A fillet, steak, nugget, and any other flesh from wild fish (7USC1638)

Our tradition of non-cooking Friday nights probably started in Israel, where we would stop for shwarma or pizza on the way home from happy hour at the beach. It continued in Costa Rica, where we would walk up to the local grocery, which had a pizza stand attached, so we could have a few beers while our pie was cooking. The tradition became so ingrained that, back in Virginia, I felt entitled to pick up fast food on Friday if no one was calling for a happy hour.

It's no surprise that we fell into the same bad habits in Mexico, especially since a few pizza-delivery fliers were waiting for us in the mailbox. Indeed, we succumbed to pizza the first couple of weeks, and it was actually quite tasty, what with the local ingredient of choice being chorizo, not tuna, as in Israel. But still, picking up some 'za without soaking in the neighborhood vibe didn't seem as satisfying as our Friday-night forays in Costa Rica.

So TJ and I made a decision to become official taco taste-testers. And thus, here is the first installment in an intermittent series, a trio of taco reviews. In the interest of full disclosure, we visited the first two taco stands on Saturdays, but their tacos still deserve some of the spotlight.

Mariscos La Bajadita (Seafood on the Little Downhill), on the street parallel to and up from the malecón in Playas de Tijuana, provided a good baseline for the Baja-style fish taco. The fish, probably the conventional cod, was freshly fried, but the batter felt a tad heavy. The vegetables were standard -- cabbage, cilantro, and tomato -- but quite crispy considering it was near closing time. A nice touch was that the tortillas were heated on a griddle upon ordering, not kept at room temperature or in a warmer. TJ was impressed by the selection of sauces: Tapatio, habanero, and even "buffalo." The location was pleasant, with a partial view of the Pacific below, but the welcoming atmosphere was perfect. The clearly family-run establishment was a well-oiled operation; Mom prepped the tortillas and veggies, while Dad cooked the fish, and Son collected the cash.

La Sirenita (The Little Siren), next to the fish market in Ensenada, provided a variation upon the same theme. The fish once again was cod, but this time, the batter was enjoyably lighter. The tortillas were the expected small flour rounds, and the vegetables were the usual suspects, except they were all in dishes on the table, so you could pile on as much cabbage, cilantro, and pico de gallo as you wanted. Likewise, condiment use was at your discretion, with schooner glasses of crema fresca and homemade picante filling the table. The fact that the market was next door certainly piqued the palate for fish tacos, but we could’ve done without the unappetizing sight of all the bird poop on its roof.

This last review is of the only type of fish taco offered at Tacos 'N' Salsas, down the hill from our house, which we discovered on a trip to Beer City. It's actually a bit of an unfair comparison, because the meat here is marlin, which was stuffed in a chile before it was battered and fried, making the fish taste less salty than it normally would. Besides the regular vegetable offerings, it was folded up with pinto beans and onions. Plus, you could choose between flour and sturdier corn tortillas. As its name suggests, sauces abounded. Four homemade picantes were fixtures on the counter, and crema fresca and creamy habanero were offered with the marlin taco specifically. Being in a strip mall on a busy street, the atmosphere is not much to speak of, but it is nice to be able to take a microbrew to-go in a styrofoam cup to wash down your tacos.

The marlin taco was actually only one of many tacos we had at this place. We also tried the chicken and carne asada varieties, as well as a special treat: a brocheta taco. TJ said the shiskabob of steak, bacon, tomato, and pepper was tangy and tantalizing because of its Worcester-style marinade. In future reports, we'll try to track down other uniquely delectable dishes, so stay tuned.

Vehicular tour route to provide for public appreciation, education, understanding, and enjoyment (16USC1244)

With TJ's family in town for only two days, we really had to do a whirlwind tour of northern Baja California. I don't know of any national tour company that offers a package in the area, but if there is, they could do worse than hit the highlights of our loop.

In Tijuana, we took in the local culture though our mouths at Hidalgo Mercado. We crossed off most items on our grocery list before we relaxed for a respite at El Rincón del Oso. Contrary to the bear in its name, the featured meats at the diner were birria de chivo and carne asada. We ordered them in nearly every offered preparation: clockwise from bottom left, quesadillas, gorditas, tacos, and a torta.
After filling our stomachs, we fed our mind at the Museo de las Californias at the Centro Cultural Tijuana, which is well-known for the spherical structure outside (which happens to be an IMAX theater). But we found the exhibits inside to be just as interesting, especially because they were accompanied by a docent posing as an enthusiastic Pancho Villa supporter.
From Tijuana, we took the toll road to Tecate, namesake of the lager exported by Cervecería Cuauhtémoc-Moctezuma, in the hopes that we could talk our way into a brewery tour, or at least catch the adjacent beer garden giving away its free drafts. Luck was not on our side, so we settled for a sit-down in the town's plaza, where every restaurant was doling out the red cans, except not for free. After quenching our thirst, we turned our attention to our hunger and headed to El Mejor Pan, where we had trouble choosing among all the sweet treats.
With more than a half-dozen pastries in our pack, we headed off on the Ruta del Vino from Tecate to Ensenada. After being shut out of a few wineries because, yet again, we lacked reservations for a tour, we ended up at Viñas de Garza. The ambiance was amazing, but we all agreed that it wasn't worth the price of a flight: $20 for four tastes.
Just a little ways down the road, we found the more accommodating charm -- and the more acceptable cost, $10 for three tastes -- of La Casa Vieja. A frisky kitten and a musical duo at the accompanying restaurant made the experience enjoyable, but no amount of atmosphere at either vineyard made the sub-par wine appetizing enough to purchase.
We had much more appealing cocktails, of shrimp and clams with onion, lime juice, and avocado, in downtown Ensenada. They were dessert after a main meal of fish tacos off the malecón. It is generally accepted that the fish taco originated in Baja, but the exact location is disputed, with San Felipe, Rosarito, and Ensenada all participating in the bidding war for bragging rights. For its part, Ensenada has assembled an army of soldiering stalls next to the Mercado de Mariscos, which lends credence to its claim.
From Ensenada, we drove the coastal road back to Tijuana, but we made a quick detour in Rosarito to catch the sunset. We happened to come out on the beach next to Papas & Beer, a once-infamous spring-break destination. The reputation might have been well-earned, considering that, despite its near-empty state, a trash can was on fire. Who knows what havoc a packed house could have wreaked?
We averted our eyes to gaze upon the other blazing, and more beautiful, object at the beach. We watched the sun slide beneath the clouds, then set off for home, completing our circuit. All in all, I'd say that it was a good enough trip to qualify me as a tour guide. After all, I'm unemployed, and I always wanted to be my own boss. I'll have business cards for everyone soon.

Creatures that, whether or not raised in captivity, normally are found in a wild state (18USC42)

A couple of the other EFMs here were nice enough to invite me on an outing that I had to decline because TJ's family was coming to visit. As it turned out, they wanted to do exactly what I had been invited to do: go to the San Diego Zoo Safari Park. One EFM had told me that the park is better than the zoo, and I believe her, considering that you can see the animals by tram, caravan truck, VIP cart, Segway, zipline, hot-air balloon, behind-the-scenes Jeep -- or even from your tent in the campground within the park. We spent most of our time on the cheapest option, our feet. The place is so big that I never did see my friends, but I did see plenty of animals that I wanted to make my new friends.
These dik-diks, tiny antelopes from Africa, would make great playmates for Sage and could give me an immature chuckle every time I said their name.
These zebras, members of the horse family from Africa, would add some visual appeal to my uninspired and uninspiring backyard.
This giraffe, the tallest land-living animal, would make a great concert companion and could help out with the high cabinets in the kitchen.
This okapi, an ungulate from the Congo rainforest that looks like a zebra but is more closely related to a giraffe, would take up less room by pulling double duty.
This elephant, the largest land-living animal, would save me some money on car washes and sprinkler systems.
This rhinoceros, a perissodactyl with horns made of keratin, would be nice to help maneuver through and merge into heavy traffic.
This cheetah, the fastest land-living animal, could cut my errand-running time in half, especially if we split the grocery list.
These lions, the second-largest felines besides the tiger, would be good pillows for my afternoon and weekend naps.
This gorilla, the largest species of primate, would make a good drinking buddy because he could crack beers without an opener.

Event which involves a fight between at least two animals ... for purposes of sport, wagering, or entertainment (7USC2156)

When TJ told me a group of people were going to the weekend-afternoon bullfight, I enthusiastically said I wanted to go along, forgetting that this would entail more than your casual beer-swilling sporting event – in particular, the deaths of animals, six to be exact. Although I began to get butterflies even before we left, I wanted to do justice to this tradition, considering this was probably going to be the one and only time, so I suggested sitting on the sol, or sun, side (as opposed to the sombra, or shade, side), where we could pay less to be closer to the action.

I am no PETA representative; I am aware that animals die in order for me to eat, but still, I don’t like to spend an afternoon at the meat-packing plant. And for those who say I should have to see the slaughterhouse show, I disagree. There are plenty of things that people need to stay alive, but that people don't watch for viewing pleasure. A colonoscopy comes to mind.

My main problem is, I generally identify with animals more than the people; I have a bad habit of anthropomorphizing. At one point, I thought a bull was behaving like Sage, whom I consider part-human, by bouncing around the ring in a devil-may-care frolic. Another one reminded me of Ferdinand, famed in story by Munro Leaf and in film by Walt Disney, as he sniffed around the ring, possibly at the sanguine traces of his friends. So it was a bit hard to watch an animal running around bleeding; I prefer my bloody cattle stationary on a plate.

The other problem is, the ritual of this slaying takes a lot longer than your typical bovinicide. In an attempt to be somewhat objective, I will explain this lengthy process. In the event we went to, there were three cuadrillas, or teams of fighters, that faced two bulls each over a three-hour period -- that's about 15 cents per bull-butchering minute. Before the action began, they were introduced in a parade.

Each bullfight involves three stages, or tercios, which begin after the just-agitated (by a barb put in its neck) bull is welcomed by the matador, the fanciest-dressed dude, and three other toreros, his entourage, who get a feel for the bull by taunting it with capotes, or capes, oftentimes leading it to crash into the ring’s barriers as they take cover.

In the first tercio, two picadores, or lancers, enter on horseback. They and their horses sport extensive protective covering; the men had stirrups that looked like mini-backhoes, and the horses wore the kind of padding you see strapped to gym walls, except this cushion has to stop bucking horns, not bolting adolescents. The picadores carry varas, more like long spears than lances, which they attempt to thrust into the bull’s neck as it charges the horse. This assault draws first blood.

In the second tercio, the three henchmen, now in the role of banderilleros, take turns trying to stab two banderilleras, or spikes, into the bull’s shoulders. This stage seems much more sporting as this requires the banderillero to get within close range of a now-enraged bull.

In the last tercio, the matador is left alone in the ring with only the bull and his muleta, the quintessential red cape. Here begins the traditional dance of tandas, or passes, in which the matador is sometimes close enough to pat the bull on the rump. During a series of good passes, the crowd will linguistically butt-tap the bullfighter by chanting “olé, olé.”

This dance, or faena, concludes with the matador killing the bull by stabbing it through the shoulder blades to the heart with the estoque, or sword. In an ideal world, this estocada would be done in one clean stroke, but with five of the bulls we saw, the other toreros had to intervene in the faena to help the matador get his muleta or estoque back for a second, third, and sometimes fourth or fifth try, like with Rafael Ortega's second bull.

All throughout the tercios, the audience share their opinions of the cuadrilla’s performance. If the bull seems to deserve to win, the crowd will shout “toro, toro” to the bullring’s president, petitioning him to spare its life. Although we heard some of these shouts, along with taunts of “culo” (I'll let you look up that word for yourself), during the first round with Alberto Espinoza, no bull survived. All were drug off by mules after their demise.

If the matador exhibits masterful skills, the crowd waves white handkerchiefs, pressuring the president to award the fighter one of the bull’s ears as a badge of honor. Humberto Flores proudly displayed this reward in a victory lap, in his debut at the Bullring by the Sea.

And now for the subjective assessment. There actually were some positives about my experience. Despite the seemingly skimpy number of spectators, the atmosphere was festive, much more interactive than, say, an Indians game. This exhibition came with a complete pep band, not just one guy with a drum.

The in-stand cuisine was more extensive -- and less expensive ($3 for a beer!) -- than at a ballgame. The vendors hawked everything from fruit plates to fried chicken, half-melted ice cream to piping-hot potato chips. And of course, trays of beef jerky, which I would describe as "fresh" if it weren't obviously smoked.

Nevertheless, once is enough. I came, I saw, I commit this post and these photos as confirmation of my singular cultural and agricultural investigation.