Lost In Translation

Taking a turn off the busy gray brick street into the warehouse like building didn't allow us to escape the chaos. As we sniffed around like hounds for the best food, people tried to herd us like cattle into their little food booths. 

Waving their menus or shouting out, a person would yell, "tamales!"

From behind we would hear, "Mole! Quesadillas! Chile Rellenos!"

Karen sitting outside on the sidewalk

Oaxaca color - blues and yellows

Cruising 

We (Chet, Karen, and I) are now in Oaxaca city known for it's large open markets, indigenous cultures, Mezcal tequila, and it's cuisine such as molé, grasshoppers, and chocolate. As we walked through their food market that is an acre in size, we had a hard time deciding where to go. Allowing our noses to guide us, we decided to go to what looked like the busiest place. 

Stepping into the adjacent warehouse, a fire alarm would have had a heart attack because the air was so heavy with smoke. Walking down the isle, on either side were barbecues and slabs of different meats with mesquite coals glowing dark red. As people fanned them, the smoky heat blew into me like a Santa Ana wind.

The smoky warehouse with all of the meats and barbecues

Over the busy food court Chet yelled, "let's eat here!"

"Sounds, good man! How does it work though?!"

"I don't know! I guess we will find out!"

Walking over to a booth area with veggies we soon figured out how it worked. A lady explained in Spanish and handed us a large wicker plate with veggies and pointed over towards the barbecue stations.

"Did either of you get that?"

"Nah, but I think we take the veggies over to one of the barbecue places."

Dancing through the crowd, we handed one of the barbecue booths our plate of veggies. The man told us something in Spanish. We got the gist that he wanted us to point toward some of the raw meats. As he explained what each cut and seasoning was, we just pointed blindly and hoped for the best. The man threw the slabs of meat onto the grill then directed us to the seating area. 

Dancing back through the crowd, Chet exclaimed, "I have no idea what we just ordered. I just pointed."

Getting directed into a booth like a plane by an air traffic controller, we all sat on one side of the booth seat. Soon three other Mexican fellows got directed to the seat opposite us. Sitting like a family would at a diner, all six of us sipped our Mexican Cokes and smiled knowing that we couldn't have a conversation. 

Sucking my Coke dry, our wicker plate showed back up with our veggies, a stack of tortillas, and a mound of meat. 

"Guys we ordered a lot of food."

"We should of ordered for two, or for one even."

"I think that's a kilo and a half of meat."

As we struggled to finish our mound of food, one of the Mexican fellows across from us said, "la comida es bueno, no?" (The food is good, no?)

I looked up from my taco, smiled and said, "El comida de Mexico es el mejor!" (Mexican food is the best!)

He chuckled and kept eating his food. Trying to make room in our stomachs, we ate our last bit of food. Getting up from the booths, one of the ladies ran over to us worried that we weren't going to pay. Handing her some money, we headed out of the smoky warehouse back onto the busy street. 

"Dude, that was bomb."

"I know."

Some more Oaxaca color and street life: