Blogs | Beyond The Big Metal Fence
Tranny Stories
By refriedgringo | Posted May 27, 2010, 8:22 p.m.
The amount of preparation was mind-boggling, for weeks I watched my wife and daughters and other friends of the family putting together the little packages of recuerdos which consisted of trinkets and tiny items to commemorate the affair - along with making table pieces and procuring food items and liquor and constructing hand-made decorations. I couldn’t imagine how large it was going to be. The event would take place on the roof of the large, five-story condominium that my son rents in the affluent hills above the Aguas Calientes section of Tijuana. A Baby Shower. For whatever reason, my wife wanted me in attendance.
"Certainly, you don’t have to go," she said when I protested. There comes a point in every married man’s life when he comes to understand that sometimes no really means yes, and this transcends culture and language, and he’d better do what’s right by his wife or there will be consequences somewhere down the road. She assured me that the men in attendance (apparently, others have learned this lesson as well) would be happily content with beer and liquor and a large room below with a pool table. We were to do some of the heavy lifting beforehand and then be happily vanquished to a large room below once the party started.
Everyone had taken off early in the morning, leaving me behind to get there on my own. The Baby Shower was supposed to start at two-thirty that afternoon, but private event times in Mexico are set with deliberate inaccuracy. One could expect that, perhaps, the first guests would show up at around four o’clock. At two that afternoon, I wandered out the door and caught a route taxi and had the half-full van drop me off ten miles west near the Grand Hotel. I slowly hiked up the hill, by the country club and golf course, and thought about how I’d never attended – not even a floor below – either a Bachelorette Party or a Baby Shower. I figured that the former might employ male strippers and the latter would not. As it would turn out, I was somewhere near partially correct.
My first ever time coming to Tijuana was on business well over two decades ago. I knew nothing about this place, only a few stories I had heard that seemed far-fetched. I was single at the time, and subsequent trips that brought me down here left me time to explore this place in the evenings. I hit a lot of bars and strip joints along the way, dancing girls and hookers and inexpensive beer. I stuck to the beer and took it all in. There were also transvestites, and perhaps transsexuals, which initially surprised me since Mexico had such a reputation for being a macho society.
My only encounters with any man dressed in women’s clothing had been limited to occasional midnight showings of the Rocky Horror Picture Show and episodes of Benny Hill on television. I have always considered myself open-minded, often hung out with gay people in high school and college and thought nothing of it. Transvestites and transsexuals certainly didn’t freak me out. They would playfully paw at me or speak whatever English they knew, hoping for a trick or a lap dance. I stuck to my beer. Everyone has the right to make a living.
Over the years that followed, I married and then moved here, and then began to speak Spanish and learned what I could of the culture. I would work in the United States of America and then come home to Tijuana. I noticed that the transvestites and transsexuals were simply part of society here. The macho Mexican men, big beer in one hand, would eye them suspiciously, but would treat them respectfully for the most part. Sometimes I would read an article about a murder of one, deep in the bowels of the worst part of Tijuana, but that was rare. The general lack of animosity is surprisingly wonderful; it is one thing about this city that I am proud of.
It took me a while to walk all of the way to the Baby Shower – it wasn’t the distance that winded me, it was the climb. It was the first time I’d been to where my son lives since he moved out. The entrance from the sidewalk betrays the size of the place; it is simply a gated doorway with stairs leading upward. And upward. And upward. Fourth floor. That room was huge, with a pool table and a couch and little else. All of the bedrooms were off to the side, behind a hallway door that was kept locked. The kitchen was on the far end, no pots and no pans, with stacks of empty pizza cartons sitting near the trash can. I went up to the roof to see what was going on.
My height got me immediately employed to set decorations, and so I did. The wife and in-laws made themselves useful with other tasks. My middle girl meanwhile was busy doing the hair of the pregnant one, my son’s girlfriend. There were a lot of tables up there, and already a lot of beer chilling in several large trash cans, and I grabbed one. In the auxiliary kitchen, my wife was on the phone to my son, who was out chasing down the food. They had paid for a mess of empanadas for the main course to accompany the ranch-style beans that were already cooked and waiting. The empanadas were never prepared, the paperwork somehow lost, welcome to Tijuana. Instead, he found someone willing to part with a few hundred tamales for about the same price. I finished my beer and grabbed another and looked out at all of the upper class dwellings in Tijuana. I noticed two window awnings on the hill across the street. I remarked to my mother-in-law that they cost over two thousand dollars each. I don’t think she believed me.
I wandered back down and us few guys that were there racked up the balls and played some pool. There was a decanter of scotch on the coffee table and I helped myself. Beers were there to quench our thirst. People began to arrive and I paid no attention. It was a Baby Shower. Men don’t have any business up there, you let the girls have their fun.
A couple of years into my life in Tijuana, I met my second mentor in the world of thoroughbred horseracing. His name is Robert, and I like him a lot. I miss him. Wherever he is, I hope he’s still playing the ponies and still happy. Last I heard he was living in Temecula. I can’t imagine him that far away from Tijuana. He loved this place.
I was a weekend warrior and so was he, we would show up at the race book in Tijuana within minutes of each other and we talked mostly horses. We won a lot. We were patient. He taught me to look for value, to define a betting system based on my bankroll where I could invest smartly. I owe him a lot. I was married and Robert was single. Sometimes he enjoyed spending his winnings later that evening in some of the cantinas and strip joints. He took me along, my Spanish was sometimes valuable in negotiations when he found a girl that he liked. I would leave after a deal was cut, go get some tacos and go home. We had a lot of fun.
One evening, he wanted to hit this certain strip joint, and through my protests he proceeded to convince me to go with him. I hadn’t won very much money, but he had a few good payoffs that day. We went in there and sat and drank a beer, watching the stripper do her thing on the dance floor. Out of nowhere, there was a girl on each of our laps, back and forth. Except it was immediately obvious that they weren’t girls in the original sense. Surgery, injections, make-up, perfumes, heels, short dresses. Being married, I wasn’t interested regardless, and Robert wasn’t into them. I gently pushed the one off of me, no harsh words. Everyone has to make a living.
About a minute after they wandered back over to the other side of the room, it hit me. I stood up. I checked my pockets. I looked at Robert.
"She stole my money," I said.
Robert offered nothing, what could he say? Apparently, he buried his bankroll well, and apparently I didn’t. I was not happy. I didn’t approach her. Instead I went to the bartender and told him what happened. He shrugged, as if there was nothing he could do. Then I got mad.
"Listen," I said in Spanish. "This beer bottle is going to crash into that magnificent mirror you have behind the bar if I don’t have my money back in about two minutes. Have the cops arrest and take me to jail, but that mirror is worth a lot more than the money she stole. Think quick."
In two minutes, she handed my back my wad of cash. "I didn’t steal anything," she said, again in Spanish, "but here, you can have my money."
We got out of there. I think about that now, and it was one hell of a gambit on my part. We never went back. I have walked by that place a thousand times since then and I think about what might have happened if I had actually thrown that bottle of beer into the mirror. It makes me smile.
We played a lot of pool and drank and talked about the World Cup, as the Baby Shower began on the roof. Guests would arrive sporadically, and since there was a gate buzzer in that big room I charged myself with buzzing in the guests. Basically, I just buzzed in anyone. I paid no attention to who wandered up to that party. I had beer and scotch and pool, and we all wondered out loud if the Mexican National Futbòl squad would make it out of the first round. It wasn’t any different than what happens at my house in there, except for the pool table.
From where we were, we could hear the girls getting their party on. People kept on coming. We let them in, what in the hell did we care? We were guys being guys. Baby Showers are for the girls.
Then I noticed something. Where was my son? I went up there, sheepishly, to investigate, and there he was, with his friends, all playing waiters. "Hey, guys, come downstairs, this is for the girls." They came down, and we played pool and drank. I sat on the sofa and wondered what the baby would have to say about that party. My son and his girlfriend are having a boy. If they decide to get married, I don’t want to be around to help with that wedding. I can’t imagine how big that one’s going to be.
At one time I was fairly good at billiards. When Armando ran Armando’s Ladies Bar, I went in there almost every weekday after work, Armando had a pool table in there and we all played. Then, Joe bought it and to this day it remains as the Nuevo Perico, in his caring hands. There is still a pool table in there. I don’t seriously play anymore. I can no longer see from one end of the table to the other. This is what happens.
Back so many years ago, I could run that table for at least a couple of hours until I felt that I’d burned off enough steam from the workday to go home in a good mood. Some of the players were pretty good, like Danny and Oliverio and Don Chuy and others. Occasionally, girls would show up there and some would even play. And one transsexual gal named Nancy. Nancy wasn’t especially pretty nor not pretty, but enough surgery had been completed to where we referred to her as her. She played pool, not particularly well, but she could hold her own. She worked at one of the local strip joints and came into the Perico sometimes to take a break.
One evening, I was running the table well. Nancy’s name was on the board, and after I beat someone, she was the next to challenge me. While she slotted her fifty cents into the machine and racked the balls, I took a leak. When I had returned, she had snagged the house cue I was using. Of course, I wanted it back, I had filed the tip into something acceptable to work with, but she laughed at me and refused. If you ever find someone in the Perico that has been a regular for over a decade (or more), they will qualify my story. It is legend now.
Listen: I got mad. I didn’t want to confront her over it. Instead, I wandered over to the utility closet in the Perico and grabbed a broom. I chalked it up, right on the big fat end of it. I broke what she racked. I ran the table. With a broom. I never saw Nancy again. Perhaps I shouldn’t, but I feel bad about that. After all, everyone has to make a living. And sometimes, everyone needs a break. All I wanted was my Goddamned pool cue.
The party on the roof went on and on. Us guys just played pool and drank. At some point, someone up there ran us all plates of food down, the tamales were great, the beans were quite interesting, and we were all Gods in our own universe. Juan’s pals are generally good guys. We all got along swell.
Someone brought a laptop in there and I had them play some tunes, American music, I hope I enlightened them a little. We talked about indie rock, you know, we started with Silversun Pickups, and I told them, "Hey, you want great indie with a chick bass player, pull up anything by the Pixies." And they did. I was completely impressed with their willingness to listen to some old man go on and on. Perhaps they were being nice.
I remember sitting in a chair off in the corner. Apparently I fell asleep. It is my right, after all. My son-in-law woke me up at some point, and he drove me home with the rest of my family here. The party broke up, everyone had left. I had given my camera to my daughter, so when I got home – now wide awake – I had to download the pictures she took of the Baby Shower. It was enlightening, to say the least.
When I got laid-off from all of my years in aerospace, I had this misplaced hope that Boeing would somehow see the error of their ways and once again reward the hungry San Diego aerospace subcontractors with new shiny contracts. I wanted to believe that it had mattered to them somehow. Obviously, they couldn’t have cared less. And another confession: I was tired of aerospace, anyway. I remember cracking up the staff with an idea that perhaps we should email the military and simply offer to build components and then blow them up, thereby saving the government billions on unnecessary logistics. It was entertaining and practical, and perhaps I should’ve sent that email. At the very least, it would’ve made me feel better in the long run.
In the months that followed, I found myself drinking in the Perico one afternoon. Joe walked in. They had a kitchen. Many had tried and many had failed. The worse I could do was to fail, it beat cashing unemployment checks. Joe thought it a good idea, so what the hell. I ran it. Cheeseburgers, big as you’ve ever had, and even fries. Chili beans, freshly made, every day. Other stuff, as it occurred to me. To this day, some people often see me on the streets and ask me where I cook now. "At Home," I say. They seem truly disappointed.
I am proud to claim this as more legend in Tijuana. Sometimes us gringos can make a difference.
In the afternoons when I ran that grill, it was boring most of the time. Very few drank and no one ate. I simmered my chili beans and waited. One day she walked in. I wish I could remember her name. Someone had a guitar, and she grabbed it and played it and sang. She didn’t start out life as a girl, but that’s how she wound up. Long black hair, angular face revealing indigenous features, tight body apparently augmented surgically. It didn’t matter. She was magnificent.
I belted out the few Ranchero tunes that I had come to learn here, and her harmony was amazing, and her guitar was flawless. She was perhaps one of the most charming people I have ever met. I saw her a couple of times after that. But not in over a decade. People come and go. And they leave an impression on you. And you realize that, after all, people are just people. I really miss the good one’s I’ve met in my life.
I got home and nabbed my camera – now wide-awake – and downloaded the pictures. So many great memories these gals are going to have from this Baby Shower. And other images that made me double-take. The mother of my future grandson, sitting next to a transvestite. I quizzed my wife. "The son of my friend thought it would be a good idea for entertainment." Perhaps. I have no idea what went on up there.
I thought about that, wondered what I’d be able to tease my grandson about when he got old enough to take a good ribbing. Perhaps I could tell him that it might have been a minor miracle that there wasn’t a big mirror around to throw a bottle of beer at. Or perhaps, that somehow no transvestites made it downstairs and stole a pool cue away facilitating finding a broom to chalk up and run them off of the table. Or maybe sadly, that one of the most amazing people I’d ever met, who just happened to be a transgender, was quickly never to be seen again. And that maybe he could learn to play guitar and we could sing old ranchero, regardless of whatever he is to become.
Yes, I can see the similarities in Trans folk and dividend yields O.o
By refriedgringo 6:28 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
My first ever time coming to Tijuana was on business well over two decades ago. I knew nothing about this place, only a few stories I had heard that seemed far-fetched.
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Like the so called "Donkey Show"............!!
By SurfPuppy619 7:48 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
See, baby showers are not so bad after all!! I like your stories - you know how to spin a great yarn.
By MsGrant 7:51 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
SP: I did my damndest to find one. I really didn't care anything about actually seeing it, I simply wanted to validate the myth. If they ever existed (some of the old men on the street swear they did), I can find little evidence of it now, other than empirical testimony of others which is dubious at best.
By refriedgringo 7:55 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Glad you liked it, Ms. G. I have absolutely no idea what happened up on the roof, other than from the photos my daughter took. The transvestite in the photo was quite a surprise, apparently there were several up there as paid entertainment. Us guys had no idea. I've had quite a few other encounters with trans folk here, but those three seemed to be the greatest in terms of contrast.
By refriedgringo 7:59 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
i like the life u lead Refried...the people u meet and the freedom u use to authenticate them
ur perhaps daughter-in-law is adorable....and the woman next to her is 2
respectfully i've called her a woman..not a fake or surgically changed man or Tranny but a woman..i guess what i like about u is that u probably accept that 2
i'm only assuming she no longer has a package
what a great shower!!!
thx for the pic!!!
By nan 8:44 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
in my heart i knew u were a pool shark...hahahahahahahaha!!!
By nan 8:46 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Oh, nan, I'm no longer a pool shark, my eyes can't see past my outstretched arm these days. I've never asked a trans about their equipment. I assume that some still hang on to what they were born with while others have changed it. There are times I think I'm probably not nosy enough to be a good writer ;)
Here's a video I put together with footage I took, background music is Silversun Pickups. Enjoy: http://vimeo.com/11975020>
By refriedgringo 8:57 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
refried, you must have been a weaver in a past life, going by your proclivity for intertwining threads. Muy fino!
By Duhbya 9 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Thanks, Duhbya. It's funny, I never recognized any writing style, I sort of figured I owed any knack for it to the great authors I've enjoyed all of my life, that somehow perhaps they rubbed off on me in some way. It took a friend of mine, quite college educated in the art of English and Literature to inadvertently nail me to something definable. One day she read something I wrote and said, "Great structural conceit!" And then I realized that I had absolutely no control over it. I can't seem to tell a single story straight up ;)
By refriedgringo 9:11 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Well, definable or not, it certainly makes for entertaining reading. Put it this way: even though I'm typing this from more than 3000 miles away, I feel closer to Tijuana (and my own numerous and some humorous memories) than ever before.
Thank you.
By Duhbya 9:16 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
i'm with Duhbya on this one Refried!!!
the video is so great!!!
it's just the essence of "hangin' wid da boys"
and the walkin' along the streets of Tijuana with the music behind is terrif
u my man have made ur heart ur eyes...glory in it
u fall into my category of an ordinary extraordinary man
~*~for cripes sake stop blushing homey~*~
thx for this very personal and Tijuanese blog today
By nan 9:47 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
RFG-I have a question.
You indicate you did not know Spanish when you first started going to TJ, but once you moved there you learned it-how long did it take you to learn enough Spainsh to actually converse in it in TJ????
(and what is going on with the posting format on this page (and others))???
By SurfPuppy619 10:37 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Recipes to share, por favor ?
By Grasca 10:45 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
SP, my Spanish was limited to words like cerveza, tacos, and hasta la vista. It was pretty horrible. I think it took about two years to get my linguistic feet under me, so to speak. Much of it was forced on me. I have always lived quite a ways from the border, and no one spoke English here. The Mexican people were awesome enough to have patience with me and I was unafraid to be an idiot for a while and attempt to engage them. I owe it to them, really. They are so patient.
And no idea with the formatting, the webmistress is likely pulling her hair out. Part of the problem is in the conflict of providing tools to bloggers and commenters to affect their script. It often conflicts with hand-coded HTML (which I always employ, and I had to remove most of mine in the story because it wouldn't format properly), and the HTML that is automatically applied when linking videos, for example, as you'll note the bullets occuring only after I passed along the Vimeo link.
By refriedgringo 10:49 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
And to nan and Visduh, I have no words of gratitude handy that would adequately describe how grateful I am for your wonderful comments, they mean more to me than I could properly express. Just, thank you two very much, I am more than happy to share my experiences here with you.
By refriedgringo 10:51 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Grasca, what I was cooking was a very simple and common dish in Mexico, bistek con papas. Take a few potatoes, peel and dice and boil until about half cooked. Meanwhile, slice about a half-onion, braise in oil. In a mixer or processor, liquify a few tomatoes, a tablespoon of minced garlic, serrano chiles to taste, and a few dashes of salt, with about a cup of water. Strain into the pot with the onion and bring to a simmer. Cook beef (pulpa negra is a perfect Mexican cut), thinly sliced, in your favorite oil, and when almost cooked through, cut into strips (about 1" x 3"). Put everything into that pot, add a dash of ground clove (or a whole one), a pinch of Mexican oregano, and a little yerba buena, and simmer for about a half-hour, or until the potatoes are done. Serve in a bowl with fresh, warm corn tortillas.
By refriedgringo 11 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Yes, I noticed that when you insert a video or picture or a link it changes the format of your story. Huh. Anyway, that recipe sounds mmmm.
I was curious about your learning Spanish too. I am going to be taking some Spanish classes soon. I can speak a little to get by, but is it difficult to learn?
By MsGrant 11:07 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Thank you. There are some butcher shops in Barrio Logan where I hope to find the pulpa negra. Is there another name for this cut of beef ? The party video was fun to watch. We refer to time in the Latino sense as Mexican Standard Time. When the more precise American clock watchers and those who follow Mexican Standard Time mix at family gatherings, it is essential to have food with sterno heat or crock pots so everyone can eat what is supposed to be hot. I have heard that once you dream in a foreign language, you are there in terms of being bilingual.
By Grasca 11:09 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Cuts of meat translated and defined -
http://www.docstoc.com/docs/7063135/Cuts-of-Meat-translated-in-Spanish-and-English
By Grasca 11:13 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Hey, a new poster!
"And to nan and Visduh......"
Visduhbya.
;>)
By Duhbya 11:13 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Ms. G., Spanish is relatively easy. The verbs are a bitch to conjugate, but the structure, otherwise, is Latin-based. There are a few indigenous words to learn (i.e., aguacate which is avacado), but if you are well read and have a desire to learn, you will. I feel sorry for Spanish speakers trying to learn English, because it's nuts. We never think about it as native speakers, but less than 50% is Latin-based, the rest comes from everywhere else.
By refriedgringo 11:14 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
OMG, what a slip. Visduh was a boss I had over twenty years ago! I'm officially senile, sorry about that Duhbya.
By refriedgringo 11:16 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Grasca, your local Mexican butcher will know. Even if they don't have pulpa negra available, they'll give you a cut that's close enough to it. The important thing is that it's thinly sliced.
And I completely agree about dreaming in a foreign language, when I began to sometimes dream in Spanish, that's when it occurred to me that I was bilingual. It's funny now, because I often dream in both languages in the same dream. It's still mostly in English, but often time Spanish creeps in. Freud would've likely had a better explanation for that than I could come up with.
By refriedgringo 11:22 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Gracias. Es usted en realidad un caballero y un académico.
(I cheated and looked that up....I hope it translates into what I wanted and not some insult!!)
By MsGrant 11:35 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Well, thanks Ms. G! That is, basically correct, except that I'm really just another clod on the internets ;)
And, I will say this: Utilize every means you have to learn Spanish. Watch those DVD's with Spanish subtitles. Fall asleep to Mexican (or otherwise Spanish) radio. Ayn Rand learned to speak English by stealing off and watching American movies after she came over from Russia as a little girl, and she didn't have the benifit of subtitles.
By refriedgringo 11:41 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
*which does nothing to explain my misspelling of the word "benefit"...
By refriedgringo 11:43 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
I'll do that. Maybe a little Sabado Gigante tomorrow....
By MsGrant 11:50 a.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Maybe a little Sabado Gigante tomorrow....
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hahaha...I LOVE this show! I lOVE that guy Don Francisco!
I also used to watch "Caliente" which was a Latin MTV (filmed in Miami and LA) that was on Saturday afternoons. Loved to watch the chica's dance moves.
By SurfPuppy619 12:24 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
http://willyoubemyhero.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/donfrancisco1.jpg
By SurfPuppy619 12:24 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
por nada Refried
By nan 12:33 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
You know, it's funny, Sabado Gigante was the first show here I remember watching on a regular basis. My in-laws loved it. I can't say about currently, but I'm pretty sure that the studio was out of Miami back then. It sort of surprised me, because I still have one hell of a time understanding Cubans, they speak so FAST! But Sabado Gigante seemed so Mexican.
Mexican soaps are amazing. The first I remember paying attention to was "Muchachitas", it was very successful. The second, and last that I followed was "Mujer de Madera". Interestingly enough, two of the actors from the latter went on to star in a film I highly recommend to all, called, "Bienvenido Paisano". It's mostly in Spanish, but I imagine that the English subtitles (presuming they have them on DVD) will certainly be adequate. It's a funny and entertaining film.
By refriedgringo 12:47 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
I catch my husband watching Big Saturday all the time!! He'll be cracking up and I'm like, WHAT are you watching?, because it's super loud and then I sit down and start watching! It's a fun show, impossible for me to understand, a little easier for my husband but really, the visuals!! I'll see if I can rent that movie with subtitles, RF. Thanks for the movie tip.
By MsGrant 12:55 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
I promise you, Ms. G., you and hubby will laugh your butts off. It's a very crafty film, with a great mix of typical Mexican slapstick humor and contemporary ironic references to Mexico's ongoing issues with corruption. And, apparently, we've had another stupid aftershock here, be back shortly...
By refriedgringo 1:02 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Didn't feel anything here, cats are sleeping soundly.....
By MsGrant 1:14 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Yeah, apparently it was something else, I'm fixin' to go get groceries for dinner in a few, who knows what happened. Every time the house rocks a little I'm thinking it's an aftershock (they've been plenty frequent). I'll check it out and report back if it's something exciting.
By refriedgringo 1:35 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
My next recipe request is for goat. El Comal in North Park serves a succulent version. I think it is all about the spices used and the slow cooking technique as I recently had some at party which was blah. If there are any secrets not under lock and key, I would be interested in goat guidance. The one person I know who made goat at home said it was easy and reeled off a bunch of spices which I cannot remember. I hear that goat is available locally now. In the old days it was only sold in Ramona.
By Grasca 2:04 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Goat is becomming less common in Tijuana. The dish of choice is called "birria", and while it was traditionally made from goat, it is mostly made from beef now. It is very time-consuming. The main "spice" ingredient is dried guajillo chiles. I don't make it. It is much cheaper and easier to purchase it here already cooked. If you want a good recipe for birria, I recommend searching "Rick Bayless" and "birria", his will likely be about as authentic as anything you can find in English.
By refriedgringo 3:12 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Okay. El Comal will continue my goat to spot. I did find a source for buying goat in Escondido but El Comal is much closer. Some cooks indicate that the marinade for birria will work on any meat. I did check some online recipes after I asked you and discovered that the birria marinade seems as complicated and time consuming as mole. A friend from Oaxaca makes tamales using banana leaves for the wrapping part and a different, thinner masa. Very tasty and much different from traditional tamales offered here. I should share the family salsa recipe for which many compliments have been received. A large, really large container once went to Wisconsin where every bit was consumed with no brats/kielbasa involved. It would nice to have more of your recipes and eating experiences published.
By Grasca 4:56 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
I have found that Mexican food is amazingly regional. Birria recipes vary depending on where one is from. Same with mole. Same with something as simple as sopes. The thing with any meat used in birria, is that it is considered to be tough if cooked quickly. Using beef, the cow neck is perfect, it's tough and stringy, but when slowly simmered for a few hours, it soaks up what it's been cooked in and softens wonderfully. Goat meat is similar, it's stringy and tough. I'm certain that birria was made for goat originally for that reason.
By refriedgringo 5:05 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
I bought some commercial sopes and was not thrilled. Then I found a recipe which I need to try. I think the difference will be what you get with homemade biscuits versus something from a Pillsbury doughboy frozen source. The regional differences hold true as well as whatever the Mexican cook has learned from the family in a hand me down sense. The very act of eating what you cook with your family and friends seems to be almost a lost art in the US. Bayliss cooked for the President of Mexico and the US recently as you probably know.
By Grasca 5:30 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
Bayless spent years traveling all over Mexico, he did a great job of figuring out the food here. I admire him.
Sopes is basically easy. For the shells, you use dry Maseca. Heat some water until it's warm (about 100 degress, no more), and mix half/half. You want it about the consistency of mud pies when you were a kid. Moldable, but not too hard. You roll one into a ball about the size of a golf ball, then flatten. Cook it on a comal (or skillet), then turn. Once done, you shape a lip on the sides.
Fillings vary. The most basic is this: toss it back on the comal (lip-up obviously), and fill with 1/2 teaspoon of oil. Then, add some hot green chile sauce. Let cook for a few minutes, and sprinkle with grated cotija cheese. Additional toppings might include cooked chorizo or frijoles, even shredded lettuce or cabbage.
It takes practice. But it's worth it.
By refriedgringo 5:50 p.m., May 28, 2010 > Report it
OMG Grasca...GOAT!!!
the only place i ever had the chance to have goat was in a little out of the way restaurant in Placentia...El Cantarito...my boyfriend and i ate there steady every Sunday for 6 months before the owners allowed us to have goat...and it was a big secret..u HAD to be a regular to get it and u couldn't order it
u just came on by...sat down and they brought u some
it was roasted on a spit in the back of the restaurant...it was killed that morning and cooked immediately..they said it spoiled fast and had to be cooked right away
i don't think USDA even graded it
the most delicious meat i ever ate!!
By nan 10:05 a.m., May 29, 2010 > Report it
what great recipes u have here Refried
By nan 10:07 a.m., May 29, 2010 > Report it
The SD Reader's very own Ms. Wise reviewed El Comal. There are 2 locations but I have only eaten at the North Park restaurant.
http://www.sandiegoreader.com/news/2007/oct/18/mainland-mexico/
By Grasca 10:14 a.m., May 29, 2010 > Report it
Wow, not one comment on Wise's review. I've never eaten there, so I couldn't say, but it sounds like she hasn't explored much of Baja. While Baja doesn't offer many places with the wide menu variety she seems to enjoy, there are places one can find these dishes in individual locations (along with whatever side dishes go with them).
A couple of her criticisms are, perhaps, naive. For example, Mexican meat dishes are sliced thin and cooked very well-done because most Mexicans enyoy it that way. There are some Argentine restaurants here we go to when we want a big, thick juicy steak cook medium-rare. Perhaps in many respects, Baja is indeed more Tin Fork.
And nan, you're right about the goat - there are a handful of places here that offer it, but often it isn't as good as it should be. Traditially, goat was slaughtered in the morning, cooked throughout the day, and served at giant fiestas in the late afternoon. Cooking goatmeat in a birria sauce is very forgiving as far as the freshness of the meat goes - but otherwise, it should be eaten the same day of the slaughter. When eating birria, it doesn't matter as much, but eating it any other way it really needs to be fresh. Glad you had a great experience with it.
By refriedgringo 11:09 a.m., May 29, 2010 > Report it
A friend told me how his family would buy a pig, fattened it all year, and have it slaughtered on December 10, the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Apparently there was a big fiesta which made anything on this side of the border pale by comparison. The North Park El Comal features a portrait of Frieda Kahlo on a mustard colored wall. The posted review was mild mannered compared to some which I have read but it is fair and accurate within the bounds of the reviewer's knowledge. The bones that appear with the birria can be a little off putting for some. I draw the line at a hoof which I once saw in birria at a party. Bones yes, hooves no.
By Grasca 12:15 p.m., May 29, 2010 > Report it
my mouths watering for some south of the border cuisine now...and Grasca...should i try El Comel???
Refried..do u know any Tijuana Restaurants that serve fresh barbecued goat???
i'd love the Freida Kahlo picture on the wall Grasca...r any of Diego Rivera's there...Dia De La Flor is one of my favorite of his
of course his murals r unbelievable!!!!!
By nan 1:21 p.m., May 30, 2010 > Report it
I know a good one, Nan, perhaps the most famous in Tijuana. Birrieria Guanajuato, in Colonia Francisco (Pancho) Villa. They serve it both in birria and bbq'd. It's packed most of the time, a very good sign indeed. No bones, no hooves ;)
There is another of the same name in Tijuana close to 5 Y 10, but it isn't nearly as good.
By refriedgringo 7:51 p.m., May 30, 2010 > Report it