé place: nice, oozy warm food for a cold day. On the other hand, here’s Pedro. And the thought of that mile of walk over to Revolucion, all the traffic…whereas right here, these sabroso smells are wafting straight out of Pedro’s place, Tacos Emmanuel. When I think about it, I realize it’s the first eatery in all of Latin America. I join a group of line-crossers hooped over the standing-only counter. They’re mostly gouging into tacos, but also quesadillas, mulitas, sopes. Heck, it just looks so luscious. Specially eating here at the end of No Man’s Land, with the hills of “Lines and Shadows” (gotta read that border book!) behind, America to one side, Mexico to the other. Oh heck. Think I’ll just stop for one taco. The one Pedro keeps shouting about, campechano. “What’s ‘campechano’?” I ask.
“Campechano? It’s a mixture of beef and pork. Muy sabroso,” says Pedro. Turns out it can be many things, including flank steak, sausage, and pork cracklings. Also means a friendly open person from Campeche state, way down south. “Is that what you want?”
Heck yes. When I think about it, there’s loads of things here I’d love to nosh on. Including the chicken being prepped by the gal next to the cook with the flying hands. She’s also squeezing corn tortillas out fresh and cooking them on the hot plate. It’s about three in the afternoon and I ain’t eaten nuttin’ all day. Plus, campechano costs about, hey, $1.80. I sit down next to — think he says Ignacio. Works in LA but always goes home to — Jalisco? He’s got three carne asada tacos and a glass of horchata. He sees me fiddling with my iPad, trying to get the camera to work. “Here, give it to me,” he says. “I’ll take you eating your campechano.” And before you know, he’s done it, and we’re talking up a storm. Maybe it’s the instant surprise of this all, this sudden Mexico, but it’s turning into the most delicious food episode I’ve had in a long time. Next, I notice the golden bronze sausages waiting just across from us. “Chorizo,” says Pedro. He’s slicing some meat from the al pastor rotisserie in front of the vertical flames. “Yes,” I say. “And then maybe al pastor?”
Angel squirts lime juice into my corn esquites cup. This is Mexico. Everything’s fresh.
I mean, all this food I think I know like the back of my hand. And yet, it’s like trying it again for the first time. The chorizo is a brilliant mess, strong flavored, but not sausagey. I pile sliced radishes and salsa that they make here. They seem to make everything on the spot. Pedro’s telling me how they’ve been seven years here, and before that, 25 years at a location nearer the northbound entrance to the border. I’m almost full when Pedro brings me a horchata, on the house. I swear, beautiful things happening! And there’s something about all us guys and gals, birds of passage, standing together, facing the setting sun, filling our faces before we head on to our lives. I’ve spent four bucks. Turned down the adobada. Was also tempted by a hot dog stall, resisted. But now I notice out of the corner of my eye, a little elote place. I pop across to where a young guy Angel is waiting. “Elotes, esquites, tostielotes.”
“I’ll have what he’s having,” I say. Angel is handing over a cup with a pile of corn and other colorful stuff to this customer. “Esquite?” says Angel. It turns out that esquites are corn — elote — that has been shucked from the cob. Angel piles the elote in, adds a spoonful of mayo, then a wad of mantequilla — butter — and sprinkles a handful of grated cheese, sprits limón, squirts Valentino Mexican hot sauce, something called “Porpo,” Tajin, some salsa and a flick of salt. Halfway through, he adds more corn. I give him two bucks and start gouging out the freshly mixed elotes. OMG. Such a delicious combo, liquid enough but full to bursting with flavor. Why have I not been eating this every day of my life?
“Taxi taxi!” shout the guys next door who are paid to fill them, them and the mini-buses that pull in here. I half want to snag one, because the sun’s gone and the cold foggy breeze is whipping around my ankles, but now I notice a place across the road I’ve never seen before. “Blue Luna.” It’s a coffee place and deli, and it looks really cool. Or, actually, really warm. And sitting here, Enzo Enzo, Parisian singer and heroine of mine, sings straight from the Left Bank.
Pidalos elotes stand. Try the esquites: Rico-suave!
Blue Luna is part of a Mexican chain, turns out. I get a small — no, a petit coffee. Costs $2. And not to get hagiographic here (just looked up this word online), but the coffee is dee-lish. “We get all our coffee beans from Chiapas and Oaxaca,” says Elizabeth. Lord. I want to call Diane and get her down here.
Icing on the cake? OK. The line getting back is shivery and three hours long. And behind them, all bundled up against the cold, is Juana, who pretends to sing into a mike while she mimes Beatrice Arellano belting out heart-stopping anthems, which sound so, so great as we all jump around to keep warm. When we finally make it to the borderline and get our papers out for U.S. officials, she hits a rising climax of farewell, and we — the line — give her a rousing round of applause. Sigh. You can keep your high-end joints. This has been a night to remember.
The Places: Tacos Emmanuel, Hernan Cortes Soler, 50 yards from border entrance at SD; Blue Luna Cafe, Garita San Ysidro, Av. Ferrocarril 10503-3, Tijuana; Tel: 52-664-676-5714; Tacos Emmanuel, Pidalo’s elotes;
Hours: 6am - 10pm daily
Prices: Coffees, Pesos 39-120 (US$2-$6;
Buses: Various buses including 907, 906
Trolley: Blue Line
Nearest bus/trolley stop: San Ysidro Mexican border
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