Something fresh in Pilsen

Have a look a the (out-of-date) menu available here and maybe you can begin to understand why, if Mundial were located down the street from me, I'd be eating there all the time. Yes, I loves me some good greasy family-style Mexican food, but there's more to life than milanesa and carnitas. Like the turkey in mole rojo of monshu's torta de Don Chemo or the chicken tinga on my tamales nejos. The last are completely unlike any tamales you've had before; they're milimetres thick, steamed flat between two banana leaves, and made with ash according to a technique originated by the P'urhépecha of Michoacán State. The butternut squash empanadas kicked ass, too, as did Gus' mojarra, which was delicately flavoured with a perfect firm texture and a tasty stuffing. We were all amazed by the salad of lentils and carnitas, which sounded queer on the page but was a revelation on the plate--a very attractively arranged plate, to boot.

If it all sounds too frou-frou, well, menus can never tell more than half the story. It's an unpretentious little storefront (they eschew the much-abused word "fusion" in favour of the homey "mestiza") with friendly, efficient staff. Diego--who'd just been to the diametrically opposed Olé Olé the night before--was impressed with the calmness of the exposed kitchen. It wasn't that business was slow, but that the chefs were skilled and comfortable enough not to raise chaos. I would love to slip in there for a relaxing dinner at least once a week, but--alas--it's about five miles too far from my door for that.

It's the Halloween Spirit

As delighted as I am to be awakened by the sunrise shining in through my window (and today it saved my bacon, because somehow in all that messing around with my clock to reset the time and the alarm, I forgot to turn it on), it makes me sad to know that it will be dark before I get home. Especially since it's unseasonably warm and sunny, perfect for a stroll by the Lake. I had some fantasies of waking up early enough to squeeze a stroll in before breakfast, but those quickly evaporated. Then I realised: What about lunchtime?

So instead of visiting the Magic Meadow, I walked among the mansions of the North Shore. I've been thinking Halloween for a while now, but this is the first day I've actually felt it. There was a moment when I heard the wind rustle dry leaves on the pavement and suddenly got a burst of childhood reminiscence. I'm convinced the weather contributed, since St. Louis is generally about 5-10℉warmer than Chicago. snowy_owlet asked me the other day what place I still think of as "home", and it's St. Louis for reasons like these. No other place I've lived has imprinted me so deeply on such a visceral level.

My 10 year-old self would've gone apeshit over the houses in Historic Evanston: Nothing said "Haunted House" to that precocious kid like big ol' clapboard Victorians. Taking in the tastefully restrained decor, I had to ask myself: Is there anything edible sold as much for it decorative rather than comestible properties as the pumpkin? All the pumpkin pies and breads I can remember from my youth got their pumpkin from a can; all we ate from the ones we jack-o'-lanternised were the seeds. I've walked by hundreds of pumpkins in windows, on stoops, in foyers, and on porches over the past few days, and I can't imagine more than a handful will end up in anyone's soup or dessert.

I ended up at the shore, watching the waves erode a sandy shelf until guilt at abandoning my student help got the better of me and I shuffled back. It was so nice to warm up for a bit before having to return to the walk-in icebox where I work.