We crossed into Mexico at Nogales, south of Tucson, AZ. Nogales is a rough town, known for drug war shoot-outs and dentists catering to American medical tourists. We were a little tense, wanting to get south to avoid any cross-fire. Sorting out the entry paperwork can be done right at the border, or at Kilometer 21, and the latter provided more parking, fewer hustlers and many cashiers at the Banjercito where the tourist card and temporary vehicle import permit must be purchased. Having left Tucson at 8:30, we were ready for lunch, but unsure where to eat. As we slowed to pass through a small town roundabout, navigating “peatones” or speed bumps, there was a busy row of taco stands, cars and trucks angle-parked in front of them. We pulled in where we could and then saw there were no customers inside. Is this like Chinese restaurants - you want the one where the locals eat? There was a huge pile of spectacularly fresh green onions beside the grill - what were they for? The guy working the grill beckoned us in, and we decided to risk it.

A glistening overly curly sausage-like thing sat on the grill over a smoky wood fire - “tripa”. Oh yes, tripe. I’d read about tripe on Jennifer McLagan’s (CHECK) website, and thought it looked more promising than the pre-chopped beef. Our chef offered a choice of flour or corn tortillas, holding up the package - my vocabulary is pretty limited despite weeks of driving around with “Spanish for Gringos” in the CD player. The chef dealt out tortillas like cards onto the grill, and wiped them with the grilled tripe, laying down a layer of smoky flavour. Each plate, slipped into a clean plastic bag, came with a little pile of finely slivered cabbage, and the diced tripe atop the heated tortilla.

A huge tray of condiments was pulled from the cooler, a bowl of house-made corn chips added, and placed on our table. We dug in. A plate of grilled green onions arrived, sweet and delicious. We ordered another round, Doug switching to quesadillas - gooey cheese sandwiched between flour tortillas. I sampled the various salsas, guacamole, and cucumbers with my tripe. I briefly considered whether the raw vegetables were a serious risk to my health, and whether the 3 small tortillas would spike my blood glucose. Maybe I should travel with washed lettuce, so I could make my own wraps? I need to remember the name of the cleaner that you add to the water to wash greens. Microdyne, or “yodo” por lavar les legumbres” (iodine to wash vegetables).

While we ate, a large multigenerational Mexican family came in. Tables were pushed together, and they sat down. I jumped up and took pictures of our food, and the grill. Doug said the family was driving a van with California plates. We asked for the bill, and I practiced my espanol. Each taco was 15 pesos, about $1.50 Canadian (CAD), or $1.25 USD. At home, I don’t eat out often, but if that stand were in my neighbourhood, I’d be a regular. We got back in the car, and drove on south, feeling more confident that we would eat well in Mexico.