paulfraser (paulfraser) wrote,

Fat boy, wait 'til tomorrow

I still have little to say on tomales, as the place across the road that sold them was shut down by the government; I assume for liquor issues rather than food hygiene, as the other adjacent bars closed too, but the poxy torta place that stayed open gave me Moctazuma's bowel-bursting revenge soon after.

The downside of the T-diet is that without an active lifestyle - such is in holidays when there is no walking to work – one starts to hear “¡Hey güero! ¡Menos tacos, más verduras!” (less tacos, more vegetables), or even worse “Congratulations on your new, more Mexican body”, followed by the speaker slapping their own portly frame.

Using tomales as a segue (and segue into a segue into Segways, as Mexican police are one of those police forces that need más verduras as they use Segways rather than walking anywhere, which I think looks piss-funny), much interesting food in Mexico is tied to festivals. As we are coming up to Christmas, after a short wait there will be the arrival of the Rosca de Reyes (Ring of Kings), a slightly sweet bread (in fact, less sweet than that nasty Yank white bread you get here with 14 thousand grams of sugar per loaf) shaped in a circle and topped with dried fruit strips, and containing lil baby Jeebuses. If your knife hits the Jeebus, you get to keep it but you have to buy tomales for everyone at another party that is in like a week or something. I dunno.

But, before that, we have the Pan de Muerte. It just resonates with me to be a country where you can go to the supermarket and buy The Bread of Death. It's nothing special really, a bun with sugar on top, ¡but! it is The Bread of Death.

While Día de los Muertos is the tradition of All Saints Day superimposed over an older Precolumbine death ceremony, it is of course perilously close to Halloween, so they get that crappy cultural import too. The bonus for Nae and I is that they have those big orange pumpkins we don't get in Australia. (Another fun food fact is that they have seasonal fruits and vegetables here, and pumpkin is one; none of this cross-hemispherical transport bizo we rich folk are so used to.) Of course, Nami and I are now debating whom to curve into the pumpkin. In one corner weighing in at infinite or zero mass, that ripper-outerer of childrens' fingernails (another story), pre-Hispanic god Tlaloc. In the other corner, wearing a shiny silver jumpsuit, King of the Mods, Vince Noir. We will take votes. Of the replies of the two people likely to vote, we will make our choice.
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