Savoring Regional Delicacies in Monterrey, Mexico

 

The nebulous sky at twilight, thick with Monterrey’s ever present white dust and yellow smog, glowed orangey as I left the hotel on my first night here to walk to a new restaurant nearby. Although there was no humidity in the air and the last of the day’s oppressive heat was dissipating, the heat still felt sticky on my skin.

Los Fresnos Bar and Grill, squeezed in between the Hampton Inn and the Marriott Courtyard on your way to the aéroport is a man’s world, or so it seemed. Most the waiters are older gentlemen, some I have to guess in their late 50’s or early 60’s. The role of women is strictly reduced to cleaning.

 

Even the recepcionista, usual a lady in Mexican restaurants was a male.  The décor also contributed to the sense of machoism with stuffed deer and goats on the walls (Cecil the lion would have felt at ease here after his demised by that American dentist) and American football on the TVs at the bar, but I am not for one minute bashing the culture of Nuevo Léon. This part of Mexico, just south of Texas, is after all ranchero country where "real" men wear ten gallon hats, expensive cowboy boots and is judged by how big and silvery his belt bucket is. Only the strong survive here.  

Initially I thought fresnos, which means "ashes" in English, refers to dead embers since most of the menu’s dishes are prepared on the grill. But upon my asking the waiter told me it refers to the many ash trees one finds in this region. That immediately made me felt at home since I have tens if not more than a hundred ash tree on Lily Rose Ranch. 

The menu was regional. Whenever you see cabrito on a menu you know you are in Monterrey. A cabrito is a kid goat that is less than 3 months old and still a suckling, thus, before it starts to eat solid foods. In Monterrey, cabrito dates back to the founding days of the city and some of its Jewish settlers. Prepared al pastor is the way they do it here. The whole carcass is opened flat and impaled on a spit. The spit is then placed next to a bed of glowing embers and roasted slowly without any spices and turned often. I have eaten it on several occasions because it is very tender but I always missed the traditional dry rub spices of South African or American grilled meat.

But I didn’t ordered cabrito on my first night. I saw something very rare and unusual on a Monterrey restaurant menu. Lamb! Nuevo Léon is more cattle and goat country. Although I have tried to discover which kind of cut it is they offered, the waiter was either purposefully vague or he simply did not understood my questions.

Loin chops? I asked. Si, he said.

Leg? I asked, Si, he said.
He eventually sighed and said, plato, plateful.

I guessed that meant you could get anything, even some cuts you would not generally expect on your plate. I decided to order blindly. What the heck, in this region were grilled meat was the equivalent of Le Gigot d'Agneau a la Francaise I could not expected gourmet food from a non-Michelin star restaurant and the chef in the kitchen behind a glass partitioning was most certainly not Gordon Ramsey either.

 

With my meal I ordered a bottle of locally produced vino tinto, a Vinos Demecq XA Cabernet Sauvignon from Baja California. Not too bad, lots of tannins, thus a bit dry, definitely full bodied in the usual Mexican style and without the pretentious or artificially enhanced subtle hints or, in some cases strong suggestions, of chocolate and coffee and over ripened fruits that are so prevalent these days from American cabernet producers. Although not the best in class by any stretch of the imagination, it was classic, old time cabernet. Robust and full-bodied.  

Well, I got what I sort of expected. Lamb-all-sorts with a few potato fries and vegetables. A leg chop, rib meat, a bit of loin, more rib meat and even a kidney still surrounded by its fatty protection. And it was a plateful alright. All in all, it was not bad though, a bit too fatty for my taste and it lacked spices. But there was enough red and green chili salsa on the table to compensate for the lack of spices.

 

Dessert was Flan (what else?), the quintessential Mexican dessert. The age old dish was invented by the Romans as a savory cake topped by peppers. It sounds like it was more a quiche than a flan in its infant days. As the recipe moved westwards with the Romans to the Iberian Peninsula the dish was adapted and became sweeter and the Spanish began to top theirs with a caramel sauce. The conquering conquistadors of the 16^th and 17^th Centuries carried it across the Atlantic with them to the Caribbean and Latin America and so it reached Mexico, where the Mexicans took the simple custard pie to new heights in the kitchens of the rich and poor alike.   

On that night I chose Flan Napolitano with a thick caramel sauce topped by nuts.

Upon leaving Los Fresnos, Pedro, the waiter, who must have been in his sixties, and who all night long was so careful to pour my cabernet just the right way, complete with cotton napkin around the neck of the bottle to prevent any spilling, came over a last time to shake my hand as if we were old friends that got together for a long overdue evening of drinks, good food and even better company. He was very surprised and gave me a broad smile when I shook his hand in the local Nuevo Léon way, four fingers around the thumb instead of the usual western way. That really sealed the newly formed friendship that will probably last no longer than this single visit to Los Fresnos.

 

However, I returned to Los Fresnos on two additional occasions over the 10 day period I was in Mexico to also savor other regional dishes like the pescado Vera Cruz, tilapia fish in a mild tomato, onion and sweet pepper sauce served on Mexican rice, and especially the “Death on two legs” as I like to call it, (in honor of the Freddie Mercury and Queen song), Camerones Brochette, cheese-stuffed bacon-wrapped shrimps. I have eaten this dish on many occasions in Monterrey over the past 10 years of coming here and have always gone back to it because it is sooooo good. Los Fresnos’s version was a bit dry (shrimps was too small, I presume) and not as good as I have tasted before, especially at Mariscos La Anacua on Tauro Street in San Nicolas de los Garza, a real hole in the wall, frequented almost exclusively by locals for its cheap, no frills, but excellent seafood and Mexican beer by the liter.

 

Later, while I sat in my hotel room to write this, a sing-along to the accordion tunes of Mexican country music drifted through the open balcony door from the garden below. Since early evening a large group of people were barbequing downstairs and I guess the beer that flowed so freely has loosened the vocal cords and their inhibitions.  

If I can make any suggestions, I would say they shouldn’t give up their day jobs, at least not yet…

 

Adios! Monterrey.

 

Not Your Usual TGIF

Sitting in Sojourner's in Atlanta airport's Terminal D, dragging, harder than usual, on a much needed cigarette, I am still shaken and stirred like a James Bond Martini after a horrendous flight from Monterrey, Mexico. It’s only 9:00 am in the morning and I felt like a brandy on the rocks, but ordered coffee instead.

The first half of the early morning flight went well. I drifted off to sleep nicely and was, as usual woken by the tinkling of activity when the cabin crew reached me with drinks. Shortly after I was handed my coffee and ginger biscuits, they do not serve breakfast on these 3 hour flights anymore, (which reminds me of what South African Transport Minister Hendrik Schoeman once said when someone in parliament complained about the food quality on South African Airways overseas flights: "Wil jy vlieg of wil jy vreet"/Do you want to fly or do you want to eat), we started hitting air "potholes".

[Haven't I had enough this week of Monterrey's roads where is seems the asphalt is just there to keep the potholes in place?]

The air pockets soon gave way to a "sinkplaatpad" before things went from rocky to downright scary. The tiny plane, a narrow body CRJ900 instead of the usual wide body Airbus A320 on the Monterrey flights, (Delta may have got bigger by merging with Northwest Airlines, but their planes and seats got smaller since the merger) started to shake violently, swaying sideways and up and down as if it is a trawler drifting on a stormy sea and trying to ride out the waves. Maybe the pilot was dodging falling meteorites. Not likely. However, it felt like we only ever hit troughs, never cresting any waves. My coffee experienced its own bad weather in its cup, spilling little by little and I grabbed more napkins from the beverage cart still standing next to me (not a good thing because these carts can quickly become missiles during turbulence, in the aisle where the two stewardesses or cabin assistants, flight attendants, which ever, stood frozen in place, holding on to the overhead bins to keep themselves upright, just staring at each, talking with their eyes, looking cool, calm and collected, waiting for the turbulence to subside. Just another day at work! Or is it? 70% of injuries due to air turbulence are sustained by flight attendants. And that cart was smack between them. Uhmm…I guess they knew that and was serious thinking…

[TGIF, but not this way.]

In my unknown wisdom I took a blanket when we boarded the flight and it now came in handy. It was spread over my legs and torso catching some of the spilled coffee instead of on my pants. The next moment we were in free fall or so it felt. The coffee cup stayed in place on the tray table but the contents did an escapist dance, lift itself out of the cup and came crashing down on the tray table next to me, splashing all over the guy in the next seat, as did his own orange juice. Synchronized water fountains but without the music.  The blanket protected me from any flying liquids, but the fellow traveller next to me was not so lucky.

A strange thought occurred to me: Why was I more worried about the coffee spilling and not about what's happening with the plane. I hate bouncing planes. I am not scared of flying, but turbulence usually scares the shit out of me. Have I subconsciously started to trust flying and pilots so much that I don't believe the plane will fall or do I just don’t care anymore? What’s the use? I am a backseat driver and have no control over the situation.

The plane stopped it free falling with a thud. Something outside the window caught my eye. It was a wing that was flapping up and down far more than usual like when a startled bird frantically trying to get airborne when a cat chases it.  Now I was getting worried. They call this thing a bird, but it is a fixed wing plane. They don’t usually flap. And it’s an old plane. What about metal fatigue? Is this it? Is this how life will end for me? Going down in a fiery blaze of "glory"? At lease it will be quick. My life will have to flash by faster than the falling plane otherwise I won't see the movie's end. But then I already know the end. I was experiencing it right there and then.

[I wonder, do these so call flashbacks go back in time from the present moment or do they start at the beginning of one’s life until the present moment?] 

The wings were still flapping violently as we hit more turbulence and losing more altitude. The captain came on the PA and nonchalantly apologizes for the rough ride and reported that we are descending from 36,000 feet to 20,000 feet in an effort to see if we can find a path with less unstable air.

[What the hell was he doing at 36,000 feet? Trying to take us to the International Space Station?]

Lowering altitude did help, but there would still be sporadic turbulence for the next hour until we landed at Atlanta, especially as we got closer to the ground. The landing was less perfect and hard but at that stage I couldn't give a shit anymore. I just wanted to be on solid ground. Never before was mother earth so welcomed.

I was even looking forward to the usual meat processing process of passport checking, customs clearing and security screening. Maybe I was just looking forward to a cigarette? And Atlanta now has one of those 'THING' detectors. Those screening devices that sees everyTHING and submit you to a thorough pat down if it even finds a boarding pass in your pocket, never mind something actually serious and dangerous like a pen that can be used as a lethal weapon. I guess it will then go totally berserk. Those rotating arms will start spinning like a washing machine in spin cycle, all doors will automatically be locked and it will activate Rambo-mode in the microchips planted in TSA agents’ brains. Actually, when I left Lexington last Sunday I was subjected to one of those near-invasive body searches without the machine even giving an alarm when I went through the scanning device. I was “randomly selected” for a thorough pat down the agent told me.

[WTF? Randomly selected? Those are words used by sweepstakes marketing material in the mail. Did I win a cruise on the Costa Concordia?]

I wanted to tell him I prefer to go through the scanning again instead of a near-invasive search, but then I remembered what happened to Kentucky's senator Rand Paul the previous week at Nashville, Tennessee airport so I SHUT UP. The same thing happened to him. The device selected to sound its alarm after he went through the scanner and a TSA agent wanted to do a pat down on him. Random selection! He asked to go through the scanner again. But they refuse. He asked why not, but they didn’t take a liking to his questioning. Eventually he was detained for an hour and submitted to a pat down search in any case.

Hey, if they were that hard lined with a US Senator imagine what they would have done to me. Probably send me to the Newport Aquarium in Cincinnati as shark feed. I played sheep and let them lead me away. I was on the last flight out to Atlanta en route to Monterrey and in no mood to miss my flight, turn around, go home, and get up at 3 am in the morning to return to the airport. Search away and get your kicks.

Makes you wonder why they have these million dollar machines and still have to get physical with the taxpayers that paid for them.

[Certainly not your usual TGIF.]

A Silent Cry For A Decaying City

Surrounded by its numerous mountain peaks, the city, apparently peaceful in its bowled cradle, is a picture of serenity and prosperity. The morning air is still crisp; the sky is still baby blue, edged gold by the rising sun, cloudless and still clear without any smog. The smog usually comes later in the morning, mixed with the white dust from the semi-desert beyond the mountains the sky then turns a dirty white-yellow. But the serene scene is a misrepresentation of what is happening in Monterrey, Mexico. Underneath the superficial beauty, seeped in through every seam and thread of this city, organized crime, kidnapping and murder, whether systematic or by random opportunity, is changing this beautiful city into a crate of rotting fruit. Slowly, the one rotten fruit is infecting another and another as the spores of decay travel from one neighborhood to another, decimating social structure after social structure, and taking its toll on the citizens of the city. Inflating all the statistics for which a city, any city, does not want to be famous for.

And it is not just narcotic gangs against other gangs, trying to establish and entrench their territories, nor is it just normal criminal gangs against the police. So many policemen have been killed or fired by the city or the state because of corruption or for working with the narcotic gangs that police presence in neighborhoods and on the highways have disappeared. This enabled petty criminals to become far bolder than they would have dared before to commit more serious crimes, especially home burglaries, car theft, holdups of restaurants and businesses, and kidnapping innocent people for small random amounts.

Monterrey from an airplane. The airport in the bottom and

in the center, in the bowl surrounded by mountains lay the city  

Just yesterday the sister-in-law of one of my programmers here was in a car theft-kidnapping incident. For an hour the woman had to negotiate, successfully I must to add, with the thieves/kidnappers to take only her car and not her 5-year old boy too that was in the backseat. Imagine, a desperate woman, facing into the barrel of a gun, picking up her son from school, seeing in her minds eye how someone else in broad daylight wants to drive off with her child and then later call back for a ransom. And they had all the information to do so because they took her handbag with all the things that women usually keep in their handbags. Today, when I spoke to the lady again to ask how her family is doing she told me the adults are worried, quite naturally, because the thieves can get so much information from the things in the handbag and that the little boy is quite traumatized.

A few months ago another one of my employees’ brother was kidnapped. For 2 days near Christmas they didn’t hear anything from him, only from the kidnappers. As she told me the story, she said it was worse than death because of the uncertainty of not knowing whether you will ever see the kidnapped person again. They paid the ransom, gathered from various family members, and the kidnappers dropped the man off on an empty parking lot. They were lucky, very blessed, because many times the kidnapped persons are never returned. Their dead bodies are dumped like trash in isolated spots in the Chihuahuan desert to rot like a dead mouse and turn into dust and to blow back into the city at a future time as a fine white mist carried upon the hot Santa Ana-like winds that race through the canyons of the Sierra Madre Oriental mountains or the Cerro de las Mitres (mountains of the Mitres). Car theft and kidnapping is fast becoming the new regional sport here.

South of the city lies the picturesque village of Villa Santiago. I drove there a few years ago and wrote about it in a previous post. Today a trip to Villa Santiago by a foreigner all by himself is a suicide mission. A few months ago its mayor was kidnapped and killed. Now it seems 6 policemen, working for the drug cartels, were involved in the killings. Who can you trust here?
At work I can see the effect this situation is having on the people of this city. At lunch tables the laughter is less, the decibels lower, people smile with their lips but their eyes stare vacantly ahead of them. Worrying. Is my house being burgled at this moment? Is someone in my family being robbed or kidnapped now? Will something happen to me today, tomorrow, when?

Looking out towards the Lindavista area of Monterrey

with the Cerra de la Silla (Saddle Hill) on the left

All of this is so reminiscent of what I and many others experienced so many years ago in South Africa when the escalation in crime and violence drove hundreds of thousands from their homeland to the far corners of the world. It is so reminiscent of what happened in Colombia when the cocaine cartels ruled portions of that country and caused mayhem for the population. Different time, different geography, different circumstances, but the results are always the same, innocent people, just seeking their little piece of sunshine on earth, get caught up in the middle of this murderous and criminal orgy.

Gone are the evenings I would drive into the city center in search for new restaurants to experience the local cuisine in the Barrio Antiguo or in San Pedro. Gone are the days I would go and see the latest modern or contemporary art exhibition in the MARCO galleria or take a stroll on the Macro Plaza, drift off to the narrow side streets and tiny open plazas and do people watching from alfresco restaurant tables while savoring a cold cerveza Bohemia.

Now it is just going from hotel to work and back and driving after dark is only if I really have to, an emergency, and going into the city is strictly prohibited. The bad elements roam at night; like modern day Count Draculas or evil Batmen. Now I stay in different hotels than before, in “safe” hotels, in “safe” areas, where an armed guard stands inside the lobby watching everyone that is coming and going. Now it is more eating in, in the hotel’s restaurant, which usually doesn’t have anything more but the basic fare, than eating out, except if there is a restaurant next door or in very close walking proximity of the hotel.

Monterrey is not Baghdad or Kabul. Not yet in any case. Nor is it Ciudad Jaurez, Chihuahua, yet. But how bad is it going to get before it gets better again, before normal is normal again. Because today’s Monterrey is not normal anymore. Today’s Monterrey is not the Monterrey I got to know and like the past 10 years I have coming here.

A Pictorial Walk Along Paseo Santa Lucia

I planned to spend all Sunday in my hotel room in Monterrey, Mexico. I had some work to do and outside it was overcast and cool, but by 1 PM the room’s 4 walls made me feel claustrophobic. I felt had to get out, so I drove to Fundidora Park for a stroll along the Paseo Santa Lucia.

The water passage snakes its way from Fundidora Park to the History Museum in the city center. It is about a 2 mile walk from the park to the city. I never planned to walk all the way, but I eventually did and back. All credit to the designers of the waterway because they keep one wondering what is around the next corner.

 

The Old and The New

At the entrance to the park with the Business Center in the background.

Curves and Lines

The Holiday Inn at Fundidora Park, Monterrey, Mexico.

 

A series of murals made with byzantine stone and marble.

Designed by Gerardo Cantu

Made by Migual Angel Cantu and David Gerstein

Top: Spring Stolen Kiss

Middle: Steeplechase

Bottom: The Little Horse

 

On the left: Stoneman. Artist unknown 

On the right: Beatriz Del Carmen & Jose Luis Cuevas by Jose Luis Cuavas, 2008

The Spiral. Artist unknown.

I eventually ended up in the city center at the back of the Museum for Mexican History (see previous post). At the restaurant on the left, Tenerias, I had a light late lunch before I walked back to the park.

The Mexican-American War

About a year or two ago the Museum for Mexican History opened a second wing across the Paseo Santa Lucia. I had a visit to the new wing in mind when I knew I was going to stay over a weekend in Monterrey, Mexico.

On Saturday I headed for the city center. After a brief walk through the old part of the museum where nothing has changed much since my last visit several years ago, I cross to the new wing via a glass-enclosed bridge. The content of the new wing is nearly totally dedicated to the history of northeast Mexico where Monterrey is located and the influence of the southern United States on this region.

Museum for Mexican History with the original musuem building on the left and the new wing on the right, which look like uneven stacked concrete blocks on top of each other.

As with nearly all museums in Mexico the taking of photos is strictly forbidden and enforced. Around just about every corner and in every nook and cranny a museum employee was lurking. The place is certainly a great employer seeing that so many people stand around to prevent damage to exhibitions and people taking photos, or they are just very protective of their content. Because I brought my camera with and no bag to put it in and had to carry it in the open, I was approached by about 5 people to tell me no picture please. Quite ridiculous!

Nevertheless, what I took from my visit was that the Mexican-American War of 1846-1848 had a much bigger impact on both countries than what I previously thought. Granted, I knew about the war and about the Texas annexations of 1845, but the new wing of the museum focused a large section on this war I knew little about.

By 1846 several factors were on the mind of President James K Polk, 11th President of the USA (1845-1849). Foremost was the territorial expansion of the USA. Polk was a great supporter of the Manifest Destiny, which in the 19th century, prescribed that the USA had a right, even divinely, to expand across the whole North American continent, including Canada, Mexico and Central American territory. The 1845 Texan annexation got the ball of the war rolling. The Mexican government never recognized the Texas declaration of independence of 1836 and had always maintained that there will be war if the USA annexed Texas. But Mexico never had a chance. Small American forces quickly overtook California from the north, General Zachary Taylor cross the Rio Grande to fight Mexican forces around Monterrey and others under General Scott landed on the Mexican Gulf at Veracruz and marched from there to Mexico City, on the way they routed the Mexican forces.

Eventually, with most of its cities occupied and American forces camping out on the lawn of the Presidential palace, the Mexican government had little choice but to agree to peace and “sell” most of their territory. For a mere $18 million dollars (about half a billion in today’s money) the Mexican government signed away a whopping 55% of its country and enlarged the USA by 33%. The USA got all the modern day states of California, Utah, Nevada, and large parts of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado and Wyoming. Furthermore, the USA now got complete control over Texas and established the border at the Rio Grande. Proof again, that one does not have much negotiating room with a gun to one’s head.

On the other hand, the more things change the more they stay the same, because border issues between the USA and Mexico, granted, with slightly different circumstances, are still with us today, just like 160 years ago.

After my Mexican history lesson and intellectual stimulation I played the tourist, snapping away pictures of statues, buildings and general scenery while slowly making my way back to my parked car down Dr Goss Avenue. I walked passed El Neuquen, an Argentinean restaurant that makes excellent empanadas and the best chimichurri sauce. My mouth watered, but my car was metered-parked and I had no more small coins left to extend the time limit, and it was still only 4:30 PM, not dinner time yet. Too early for dinner in Mexico!

I came cross the tiny church as I meandered my way back from the Museum to my car.

The tiny church has the loveliest name: Capilla de los Dulces Nombres (Chapel of the Sweet Names)

A view of Monterrey's Macro Plaza from the Mexican History Museum with the Justice Palace on the right, the statue of Benito Pablo Juárez García, Mexico's first Amerindian President (1858-1872) in front of the Palace and on the left, the high clock tower of the Basilica de Nuestra Senora del Roble.  

Monterrey skyline with its layers of mountains surrounding it.

Rodrigo y Gabriela

I got to get ready to pack, catch some sleep and get out of Mexico tomorrow morning but I want to leave here with something spectacular out of Mexico City. (Thanks Leon.)

Rodrigo y Gabriela



And how about their version of the old favorite Stairway to Heaven



Adios Mexico! Hasta la vista!

Murals

One art form that is well entrenched in Mexican culture is murals. Since the days of the Mayans and Aztecs civilizations murals have played an important part in and depicting of everyday life. The mural pictured above is a cheap commercial, but nevertheless a striking and colorful one in the lobby of the Fiesta Inn hotel in Monterrey.

A River Runs Through It

In some parts of Monterrey the phrase "a river runs through it" is very applicable when it rains. One such place is Avenue Isodoro Sepulveda, the street that run in front of our factory here in Monterrey. Just before I left work tonight, what I would call a mild thunderstorm, past over the area and turned the street into a river within minutes.

Driving to the hotel it felt at times like I was in a boat on a river as small waves hit the bottom of the car. I couldn't help but stop and take some pictures even though I was mildly concerned I would get stuck in knee-deep water while the car's battery warning light was flashing every now and then and twice I lost the power steering for short periods.

Notice the waves on the right just above the mirror.

Traditional, But Not Spicy. Por Favor.

After my last post, a flashback to last year’s travels to Italy, I am back in real time and I am also back in Mexico.

It was about 7 pm, Monday evening, still around 38 degrees Celsius, when we stepped out, got into the car to go and find a restaurant that serve traditional Mexican food. A colleague’s requirement was: Traditional, but not spicy, por favor. Here in the state of Nuevo Leon, in the north of Mexico it means parrillada. Translated it means different beef cuts and sausages, grilled and cut into small pieces eaten with melted cheese, sautéed onions and guacamole inside a tortilla. The meat is served heap high and piping hot on a hotplate. Think of parrillada as South America’s version of barbeque, whether in Mexico, Argentina or Panama. The meat is never spiced except for salt.

We eventually found a local neighborhood restaurant that serve parrillada, El Castor, the Beaver, on the western side of town just as the sun was disappearing behind one of the many mountain peaks. Hopefully it would cool down it bit. I have found over the years that a neighborhood restaurant, like El Castor, a place frequented by locals and where whole families can enjoy simple meals, provides the best atmosphere for big groups (and eventually we were ten people together at the table), and some of the best food. Going to one of these “holes in the wall”, and I don’t mean it in any way derogatory or condescending, it’s just that these restaurants have simple décor and a limited menu, mostly turn out to be some of the best dining experiences I have had in Mexico. I can also suggest Fresnos in Apodaca as another good traditional restaurant in greater Monterrey area.

After dinner, 4 of us went to park the car in the Barrio Antigua area and walked to the origin of the Paseo Santa Lucia, next to the National Historical Museum. Since I last been there, before the 2007 Universal Forum of Cultures they had here in Monterrey, many changes took place. I discovered they built an extension to the current National Historical Museum. The new part currently exhibits Spanish Civilizations. I will have to make some time to get to see a bit more about it on this trip. They also made several other, well needed, improvements to the walkways all along the river. Really beautify the whole area. It was actually very nice to walk around there at night time. Just a pity it was so damn hot.

On our way to El Castor I noticed this wrought iron artwork next to the highway of the Nuestra Senora de Guadalope, also known as La virgen Maria.

Entrance to El Rey Del Cabrito, the Goat King, one of Monterrey's famous restaurants, specialist in the local speciality, cabrito, young goat meat.

El Castor's walls are covered with pictures of Mexican actors, some famous, some not. It is an old establishment that goes back many years.

The new extension to the National Historical Museum (on the right) and the new waterfall (in front) that was built for the Universal Forum.

Another new feature at the museum is the La Lagartera, the Aligator pit, by Mexican contempory artist Francisco Toledo. This huge art piece of steel and plaster was unveiled just a week ago, and is located in a pool in front of the museum.

The balloon seller. I like the image because it looked like he was holding a magic shield and wielding lighted swords.

A multi-colored reflecting pool with the Palace of Government in the background.

The Palacio de Gobierno, the Palace of Government, built in 1908 in the neoclassical style and today, among other things, where the office of the state governor is located.

Grasshoppers and Crocodile...for Dinner

Outside the wind is blowing as if someone is paying it to blow. It steadily increased its willingness to blow as the day came to a close. On the one hand it takes the edge off a warm day, but it also stirs the white Monterrey dust up into a small frenzy.

Tonight for dinner my colleagues took me to a traditional Mexican cantina, the Botanero Santa Lucia in the Barrio Antigua, the cobbled-stoned, oldest part of Monterrey city. On the menu they had some interesting or what they called exotic, foods. Among the exotic items on the menu were grasshoppers and maguey worms from Oaxaca, one of the southern states of Mexico, where they are known to eat unusual foods. Other menu items were escamoles (black ant larves harvested from the agave plant (from which they make tequila), and crocodile. The other usual stuff like steaks, pork, etc. was of course also on the menu.

Now the whole week I have been struggling with stomach problems. I lay no blame on Mexican food. It is something I could have picked up anywhere or maybe it is a return of Mr. Helicobacter pylori, a baddy that came to visit me back in January of this year too. Nevertheless, someone around the table thought it would be a good idea to expose me to some of the more traditional delicacies of southern Mexico and they ordered the grasshoppers from Oaxaca, to be eaten with guacamole (avocado with spices and onions) in a tortilla. The grasshoppers were fried and it tasted a little bit like carne seca (Mexican dried meat) and a little like dried fish, the kind you get on the west coast of South Africa, called harders. The grasshoppers were not bad at all. Although I had a steak for the main course, I did taste the crocodile too because one of the guys ordered a crocodile kebab. Taste just like chicken.

But it all made for an interesting evening.

The Exotic Foods page of the menu at the restaurant Betanero Sta Lucia.

Additional Income

After all the years of coming to Mexico and driving here I was pull over today for speeding near a school. Not that there were any children around because it was nearly 6 in the evening and the school gates were already closed. The school is near our factory and I always passed it very carefully in the mornings because I know there are always police around, but to see them there in the evening is rare. But I guess it is a good place for them to stand to write up people or to make extra income.

Now it is not your usual “speeding trap” like in America where the police trap you with a laser gun and is willing to show you your speed. No this is just guessing. This policeman, who was far to big for his clothes, which stretched around him like Glad wrap, stood next to the road and judged my speed by eye. Very scientific and accurate, hey!

After he walked over to me and told me in Spanish I was speeding in a school zone, I, of course, told him, no habla Espanol. And he reply he can’t speak any English. Great, we have a good thing going here. After he rambled off more in Spanish he again asked kinda surprisingly, no Espanol? I said no Espanol and he looked into the distance. In the mean time I was telling him how sorry I was and I will not do it again, but he just kept on pointing to his book and say “ticket.”

He explained to me that he has to give me a ticket and I must go and pay at some government office or police station, I am not sure which. He showed me in writing that the ticket will be for $750 Mexican pesos, about US$75. And I tried to look even sorrier than before. He asked for my drivers license in Spanish and never noticed that I pulled it out immediately, thus fully understood what he was asking for. He made an effort to pronounce my name, asked if he did it correctly, looked off in the distance again, probably thinking what he must do next and asked me a third time, no Espanol? And looked quite astonished when I said no Espanol again. What is this? Here he has a gringo, driving around in Mexico on an American driver’s license (which is allowed I think, well, it must be because he never mentioned anything about it) and can’t speak a word Spanish. How does he get around?

Eventually he asked me how much I was willing to pay to get out of this thing. Of course I played dumb again and he repeated what sounded like quanto dinero and pointed to my wallet in my lap. I did not have much in pesos on me because I was planning to stop at the bank on my way to the hotel and withdraw some money, but I had $240 pesos (about US$24) on me. I first showed him the two 20 pesos notes, but he took on a disgusted look and shook his head sideways. Hell I can’t even buy a hamburguesa for my kid with that, he probably thought. I then showed him the $200 pesos note and he bobbed his head up and down like a restless horse who wants to move on instead of standing next to the road. I gave him the money and he gave me my license back and even stopped the traffic so I can pull on to the road and get the hell out of there. Disgusting American gringo that can’t speak Spanish!

And so I contributed my small part to the corruption activities of the Mexican police force. Not that other police forces around the world are not corrupt from time to time, but here in Mexico traffic police regularly pull people over and cash disappear into pockets. Additional income. On the other hand, there was no way I was going to argue with him and spend the night in a Mexican jail. And $200 pesos is much cheaper than $750 pesos. I don’t care where the money goes. I have no say over it in any which way.

Cowboy Food, Argentinean Style

When I come to Monterrey I don’t usually have too many fix plans for after work hours. I go by the flow of the job. So when something actually happens what I roughly planned to do it’s great. Tonight was such a case. More luck than actual effort.

I was in meetings till late and missed my ride back to the hotel. A colleague offered me a ride if I was willing to wait until 7 pm when he completed some training. No Problem. I had lots of other work to do. Upon my arrival back at the hotel I bumped into another colleague and an ex-employee of our company and an impromptu chat revealed that they were on there way to dinner. No definitive destination yet.

Sometimes life is all about asking and sees what happens. After all, the worst that can happen is getting a no answer. So I mentioned that I have never been to El Gaucho restaurant, whether they are willing to go there and they said why not. One restaurant is as good as another. So off we went.

El Gaucho, the cowboy, is an Argentinean-style steakhouse that has built the reputation as one of Monterrey’s best restaurants for meat and good service. It is located on the southern highway on your way out of town towards Villa Santiago. It was still before 8 pm so parking was not a problem when we got there and neither was getting a table without a long wait. We got there just in time as the place was getting crowed. An interesting feature of the restaurant is that they present you with a platter of the raw meat so you can see the size and the cuts that are featured on the menu. It’s then that you realize why their menu offers steaks in half and full portions. For example, a half order of rib eye steak is about 1 ¼ inch (30 mm) thick and about 16-20 ounces (1/2 kg) in weight. That’s a lot of meat. This is no place for vegans.

We started with a mixed green salad topped by a creamy white cheese and also ordered a Queso y Chorizo (melted cheese with spicy sausage), but this order were never delivered. Strike one against the establishment. I ordered a filet mignon wrapped on bacon and covered with smoky mushrooms to be washed down with a half bottle of Chiati Ruffino from Italy. My steak was certainly not topnotch and far to tough for a filet mignon. My colleague had an arracherra cut (skirt steak) and said his was quite good and tender. I suppose I can say I should have…rather than…but at a place like El Gaucho with a good reputation that line of reasoning should not be required. Strike two.

The wine was reasonably good, but then they were just pouring someone else’s labor of love. There was no immediate room for dessert. I would like to say the service was good, but when they brought the check and we got billed for the Queso y chorizo which we never received, I had to strike El Gaucho a final time and send them to the dugout.

We returned to the hotel and I opted for a dessert of hot Brownies and vanilla ice cream with café Americano in the hotel’s restaurant while I write this post.

In conclusion, if you are a big meat eater and love big portions and you are lucky to pick the right cut and get the grill master on an excellent evening then El Gaucho is the place to eat in Monterrey. Unfortunately tonight they will not be on my list of recommended restaurants, simply too many little things against them for the price of the dinner.

But I am glad I went. The place came highly recommended, reviews on the Internet were good, and it just wasn’t my night for an excellent meal. That happens. Simple as that! Some you win, some you lose. And if you don’t go out and try you will never know.

Monterrey and the Art of Julio Galan

When I woke up this morning the sky was overcast with low clouds, perfect weather to get out early to explore the city. The plan for the day was to visit the museum for contemporary art, the Marco, and to maybe walk around a bit on the Macroplaza, the central square of Monterrey. Getting into the city was much better today than yesterday. Traffic was light and I was in town within 15 minutes.

After I parked my car next to the Marco, I decided to first take a leisurely stroll down the Macroplaza before the heat of the day descends and become intense. I stopped to take some pictures at the Neptune fountain, and then walked further until the Justice Palace where a graduation ceremony was in progress, I presume a group of new lawyers. Who else will have their graduation ceremony at the Justice palace except lawyers? Although I have never been to the museum inside and it was open today, I decided against it because all the comments would probably be in Spanish and totally useless to me. From the plaza I saw a church tower, which didn’t look to far away and headed in that direction. Well, although not too far to walk it was farther than it looked and farther than I wanted to walk. Nevertheless, the tower reminded me a lot about Italy because of its similarity to towers next to Italian churches. After taking some pictures of the church I headed back in the general direction of the Macroplaza, zigzagging my way until I got to a small plaza just off Padre Mier Avenue, where I stopped to buy a bottle of ice cold water, sat down on a bench for a rest, a cigarette and some people watching. The sun was now doing a fine job of burning off the low clouds and the heat was intensifying. And I was kind of tired too.

After my rest I went to the Marco museum. The museum now has a permanent exhibition of Mexican artists in the Sala Mexico, which was the prime reason for coming to the museum today. However, it was the exhibition of Julio Galan, a neo-expressionist painter, who grew up in Monterrey and one of the great Mexican artists of the so-called “Great Change” generation that became the highlight of the day. I started off viewing the paintings in the Sala Mexico, which were all oils painted in the first half of the 20th Century, the period that Carlos Monsivais, one of Mexico’s foremost journalists, describe as the Revolution and Revelation of radical change, a period of great transformation of literature, arts, music and theater. I was not allowed to take pictures, but I did sneak in a few. A trick I learned in Italy.

However, that was not possible in the Galan exhibition because there were too many museum employees looking out for just that, no picture taking. To me his paintings is very similar to those of Frieda Kahlo (the other great Mexican artists) – bright, autobiographical (the artist appears is most of his own paintings), surreal and multi-facetted. They also both spend some time in New York, which affected the work greatly. He hated it that he was compared to Kahlo, and always said that critics that does that don’t know and understand his art. They both painted pain and suffering. Kahlo’s physical and Galan claimed his was psychological. Both were very sickly persons, and Galan died in 2006 at a relative young age of 48. However, there is a difference in their art. Galan excelled at using mixed media, where Kahlo painted mostly in oils. I also find Galan’s paintings more chaotic than Kahlo’s. But then, they lived in different times and Galan was exposed to modern, pop-art of the likes of Andy Warhol and many more. However, I did enjoy his paintings today. It made up for the Frieda Kahlo exhibition I missed in September here in Monterrey. So until I get another opportunity to see Kahlo’s work for real, I will have to appreciate it from photos.

After the Marco, I walked across the street to the Metropolitan Cathedral for a look inside. I have seen the cathedral on previous visits just from the outside. Well, I missed nothing. There is no artwork worth mentioning. Because of its proximity I decided to take a stroll through the Barrio Antiguo and stumble upon a flee market selling junk and the State Museum of Popular Cultural art, another museum one could give a skip.

Upon my exit from the central zone I missed my turnoff onto the highway and ended up in bumper-to-bumper traffic, no idea where I was going. I could only hoped for an opportunity to turn northeast, I think, again in the general direction of my hotel. That happened when I came to a dead-end where I had to turn left, and eventually ended up on the highway on the “other side of the river”, on Avenue Morones Prieto. I have been on this road before but then others were driving, but I knew there were several roads that cross over to river (which is really a dry river bed) I just had to find the one that would best meet up with Avenue Miguel Aleman. I study the map I had with me while driving and eventually crossed at Avenue Azteca.

At the Sierra Madre Brewing Co., a restaurant that makes food best described as Americana, I was back in familiar territory because it is only a mile or so from my hotel and have been to the restaurant on many previous occasions, I had a small Mojave Chicken salad and a large beer. The spicy chicken was well offset by the cool, creamy blue cheese vinaigrette...and the beer was most refreshing.

All in all it was a good day of exploration and education.

For more on the MARCO and a view of the paintings on display click here.

The Metropolitan Cathedral of Monterrey.

On the ground floor of a building across from the MARCO and the Cathedral a big band played Latin American music and mostly older folks were dancing their pains away.

Certainly the highlight in the Sala Mexico was this painting of Saturnine Herron "Our God's", oil, painted in 1918.

The oldest part of Monterrey, the Barrio Antiguo, the old neighborhood.

In the Flea market I saw this novel way of lighting one's life, candles in eggshells.

Julio Galan Paintings.

More Julio Galan

And more Julio Galan