Travel Planning: What to Do – Page 18 – Writing With My Mouth Full

Searching for a Good Taco: East Village

Miss Geolouxy volunteered her services to accompany me for my second search for a good taco. It was after work so we decided to meet at Astor Place and work our way up and down First and Second Avenues from 1st to 10th Streets. I didn’t bring a list of places since the east side is not my territory, but I had a map to keep us from making a wrong turn towards the no-number streets. (That’s for another day.)

The area around St. Marks Place has always been the place to get a bowl of soba noodles early in the day, a sterling silver stud for your ear at lunch, a tattoo in the afternoon, a pair of socks from the Sock Man afterwards and a chicken gizzard yakitori with a bottle of Sapporo for dinner, all in one day. While you can still get all those today, you’d have to fight your way to get through the crowds stopping by chickpea, the falafel place in the corner, Chipotle, Grand Sichuan and soon enough Bamn!, a shop full of vending machines off Second Avenue. The neighborhood has indeed changed.

We learned early that it would be hard to keep our budget of $3 for each taco. The downtown locations come with an extra price hike. Unlike the tacos uptown, the second tortilla is wrapped around the first so that they look like burritos, perhaps it’s because people are on the go downtown. I also found it interesting that none of our tacos came in half-moon shapes.

San Loco Mexico, 124 Second Avenue off St. Marks Place, 212/260.7948

The guys at the bar wouldn’t get up from watching their baseball game to let two ladies sit and eat, but at least the catfish taco was good enough to make us stay. The fish is breaded and deep-fried and it was crispy and hot enough to make everything all right. The shredded pork was equally tasty and succulent. The two tacos cost us a little less than $7.

Puebla Mexican Food and Coffee, 47 First Avenue between 2nd and 3rd Streets, 212/473.6643

The chorizo taco was just all about salty goodness here. We loved the cilantro and the lime juice, plus the tortilla had a different texture than what I was used to. My favorite out of the four even at $5.25.

Downtown Bakery, 69 First Avenue between 4th and 5th Streets, 212/254.1757

The guava jelly roll is a plus but we weren’t there to rate their pastries so we stuck with the chorizo taco that came with avocado. Instead of ground pork, this was sausage cut up in smaller pieces. The tortilla seemed to taste more real here, too. They serve two tacos for $6 but they were nice enough to sell us only one to share.

Paquito’s, 143 First Avenue between St. Marks Place and 9th Street, 212/674.2071

We ordered the beef taco this time for $2.50. It was a little bit chewy but the good salsa that came with it was pretty tasty. Their “Real Mexican Style” taco was more substantial than the others. Their red blinking sign gave me a headache while we waited for our order, so if I have to return, I’d check out their restaurant next door.

We only had a couple of hours–we opted for a manicure first, of course–so we ended up only hitting four spots but what good spots they were!

Searching For a Good Taco: Upper West Side

For my first search for a good taco, I decided to stay on Amsterdam Avenue and the upper west side, specifically from 100th to 145th Streets. I started on 100th mainly because I wanted to hit a favorite spot on 108th but also because I wanted to end up at Jesus’ Tacos near my apartment, a small store that shares space with Twin Donut. Every time I pass by, I chuckle at the name and I knew that someday, I’m going to have to buy something from there. (Of course, it’s more likely pronounced as Heh-sus than Gee-sus but that’s not as funny.)

I was alone and I immediately found out that two tacos were my limit, maybe three if I pick on the filling and skip the tortilla, so I kept it down to ordering chorizo or ground pork tacos. At the stores where they didn’t carry the pork kind, I either bought beef, goat or chicken. I also didn’t spend more than $2.50 on each taco, the cheapest being two dollars. As for selecting which ones to go to, I looked around as I made my way up Amsterdam Avenue and went in to every store, restaurant and bodega that had an awning painted with the Mexican flag colors and had, well, “tacos” or “Mexican food” plastered on the windows. Banderitas, loud Spanish music or television and a picture of the Lady of Guadalupe were all big pluses.

Noche, 852 Amsterdam Avenue between 101st and 102nd Streets, 212/662.6900

Italian Mexican, 886 Amsterdam Avenue between 102nd and 103rd Streets, 212/316.1427

Los Paisas, 890 Amsterdam Avenue between 103rd and 104th Streets, 212/961.1263

Taqueria y Fonda, 968 Amsterdam Avenue between 107th and 108th Streets, 212/531.0383

Yuca Mexican Products, 1345-49 Amsterdam Avenue corner of 125th Street

Cielito Lindo, 1354 Amsterdam Avenue between 125th and 126th Streets, 212/222.0938

Mex Juquila, 1486 Amsterdam Avenue between 133rd and 134th Streets, 212/694.7142

Jesus’ Taco, 501 West 145th Street on Amsterdam Avenue, 212/234.3330

The verdict: chorizo tacos are indistinguishable; ground pork is ground pork. What makes a difference is how the chorizo is cooked and how the taco is prepared. My favorite was the chorizo taco from Taqueria y Fonda between 107th and 108th Streets because the bits and pieces of pork were grilled, crunchy and toasted. Even the onions were grilled so they added some sweetness to the flavor. Their salsa also came with small pieces of avocado and finding each one was a nice surprise. The chorizo from Cielito Lindo between 125th and 126th Streets came in a close second. They actually cut a sausage into smaller pieces; crunchy chorizo skin is always a plus.

As for the non-chorizo tacos, the goat from Yuca was great and the huge peppers were a nice touch. The chicken from Mex Juquila was pretty much like how white meat tastes: boring and unexciting. Between the two beef tacos I got, I liked the one from Noche better than the ungodly experience at Jesus’.

Island Time on Roatan, Honduras

Before breakfast, we decided to run on the beach. Of course, I lasted for only two trips from the beachfront to the end of West Bay. After breakfast, I thought it’d be a great idea to bike around the area. We borrowed the Bananarama bikes even though it was already 85 degrees before 10am. Of course, I lasted one hill before I begged the Dr. to turn around and give up with me. We spent more time laughing at ourselves than the actual biking. After all that “effort”, we decided that the rest of the day would be spent under the shade, on the beach and near the water.

At La Palapa, the only thatched-roof beachfront bar on West Bay, we bought several beers during lunch while the cook fried the two snappers we caught the day before. She served them with fried plantains. For dinner, we returned and bought more beers. The cook fried the last of our catch, the grouper, with some fries.

The next day, we hired another water taxi driver to take us snorkeling. We couldn’t find Luna, the guy who took us fishing the day before, so another guy ripped us off by convincing us he was going to take us to the Blue Channel to snorkel. When he anchored the boat, I could still see the beach. This is Blue Channel?, we asked. For $50, we thought Blue Channel was far away, but we were already deep in vacation mode to even argue. We said bye to our money and snorkeled around the so-called channel. There were the usual fish: parrot, grouper and snappers. The water was clear and my vest kept me afloat. After only an hour, we asked to be dropped off at West End where we finally found some good food with our beers.

Walking down the main street, we saw a lady with a basket. We asked her what she was selling and she said she had chicken tamales with cheese and beans. They were soft tortillas instead of masa wrapped in corn husks, but for thirty limpiras, or $2, for three pieces, we were sold.
We sat under a tree at the beach and ate our first meal of the day. I was still hungry, so we walked a little bit more to find the fruit guy with the pickup truck. We instead saw a tent where another lady was grilling chicken. She was selling them with rice and beans for seventy limpiras, less than $4. I sat on one of her plastic chairs and the Dr. positioned himself on top of a crate. We shared a plate under her tent with a cold bottle of Coke. Our entire lunch was better than anything we paid $10 for on the island. Sometimes, street food is all you need to get a better sense of the local cuisine.

We spent more time on the beach the rest of the afternoon and savored our last full day in the country. We met our Bananarama neighbors earlier and found out that they were from Colorado. When we saw them later at La Palapa, we agreed to take the last water taxi to West End to eat dinner together and split a cab back after hours. We ended up at Velva’s where my meal was served in some salty tomato concoction. I had ordered a snapper, but they instead served me shrimps. After we ate, the four of us walked around to find a bar, but unfortunately everything was already closed. We paid $10 for a cab to drive us back to West Bay. Thankfully, La Palapa was still open. The owners were wrapping up a private party on the beach, so the bartender bought us a round of drinks and we enjoyed the last few minutes of the fire they built.

We flew out of Roatan the next day not knowing anything about Honduran culture and its people, but we were grateful for our time and for the opportunity to check off another Central American country from our list.

Fishing in Roatan, Honduras

Clink.
Clink.
Clink.

What the hell! It was 7am and the divers were already getting the tanks out of storage to prepare for the day’s dive. We would not be able to sleep in the following days because of the diving preparations each morning. Roatan is a diving community, but because we don’t dive–the Dr. became a certified diver a long time ago but has lost interest–we were more interested in snorkeling and just taking it easy. Bananarama Dive Resort is frequented by those who travel far to learn how to dive. We were just there because they had the nicest cabins for rent on West Bay, the more quiet side of Roatan island.

After some anemic eggs and sausage and tortilla garnished with a hibiscus flower for breakfast, we took a water taxi from the dock several yards away to go to the West End, the opposite side of West Bay. The entire island of Roatan is only 34 miles long and West Bay has the best beach, but West End is where the stores, restaurants and bars are so it’s teeming with life during the day.

We walked around to get a feel of the island. We bought some fruits from the guy with the pickup truck, canvassed prices for snorkeling trips and visited some gift shops. We were pretty disappointed that condos were being built all over the beach, some priced at $300,000. It’s inevitable, right? But when we were in Panama, the settlers were mindful not to build tall concrete buildings in the mountains or the beach. Roatan looked like it was just waiting to be the next Florida.

It wasn’t even noon yet and the sun was already out in full force. We settled for Creolan food at Bertie’s because the Honduran restaurant the water taxi driver recommended was still closed. The only problem was that the fried chicken we ordered for $8 did not taste Creolan at all. In fact, there was nothing Creolan in the menu. We would find out through our stay that food prices on the island range from $5 to $18 and those just include a small bowl of soup and a plate of fried fish with a sorry piece of iceberg lettuce they called salad. Alas, we’re tourists just like everyone else so we just had to suck it up.

Late in the afternoon, we hired this guy Luna to take us fishing for two hours. If we can’t get a decent meal on the island, well, we’re just going to have to catch it, right? We got in his boat and we asked where the bait was. We’re going to get it!, he exclaimed. We docked back at West End and we watched him wade in the water with his big kitchen knife, stabbing all the crabs he saw. With the crabs, we caught three small yellowtail snappers to use as bait.

We trawled in his boat for two hours, but the fish weren’t biting. We had to revert to the old-fashioned way and anchored the boat, waited for the smaller fish to bite and hoped for the best. Luna entertained us. His stories all started with My-uncle-this and My-uncle-that. He laughed like a maniac. We found ourselves laughing at him rather than with him. Later, when we told other locals that we had hired Luna during our first day, their reaction was always, You hired Luna?! Apparently, he’s notorious on the island as the town lunatic.

The Dr. got lucky and caught two yellowtail snappers right away. Soon after, we had a grouper. (Endangered, we know, but Darwin made a good point!) The sun came down fast after that. When we caught a slimy, we knew it was time to go back to the beach.

Back at West Bay after cleaning up for the night, we bought a Cuban sandwich, a plate of pasta and fish ceviche for dinner from the restaurant in the Mayan Princess Resort. No fish that night because we had three waiting in the fridge for the next day.

Hello, Roatan, Honduras

We woke up early to catch our Atlanta flight that connected us to San Pedro Sula in Honduras. We spent a lot of time waiting at the airport before we boarded the flight to La Ceiba and then to our final destination, Roatan. The sun was setting when Omar picked us up. As soon as we checked in at Bananarama Dive Resort, we took a walk to check out the scene.

We were spent, but the sunset made it all worth it. The island was deserted–we later found out that there was a national football match going on and that’s why none of the Hondurans could be bothered. We felt like we had the beach to ourselves. When darkness enveloped us, we began our search for our first Honduran meal.

We started with the conch soup at Foster’s. We also ordered rice and beans with a fried red snapper. We’ve tried the Barena beer at the airport, so we ordered the Salva Vida this time. I read that one company owns all the Honduran breweries, so all the beers basically tasted the same. We sat in one of the palapas on the beach, away from the restaurant, to eat our dinner. The warm wind was blowing, the stars were out and all we could hear beyond the darkness were the waves crashing. Automatically, we switched to our don’t-care-about-anything-else-right-now mode.

Hello, Honduras.

Related post/s:
Roatan, Honduras photos on Flickr