I sit here at the Aloha Bar, lazily watching the parade of tanned and tattooed surfers as they pad sandy-footed off the beach, wax-coated boards balanced on their shaven and dreadlocked heads or tucked under their tanned and muscled arms. I sit here ogled-eyed each day at what has become my every afternoon routine; sipping a perfectly crafted Margarita, chatting with fellow travelers, lingering over the whole beautiful, amazing scene as the setting sun casts a shimmery, golden light over the Pacific.
We soak in the movie-set perfection of the scene here; no one feels a need to move, as the ocean changes from turquoise to slate grey in the lengthening light of the late afternoon. Before we slide our own sandy feet into their flip flops we shout our adios’ to Santiago and amble unhurriedly across the dusty, cobbled streets towards a dinner of sublime tacos de Mahi-Mahi or possibly a thin-crusted, wood-roasted pizza, and then follow the thump-thump-thump of salsa spilling from the rickety, multi-storied cafés which line the plaza, mas tequila, and world-class people watching.
I become more serene as each unhurried day passes in a coconut-scented blur of tawny-colored sand and hot-hot Mexican sun. Intermittent dips in the cool, super salty sea or a halfhearted walk all the way down the beach, to the end of the bay, to the secret beach there, are about as much exertion I manage. I lounge semi-comatose on my wooden beach chair, rented for no more than the price of a Pacifico, in a state of increasing peace; gazing at the many black silhouettes of surfers as they bob on the glassy sea, following the vast V formations of pelicans as they glide overhead, aimlessly taking sips from a cold, green coconut hacked open by a machete-wielding beach vendor.
I lay there and I wonder if I have finally discovered it? Have I found my ideal Mexican beach town? As I sit up, sip, flip over, I watch as a glamorous dark-haired women in a chic, expensive looking, embroidered caftan splashes in the foaming, oyster-colored shore break as she sidesteps a teeny, white-haired, five-year old surfer boy as he haggles over the price of a long skewer of grilled fish chunks with the fisherman who I saw jumping from his ponga, silvery catch dangling from his line, only an hour or so before. For the thousandth time I say no gracias to the young Indian girl who is desperate to braid my hair for twenty pesos, but accept a plastic cup sporting long slices of the sweetest, honey-scented, deep garnet-colored papaya. I take a bite, a sip from the coconut, sigh, and I think… maybe so. Visit Sayulitalife.com for information on this heavenly little spot.
Foodie find: “Lucky Peach” Magazine
I hesitate to tell you about my most recent favorite food magazine. I only hesitate to do so because of the F-bombs. Excessive F-bombs, if I am being completely frank. “Lucky Peach” is a magazine written mostly by chefs, mostly for chefs, so it is not at all surprising, these F-bombs. Those chefs do tend to have a filthy mouth. Regardless, I am currently obsessed with “Lucky Peach,” not for the glossy food photos (there really aren’t any) and not for the dinner party friendly recipes, because there certainly are not any of those, either. Instead, “Lucky Peach is, at its best, filled with thoughtful writings on food, documentations on chef’s personal experiences, addictive recordings on food history, culinary chemistry, and the evolution of cuisine. The wickedly quick-witted humor of the magazine’s co-creator and one of my most adored anti-celebrity chefs, David Chang, are peppered through the pages ensuring that no matter the content the often wide-eyed reader is, if not educated, certainly entertained.
Each issue, more often than not, befuddles me with musings on molecular gastronomy and far-out-there culinary credos, but without fail renders me a more intelligent foodie, a more interested and clued-in cook. The most recent one left me obsessing over cooking veggies in their own stock — I mean, carrots slow braised in carrot juice, yum! – and seriously toying with the idea of a pilgrimage to not only Austin for some mind-blowing barbecue, but to Brooklyn for life-altering, fabulously chewy, thin crust pizza baked solely by a septuagenarian Naples-born pizza-maker. Meanwhile the thoughtfully written story of a could-be famous chef’s determination to have a “real life” and his all-consuming preoccupation for vegetables left me practically teary eyed. Find “Lucky Peach” locally at Whole Foods.
Kristin’s food event pick of the week: Sweetwater Spectrum’s Opening Day
Find 30 varieties of tomatoes, 20 varieties of peppers, 10 varieties of eggplant, basil, parsley, culinary herbs, flowers, kale, chard, beans, squash, cucumbers, succulents, hanging flower baskets, strawberries and more! At 10 a.m. on Saturday, April 12, Sweetwater’s new farm assistant, Ariel Osborne, will give a talk about how to incorporate edibles into a low water landscape. Arrive early for the best selection and the person who buys the most plants will win a prize of a free garden consultation from Farmer Rachel. Also, find a selection of fresh harvested green garlic, spring onions, carrots, rainbow chard, farm fresh eggs and more. Their spring plant sale series will continue on Saturday, April 26 and Saturday, May 10, with many of the same varieties as well as some new items like melons, winter squash, and pumpkins. 9 a.m. to 1 p.m. 730 W. Spain St.
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