Yesterday was a fantastic day. This is what an ideal life would be like, a beautiful day, some productive meetings and a wonderful lunch and visit with friends. However, we’ll nix the bit about returning home to find your dogs have dumped out the trash and strewn in all over the room but were at least kind enough to pee in the guest room. Yesterday we had lunch with Pedro Diego Alavarado. For those who are keen on art, he is the grandson of the famous Mexican painter Diego Rivera. To me, this meant nothing, as I am less than impressed with the whole Diego and Frida Kahlo saga. Personally, I don’t get it.
I first met Pedro a while back at an art opening (see previous blog posts). It was one of those art-opening meetings. A smile, a handshake and a turned back. Out of the blue he called Tonya about a week ago and said he was coming by for a visit. This was when I could eye this guy up close, and see what he was about. He sauntered in and said hello. The dogs swarming around him, he smiled and rubbed their heads and sat down on the couch. I liked him immediately. He is a big guy (for Mexicans), and a great smile. He has a funny, almost nervous laugh…and had on nice shoes. He was very personable and easy to talk to. This brief meeting was all I knew of him. Tonya grew up with him, so she obviously has a longer and better knowledge of this guy. As he winds down his visit, he invites us for lunch. He pulls out his phone and types in the lunch date. He gets a piece of paper and scrawls out a map to his home. “Ok. See you next Wednesday for lunch” he says as he gets up to leave the house.
This is Wednesday and it is lunchtime. We haven’t heard a peep and assume lunch is still on. As a matter of chance, we were already in the neighborhood because of a previous meeting. Better yet, he lives only a few streets away. We strike out through the neighborhood to find our way to Pedro’s house. Typical of us in Mexico City, we get lost. It doesn’t seem as bead as being lost while driving though. We stop and ask random people on the street if they know of the street we are looking for. No one does. When someone says he does, he points us in a different direction than the previous guy does. As we are nearing our starting point, completing a big circle, we pass two guys standing between cars, and one of them is acting out a previous scenario. He’s been drinking. I am shocked that Tonya asks these two dudes if they know where we are supposed to be. The drunk does. He tells us over and over and over, slurring repeatedly as he motions with his hands. Tonya keeps smiling and tells him thanks after each time he tells us where to go. As luck would have it, we were actually very close to where we should be.
In a matter of moments we find ourselves at his front door. We ring the bell and the maid calls out from behind the door, “Who is it?” Tonya answers and the door opens. The little smiling maid tells us to come in. We step inside and up the steps and Pedro comes out of a side room. “Tonya” he says, and he leans to give her a kiss. His big smile makes me smile. He shakes my hand and tells us to come in and sit. He is finishing up some business and will only be a minute. We walk in to his living room and sit down on an old red velvet couch. There are paintings and trinkets everywhere, and a big portrait of his mother on the wall opposite us. “I think that is his mom” Tonya whispers to me as we sit scanning the room.
“You want a tequila?” asks Pedro. We look at one another like deer in headlights. I don’t like drinking in the afternoon…I haven’t even had lunch yet! We both politely refuse. He tells the maid to bring three tequilas anyway. We have enough time to take in some more of the art lining the walls before the maid comes in. She brings in two very large shot glasses of tequila and a small plate with salt and lime. Only amateurs use salt and lime. She moves a few books on the coffee table and makes room for the plate and glasses. Tonya makes her eyes go big at the sight of the shot glasses. They have a great old house. It smells great; looks great…even the crooked paintings look like that is how they should be. The wooden floors are are worn, there are gaps below the doors going out back. I hear sniffing and whining, there is a dog around here somewhere. I even like the way the floor creaks when you walk. Tonya and I both sit and look at the ceiling, the floors, all around the place. “You have such a lovely home,” Tonya tells Pedro. He mutters something polite and is putting away his work he was doing. On the dining table where he is at, there is a platter piled high with fruit in the center of the table. On the edge of the table is a platter of steamed vegetables. Broccoli, snap peas and carrots. The house is fantastic, but I am starting to eye this food pretty intently.
Pedro comes and pulls a chair up to sit opposite us. He grabs his glass and holds it up, we tap glasses. “Na Zdorovia” I say and it gets an instant chuckle out of Pedro, and he repeats it in s soft but deep voice. We sit and talk while we wait on his wife Carla to come home for lunch. The topic of tequila is discussed briefly. Tonya asks him about the painting of his mother. He explains the details about to her. It is strange, because just the night before Tonya was telling me of when his mother was ill and about to pass. She told of how she went and visited her, and her great bed with a red velvet cover. It all seemed so majestic to her as a girl. The painting made the story all the more real to me, as it looked like a majestical and somewhat ethereal woman with flowing black hair and big clear eyes staring down at us. I could see how a kid would be in awe.
The doorbell rings and Pedro gets up to answer the door. A woman is heard in the hallway and Tonya says it’s his wife. Sure enough, she comes breezing in with a wisp of air s her escort. She too, has big eyes. She greets Tonya and then turns to me and shakes my hand. She starts talking and when she realizes that I do not speak Spanish, she announces, “O.k. We will all speak English at lunch. We all speak it so it is no problem” She seems somewhat stern and very matter of fact. She turns to Tonya and asks again, “What is your name?” This will be replayed several times throughout lunch. She keeps forgetting Tonya’s name. “Let’s sit and eat,” she says as she pulls her chair out. “Come…let’s eat!” and we grab our chairs like nervous school kids.
We sit for a moment and chat, and I notice her grab Pedro’s tequila. She starts to tell of her crazy day at work. As she talks I look at the paintings behind her. Out of the corner of my eye I see a little woman entering into the room. She walks up to the table and hands Carla a bowl of soup, then Pedro, and then us. Carla is very direct and she makes a statement that among uptight liberals may be taken to heart. She catches herself and giggles, “Oh. I am sorry. That was mean wasn’t it? I hope you…” she is saying in a flurry. Before I can answer she continues, “…but you don’t care anyway!” She is smiling. I like her immediately too. She is very direct and has no qualms speaking her mind or probing for whatever information she wants to know. Lively only halfway describes her and charming is not anywhere close. The little maid comes from the other room carrying a large platter of rolled tacos (or ‘flautas’ for those at home). It is a huge pile. Carla pulls up a small white dining cart and the woman sets the platter down. I have no clue what they are, but form the mountain of food, I am already excited.
As the platter is handed toward me, Pedro announces “Ahhh. The specialty of the house. Chicken tacos. They are great” No doubt by looking at his face, he loves these things too. I grab a few and pass the platter around. A few tacos start to fall off towards Carla. I try to steady the plate and say “Oops!” Carla immediately shoots back, “That is ok! That is meant to happen, it is a trick, now I can get more tacos” and she grabs them up. “She loves them!” Pedro adds. I grab some of the lush vibrant steamed vegetables to add to my delight.
These tacos are awesome. Everyone is talking and scarfing them down like we are all family. There is no need for manners, just talk and eat. Pedro and Carla are sitting opposite us. There are four small bowls between them. One bowl of cheese, one of cream, and one red salsa and one green. I am eyeing them intently, because I want to sample the culinary delights. “Are they good, do you like them?” Carla asks. As if she needs to ask. I tell her the obvious answer. She suddenly realizes my tacos are dry, “Oh! You did not try it with cream? Here you must do it with this…” and she hands me one of the bowls. I put the cream on my tacos and then seize the chance to try and get some more of the bowls those two are hording. “Can I have the salsa?” I ask. She looks down to scan the table for the salsa, “Of course, I am sorry” and she hands me the green salsa. It immediately goes onto the taco too. Man, it just gets better.
Carla directs the conversation. It bounces to and fro. I volley back, if she says something that makes me think of something else, I bounce it back. Everyone is talking and having some laughs. The little maid comes out and sets two more bowls on the dining cart, one of rice and one of beans. I am so relaxed. The food is great. Pedro and Carla are being so warm and receptive, and the whole room just feels great. The giant window is open and the sun beaming in. We can see people walking down the street. I wonder if they are going to pass the beans and rice around. I grab some more tacos and offer to pass the plate around. Pedro takes a few, as does Tonya. I strategically placed the bowl of cream to the side, but in the center of the table. I load up. I take a chance and point to the bowl between Carla and Pedro, and blurt out, “Can I try some of the red salsa?” Pedro laughs. It is obvious in the course of our chat that they never bothered to look at what was next to them or us. He hands me the bowl and Carla apologizes. The little maid is coming in again carrying another platter with tacos. Our pyramid-sized pile has barely hit the midway point. The maid sits the dish down and speaks to Carla. Her eyes light up. She looks at us and asks, “Ahhh. Do you know what these are? Papas! These are fantastic!” and Pedro shakes his head and confirms how great these are. “If you thought those were good, these are even better,” Carla adds.
No joking. The potato tacos are tasty…and spicy. They have chorizo in them too. Man! This is a great lunch. If only I could get my hands on the beans and rice, then it would be the full deal. I feel cheated without the beans and rice. Carla grabs for a pitcher that has been sitting untouched. It is a large pitcher, filled with something red. I was thinking it was sangria, but it looked like weak sangria. She pours herself a glass, then a bit to Pedro. “Did you like this…?” she says holding the pitcher. I shake my head and tell her, “I have not tried it. I have no clue what it is”. She hands the pitcher to me and the whole table chimes in explaining what it is. Hibiscus water. “Oh, but there is no sugar” Carla says. That is ok; I do not want sweet Kool-Aid flavored stuff anyway. I pour myself some and take a sip. It is sharp and a little bitter. I like it. As Carla piddles on her side of the table, she bumps the dining cart and looks to see what has happened. She sees the bowls of rice and beans and exclaims, “Oh no! Look! We have rice and beans” and she picks up the beans and holds them over the table. “Would you like some? Take it, dip your tacos in them” Before she finishes her sentence I have a pile of beans on my plate. I think in all the excitement of finally getting the beans the rice passed me by. I never got any.
I will attest. The only thing better than a great meal is a great meal with great conversation. Don’t know about Pedro and Carla, but we were having a fantastic time. I lost track of how many tacos I ate. The maid came out and asked if we wanted coffee or tea. “Coffee” blurts out of my mouth almost like a burp. Pedro seconds the motion, Tonya nods and Carla tells the maid to bring us coffee. “Oh, look. There are more tacos. Eat some more Tim…” Carla says as she stands to help the maid remove the platters. I politely refuse. She starts laughing and says, “It’s ok, I will make you a Tupperware container full of them” doing a boxlike motion with her hands. She says they wont last long. As soon as the kids get home from school, they will vanish. No wonder why this family loves them so much, because they are amazing!
Pedro gets up and starts to close the window. Carla says no, and then he says he will switch places, as the sun is right in his eyes. He now sits at the head of the table, next to Tonya. This is when Tonya starts asking him about the art on the walls in the dining room. There are three main portraits on the opposite wall that he did. One of each of his kids, and in the middle, his wife. “That is me,” she says, pointing at the portrait. She pulls her hair back tight, crosses her eyes, “You see? It is isn’t it?” I laugh, but crossing the eyes and pulling the hair back made an exact match. Pedro explains the artwork that Tonya asks about. The coffee arrives, as does a plate of simple cookies. “Eat them Tim. They are kiddie cookies, they love them” Carla instructs. I obey. I pick up a few and dunk straight into my coffee. Since Pedro has moved places, Carla can stretch out a bit. Full bellies now, so more detailed conversing begins. Throughout the course of lunch we have heard of how chintzy the government is here. It is shocking the way exhibitions hardly receive the funding they are promised. “This is a very poor country you know,” comments Carla, “it is sad and embarrassing how things are really handled here”. However, both tell of the headaches of French bureaucracy in dealing with exhibits too. There is talk about poetry, stage design for the Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd. Travel, life abroad, Mexico, Tonya and Pedro’s childhood, family and the Zocalo. In the course of our lunch, we talked about almost anything you could think of, even the Olmecs and hunchbacks! Being that Pedro is an artist, of course artists were discussed as well.
Carla is on her lunch break, and must get back to work. She stands and starts to get a few things together. “Ok, let’s go to the studio” says Pedro. He stands too. We exchange our goodbyes with Carla and she goes upstairs, yelling down her good wishes as she vanishes.
(to be continued...)
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