Weekend eating.

Mat and I have two markets we like to eat at. One is the little market one block from our house. A little old lady who speaks to us very slowly makes us surprise meals or serves us a combination of our old standards: rice, eggs and beans. We slide in behind the table together next to the refrigerator. It feels like eating in Grandma's kitchen.

At the huge bustling market downtown (the phenomenally cheap one) we got wrangled into one of the many "kitchens" and have never left. They are incredibly aggressive in getting customers, not letting you pass until they have listed their entire menu. If your eyes light up in the slightest they shove you onto the bench. There are at least four little kitchens on either side, so the eating area echos with, "Pasale! Pasale!" We like our ladies. They serve good food and never, ever let you run out of homemade tortillas hot of the griddle in front of you. I have fallen for the mole verde, while Mat still sticks with sopa, frijoles y arroz...and beer. We always have beer at this market. Victoria is our preference.

I'll miss the food of Mexico, and those who sell it: The orange juice man next to Grandma's kitchen, the taco men up the street and the tamale lady who sells in front of the bread shop across the street. Although, we will not miss her granddaughter who sells on the weekend and stuffs her face with tamales and mocks us and rips us off.

It's nice to know who makes your food. Local is good. I wish we had more of it in the States.