There are a few essential ingredients to Yucatan cooking, each of which seems to factor into a vast number of different meal preparations: sour orange (naranja agria), epazote, banana leaves, green habanero salsa, pickled red onions, strained, soupy black beans. Chief among these is achiote (known in some forms as annatto), the pebbly red seed which shows up as the primary ingredient in one of the region’s main spice blends (recado rojo) and plays an important role in another (recado negro, a.k.a. chilmole). Used both for its coloring properties and its nutty, earthy flavor, achiote (along with many of the aforementioned ingredients) figures prominently into four Mayan mainstays of Mayan Barbecue, a category I may be inventing for the purposes of this post. Befitting Isla’s sleepy, small-town atmosphere, many of the more complex feast-style foods seem to show up only on Sundays, often served in bulk, while supplies last, the best selling out before noon. This left me with a difficult choice, between Tino the Rib Man, who sets up in a lot off Av. Matamoros, or the mysterious Pibil Man, who hangs out at the La Gloria Mercado near the center of the island. Although Tino’s ribs seemed to be sui generis, the style in which he prepared them (poc chuc, more on this in a bit) were commonly available, and so I opted to make the trek south, renting one of the rickety golf carts that functions as the island’s primary method of tourist transportation. Arriving at the market I discovered there were actually two pibil men, neither bearing any identifying sign, both looking equally qualified to my inexperienced gringo eyes. I opted for the one closest to the entrance, realizing only afterward I should have investigated and chosen the one with less meat left for sale. Pibil Man 1 did not disappoint, however, serving up rich, amazingly juicy meat, with a few clear markets that things were being done the right way, from his steel case cooking container to the stew of banana leaves and pig hoofs floating in the morass of liquid. Cochinita Pibil is traditionally prepared in a pib - an underground pit oven similar to that used for old-fashioned American BBQ - in which heated stones are layered beneath the aforementioned steel case. Inside are chunks of pig, smeared with the requisite mixture of sour orange, achiote and spices, which break down over the course of several hours underground. As a pork shoulder enthusiast I’ve prepared imitation pibil at home before, but this clearly doesn’t compare with the real thing. Completing the experience was the process of acquiring the pibil (sold by the kilo, stuffed into a bag with extra juice added), and tortillas (one kilo for 16 pesos, roughly $1.15 US). Armed with this haul, I foolishly attempted to scarf it all down atop a rock at what’s perhaps the island’s most scenic spot, underestimating the potential mess involved in making tacos with hot, orange-tinted pork served without utensils from a bag, a problem exacerbated by the general lack of complimentary napkins. Other experiences with Mayan Barbecue (™) were less messy and less picturesque, but still conveyed a delightfully rustic sense of preparation. The no-longer-pink (currently painted bright orange) Kash Keken Chuc prepares both poc chuc (still not quite there) and its chicken equivalent, grilling whole birds in the mouth of a massive charcoal-fired oven. They come out fantastically crispy, flavorful and almost too cheap, accompanied by a full battery of sides served in plastic bags, further evidence of the island's less-wasteful container culture. Kash was also one of the only places that put serious effort into their rice, which seemed to be an afterthought nearly everywhere else, enlivened here with a flavoring that likely doubled as a coloring agent (more achiote?) granting it a pleasant orange hue. Also definite bonus points for including a grilled half onion in the mix. Opened in 1940, Playa Lancheros is one of the island’s oldest establishments, a beach club with the same barefoot vibe as many of the North Beach seafood shacks. Located along the quieter Garrafon beach, there’s a bit more room here to stretch out, and the in-house restaurant seems like a big operation, with a separate party room, live music and an impressive stretch of sand, not to mention an entire little house set aside for large-volume grilling. The specialty of the restaurant (Casa Tikin-Xic) is in the name, with the warning that the dish takes 40 minutes to prepare. Like Pibil, Tikin-Xic (pronounced Teak-en-Chic) is covered in recado rojo, sour orange and spices and then wrapped in banana leaves, although the last step is often replaced with a more practical wire paddle mechanism, held over an open flame. The result is a huge hunk of butterflied red snapper dyed a piquant red, resplendent amid a full spread of tortillas, rice and greens. I finally got Poc Chuc from an eponymous restaurant, a homey place with five tables and some nice Mayan-themed wall paintings. The actual pork chop eluded photographing, due to a combination of poor lighting, exhaustion and hunger, but rest assured that it was handsome: just greasy enough, with a striated pattern of bold grill lines of and a pale orange tinge. I may have missed the Rib Man, but I left Isla with a much clearer understanding of Yucatan Barbecue, its skillful shuffling of a few basic ingredients and elements into a diverse variety of dishes.
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