The last time I visited Puerto Morelos, tamales were everywhere. Beyond frequent appearances on restaurant menus, the town’s main zocalo was also ringed with vendors, carts and tables overflowing with various banana-leaf-wrapped delights, contents veiled by their verdant wrappings. In my head, I’d internalized this as a permanent state of bountiful tamalitude, and figured that upon returning I’d get another chance to sample such ample wares. This was not the case. Possibly owing to the fact that the plaza had been redesigned in the intervening years, the vendors were no longer anywhere to be found. This probably also had something to do with the fact that it was no longer the Hanal Pixan (Day of the Dead) season, with Maya women gathering in a central location to provide a specific culinary service, offering an opportunity to tap into holiday nostalgia for traditional flavors. Now they had returned back to the hinterlands, or at least to another, less central part of town. Thankfully, I was able to briefly visit these hinterlands (more on this, and my few tamal successes, in a bit), getting a small taste of rural life. Before straying afield from Puerto Morelos, however, it’s worth noting how much the town has changed. Things have been heavily built up since our last visit just over five years ago, with many more tourists, and many more restaurants, which provided more options from last time. The Riviera Maya-zation of the entire coastline continues, and will continue to do so even more as the Tren Maya reaches completion, likely sometime next year. A similar, albeit less dramatic, transformation had occurred on Isla Mujeres, where we spent the bulk of our trip. Here I was bracing for the worst, having heard that the influx of Cancun daytrippers had become unbearable, partially because of the lure of the island’s mostly sargassum-free beaches. This was the case, but was luckily restricted to certain areas, and primarily on weekends, making the carnival easy enough to avoid. Even so, the overall influx of golf carts, which coalesced into long convoys up the island’s two main drags in the evenings, did contribute to a further degradation of an already fragile sense of peace and quiet. For the most part, the build-up benefitted me personally, which is not to say it’s beneficial for the populace as a whole. More tourists means more food options, and while in many cases this means worse food options, these are largely confined to places where nothing interesting would be found in the first place. For one, it seems that at least some large proportion of the island’s new tourists were themselves Mexican, although whether originating locally or from other parts of the country I cannot begin to distinguish. There was, without a doubt, an increase in “authentically” Mexican-style Mexican food. One notable example found on Isla was a series of CDMX-style taco stands, clustered around the newly expansive street food strip on Adolfo López Mateos, all utilizing the city’s characteristic choricera comal setup. Here, a bubbling cauldron of meats, usually Suadero, tripe and Longaniza sausage, are cooked together in a sort of communal grease bath, then pulled, chopped and slapped onto a hot griddle for a crispy finish. I tried all three of these fillings from Taqueria El Chilango, which seemed like the most serious operation, right down to its name, referencing a denizen of the capital city. They also somehow featured tortillas made from freshly ground corn, a rarity on a largely non-agricultural island usually defined by Maseca-derived cornmeal product. Another big Isla find was Taqueria Mafer, across from the south end of the downtown basketball court, which advertised Guerrero-style al Carbon tacos, likely also by way of Mexico City. These included Pastor Blanco, a variant I’d never before encountered. The continuing efflorescence of taco culture has apparently hatched multiple offshoots from regular old al Pastor in recent years, including a black version, using the classic Yucatecan Recado Negro spice paste, supposedly created at Taqueria Kisin in Mérida. The Blanco, which appears in CDMX and other locations, seemed in this case to hearken back the original Lebanese Tacos Arabes, al Pastor’s pita-swaddled progenitor, and was regularly moistened by squirts from a bottle full of garlic sauce, which to me tasted similar to Lebanese Toum. Toum already appears in the Yucatan, in the form of Cremo de Ajo, a botaña dip that dates back to 19th century Lebanese immigrants to the peninsula, so the Blanco is a good fit. I should also note that the charcoal-based al Carbon style adds a real BBQ-esque kick to the usual Pastor flavors. Also intriguing was the two side sauces provided, each expertly poured into a tiny knotted plastic bag, in the classic taqueria tradition. One, a peppery but not very spicy pale orange hot sauce, was good, but more interesting was a thick, sweet, almost-purple goo that tasted more of Chinese-American cuisine (hints of Hoisin?) than Mexico. While Guerrero, like many Mexican cities, does have a healthy history of Chinese immigration, I couldn’t source any specific information on what this sauce is or why it exists. As for other mysteries, I also had a dish labeled on the menu as “Kekes” at La Parroquia, a small stand nestled next to the church at the other side of the basketball court. The teen behind the counter insisted on calling this a Quesadilla, and it may just be a Quesadilla, but who knows. One thing I also noticed was a total lack of Birria, a craze that has pervaded seemingly every corner of Mexican eating in New York and beyond. I’m left to wonder if this is a taste issue, with the dish simply not being as popular throughout Mexico as it’s become back home, or a supply one, with large sections of beef (the primary protein for the current, Tijuana-style trend) being more difficult to source here than in the US. A few other regional delicacies presented themselves back in Puerto Morelos, many of them coastal delights from nearby states. For one, there is already a healthy amount of Veracruzano cuisine in PM, with favorites like the (usually) light soup Chilpachole showing up frequently, often as a complimentary meal starter. Another common sight from the state is Arroz a la Tumbada, which to me resembles Caribbean Asopao, with rice floating in a semi-soupy suspension filled out with shrimp and vegetables. I can’t say I loved the result here, partially because rice is not a staple in these parts, and so usually comes out fairly wan tasting. It’s most often presented in side dishes mixes that, as is the case back in the US, always seem like an afterthought, studded with pallid frozen vegetable niblets. Is there anywhere in Mexico where this is not the case, and the rice blends are fresh and delicious, or is everyone just going through the motions for some reason? I had hoped that elevating the rice to a primary part of the meal would overcome this quality, but the version we had at Cockteleria El Picudo paled in comparison to their marvelous seafood Coctel. Aguachile, meanwhile, has also become a lot more prominent in recent years, as have Pescadillas, which are now referred to by name, bearing out the fact that my prior guess on the identity of these fried “fish tacos” was correct. Another development in Puerto Morelos is the new Chedraui, which is huge and a bit Whole Foods-esque, featuring multiple hot foods options. These did not look great, as is so often the case. I also found some very cheap “Chiapaneco” cheese, which I now suspect was Queso de Bola de Ocosingo without its characteristic ball, and which I unfortunately did not realize was unpasteurized. I should have eaten it on the spot, but this isn’t exactly cracker country, and so I made the unwise attempt to shuttle it home, only to find it had completely spoiled. More short-term pleasures were to be found at the serve-yourself bakery bar, which included some interesting finds, including Rebanadas (literally “slices”), pre-buttered pieces of fresh bread topped further with sugar, which also came in a similarly sugar-topped twist version. Banderillas, named after the small, colorful harpoons used by matadors in bullfighting, came filled with pineapple, and I guess paired well etymologically with Ojo de Pancha, sometimes called Ojo de Buey (Ox Eye). While not the best-tasting (marked by the same lack of real butter as many American versions), the most interesting discovery for me was the Bisquete. A bit taller and sweeter than the American version, they’re the end result of a circuitous path leading down from the Old West, via the intermediary of Chinese immigrants who closed up their hash houses and departed South after the end of the Gold Rush. Our bread experiences on Isla Mujeres were a little less centralized. Using the Isla-specific MapChick app, which is definitely worth its $15 price tag, I was able to dig up two different places I probably wouldn’t have stumbled upon otherwise. The first of these was the humble “Bakery Van”, an emissary from mid-island Panaderia Karla y Samuel, which parks for several hours, six nights a week, at the corner of Juarez and Bravo. This would have been a dependable option for in-room breakfasting, and while we unfortunately only discovered it on our last night, we were still able to snag an impressive Concha, far superior to anything found at a big-box store, and a mysterious pastry filled with what appeared to be sweetened black bean and coconut. The other find was the Argentine bakery Dulzura Argenta, a domestic kitchen located up a beckoning flight of stairs. Here we sampled a slice of a quince paste (Membrillo) Pastrafrola, the latticed, Italian-derived fruit tart of the Southern Cone, a great chicken empanada, and a sumptuous slice of lemon meringue pie with homemade curd. In terms of Native cuisine, one of the highlights of the trip was a short journey into the Maya heartland, which had eluded us on prior visits. Booking a full-day tour removed the issue of having to rent a car to access this area, and thanks to the planning and ingenuity of Robin from Layla Guesthouse, who leads weekly tours into this area, led to a meal in an actual home. Here we practiced rolling fresh tortillas, also from fresh milled corn, which went straight onto a firetop comal. This meal represented our only real engagement with local tamal culture, this time in the form of Dzotobichay. Sometimes used as another name for the larger Brazo de Reina, here they were delicate chaya leaf snacks flecked with chopped versions of the same all-purpose leaf. The meal allowed us another crack at the always welcome Sikil P’aak pumpkin-seed dip, which we also experienced in slightly different form at El Pesquero in Puerto Morelos. Even more exciting was the Mechado, a soup with Spanish colonial origins found down the Peninsula and beyond, which I’d never expected to find on this trip. Layla Guesthouse also has a great in-house restaurant, utilizing those same beautiful tortillas, which were employed in different form in a fantastic Huevos Rancheros amplified even further by the local Valladolid longaniza sausage. Even closer to the coast in Puerto Morelos, where the culture is overall more cosmopolitan and less Native, there are pre-Hispanic touches to be found. After getting shut out at our first choice for dinner one night, we walked down the lively main drag of Av. Javier Rojo Gómez (a far cry from its sleepy character just five years prior), where I was drawn to Península Cocina del Sureste. Specific mention of regional designators is often a good tip for the type of eating I like to do, and pulled in further by the place’s impressive decor, we decided to stop. The price here was a bit higher than standard along the strip, a fair trade for the cheffy, inspired riffs on traditional favorites on offer. These included Dzik, a dish I had never expected to find. Historically made with venison, this backwoods classic was made coastal here with the substitution of mahi mahi cured in sour orange juice, overlaid with strips of cucumber and served atop a tostada. There were also miniature Chaya Gorditas topped with hoja santa black beans, and another tostada featuring octopus in an Ajillo chile sauce. On Isla, I also used the MapChick app to find the menu for the tiny cart known as Tacos de Ferry, a popular locals spot whose long line had kept me at bay on multiple tramps to and from the beach. Time was found at the last minute for a quick stop to pick up an airport sandwich. Selecting just one made for a hard choice, but I ultimately went with the Relleno Negro, here prepared with a mixture of pork and chicken instead of turkey. I wish I would have discovered this cart earlier, as they serve not only local rarities like Lomitos, which I’d yet to see anywhere on the island, but even-more obscure daily specialties like the Yucatecan offal hash Higadilla, and Chicharron en Salpicon, a porkier spin on Dzik. Hopefully they will still be serving these rare delicacies the next time we return.
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