Il Caffè Americano Eats Italian in Mexico.

Just returned from a trip to Mexico City.

When friends and colleagues ask me what I ate, I tell them I’ve had some of the best Italian food on this side of the pond..


 

Two years ago, I wandered down an unsuspecting street in La Condesa and stumbled upon an indoor/outdoor pizza joint with a mezcaleria joined at the hip. I was alone, starving, and the twinkling lights caught my eye and smell of pizza drew me near.

When my friend and I were sauntering around the same part of the hood this past week, I told him it was my mission and that we had to find this pizza again. I’ve been dreaming about it for too long..

Pizza isn’t something you’d think of going out of your way for in CDMX. Your assumptions point you straight to the taco stand, where an al pastor has your name on it and the jarritos are icy cold.

Yet, the pizza in this city holds up to any world-class Italian tradition, and is met with local innovation.

Pizza Nosferatu in La Condesa does just that.

Here, the mezcal is poured like fine wine. The staff, painted with skin-ink and carrying a delightfully unobtrusive presence, pour various one ounce tastings and dresses tables with orange slices and a spicy/salty side dish.

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The menu is an exciting read for pizza connoisseurs, with combinations of Mexican flavors and classic Italian preparations mingling suitably.

We dive right in.

Here, our pizza is a carrier for micro-greens, paprika, and pulverized pistachios.

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albondigas con champiñones: meatballs with mushrooms, pistachio powder, paprika, dried chilis, and pork chicharrons with micro greens.

We needed round two. Maybe something lighter… titled primavera, this pizza evokes springtime feelings and tastes.

I didn’t even know these flowers were edible!

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Ricotta, jamon serrano fresco, arugula, reduction of orange, and flowers.

This place obliterates my notion of what a pizza can be and what true culture is all about.

Variations on a theme prove more interesting than pure tradition.

Let’s all head down to CDMX for some more food adventures…


 

 

 

 

When I’m Happy, Everything is Art

When I’m Happy, Everything is Art.

When I’m content, the world is a technicolor dream and all things are possible.

My girlish naivete takes me by the hand and guides me towards my dreams.

The simplest of things evoke the greatest wonder, bring forth in my imagination the choosiest of sensations.

Sweet tastes sweeter, sour tastes exhilaratingly pungent and satisfying.

The air is tangible, the ground evaporates.

My mind, awake yet absent, encompasses the inspirations of generations before and after me.

Ideas become reality.

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Harbison and Me

Over a soft-ripened wheel of bark-wrapped Jasper Hill Harbison, my mother and I engaged in a heated discussion about existence, reality, and “God”….

I treated her to some thoughts about Maslow’s Heirarchy, and, in turn, she delighted me in anecdotes about scripture from Matthew, Mark, Luke, and some other plainly-named fellow.

In between us was the ruins from dinner: a half-eaten round of soft cheese, laced with sweetness from the lazy spoon that transferred cranberry jam and cheesy delight to crunchy baguette goodness. The creamy, silky smooth and nutty flavor of the Harbison, accompanied by bubbly effervescence of Prosecco D.O.C, left us able to converse on such subject matter without getting angry and storming off from the table.

My argument? The meal we just had was/is/will continue to be my form of communion. Pure joy: glutinous indulgence that forgives any wrong-doings from the previous day with each bite.

Her argument? Picture: “Jezus Christ, Suuuper-star!” Traditional, right-leaning, constitution praising, “Great-Again” values baked into prophecy of Godliness.

I love her, and what I love just as much about this evening….

 

Harbison.

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