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The challenge was on. Aged by wear and the daily illumination of the hot Oaxacan sun, the poor 2-by-6 board sat precariously over two upside-down five-gallon buckets. “My butt is getting too big for this,” I thought. I could almost hear the decrepit board cry in pain and feel the slight tremble of its agony as I sat upon it. I inhaled a fried corn fritter stuffed with pulled chicken (called a gordita) and then ordered yet another.
As I sat upon the unwilling board, I came face to face with a passing tourist. We exchanged a brief glance and half smiles. Surely, he realized how brave I was for taunting Mexico’s famous Montezuma’s Revenge by eating at a makeshift stall. Unknowingly, he was passing up one of Mexico’s best-kept secrets.
Most travel guides recommend caution when it comes to eating in the streets or market stalls of Mexico. Here in the Valley, I find that the same thinking applies. If it’s south of Thomas or in the Avenues, you rarely see people from outside the neighborhood eating at those side-of-the-road vendors.
Have you ever had a taco at one of those traveling taco trucks? Don’t let the urban legends of horror deter you from savoring some of the Valley’s best-kept secrets.
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Eating in the streets is one of Mexico’s biggest customs, one that has transcended the border. Street vendors in Phoenix, ringing melodic bells, push small white carts filled with such exotic treats as mango, coconut, guava, tamarind and watermelon frozen-fruit pops called paletas. Large catering trucks, converted to the American version of the street stall, sell sweet corn glazed with butter, mayonnaise, chile sauce and cotija cheese; or tacos filled with meat from a cow’s head (cabeza), beef brains (sesos) or veal intestines (tripas de leche) among the usual steak and pork carnitas.
On a recent evening, I was trying to beat the traffic home when I decided to cut through my new midtown Phoenix neighborhood. I swerved to avoid hitting two ladies running across the street. I must have been half a block away when I realized why they had crossed the street in such haste. Minutes later, I sat on the tailgate of my truck, inhaling fresh corn on the cob drizzled with chile sauce, mayonnaise, butter and cotija cheese, purchased from a lady pushing a shopping cart loaded with two large pots filled with steamed corn. A rush-hour commuter gave me that look of disbelief and a half smile.
I just smiled back — and wiped the drizzle of butter from my mouth.
Silvana Salcido Esparza is a local chef and restaurant owner.
