Flagrant and willful removal of taxable beer for consumption (26USC5673)

Since TJ is taking classes online, his weekends are tied up with assignments, but I have been able to negotiate at least one outing a weekend. Not so strangely enough, the last two trips have involved pizza and beer. For one, we ventured to the "mercato," or farmers market in Little Italy. After picking up some eggs, brussel sprouts, avocado/cilantro hummus, almonds, wheat bread, and herb plants as well as snacking on some samosas, farm-raised oysters, fresh-squeezed tangerine juice, and organic coffee, we stopped by Landini's Pizzeria for lunch.

We were drawn in by the special: two slices and a draft for $8. TJ thought we were going to split the deal, but the pizza looked so good that we each got our own. The beer was great, too, as two Karl Strauss selections were on tap; TJ picked the Red Trolley Ale, and I opted for the Amber Lager. But we did share the view of downtown San Diego from the restaurant's patio.
On the way to our car, we dropped into Bottlecraft, where we picked up some other microbrews from California. The cashier there suggested that we head to Beer City in Tijuana, so we could find some bottles from an up-and-coming Baja microbrewer, Cerveceria Insurgente. So when we resumed our overseas tradition of getting pizza after work on Fridays, we swung by Beer City before picking up our 2-for-1 pizzas from Mama Mia. Unfortunately, the store didn't have any Insurgente at the moment, but we picked out four types of suds to sample with our pies. We started with the lightest one, Honey by Cerveza Cucapa.
The Mexicali brewery described the amber ale as such: "A frothy entry leads to a dry-yet-fruity medium body of candied citrus peels, mild spice, flan, and toasted grains." I actually thought it was lacking in fizz and was a bit flat, but at least it wasn't syrupy like Honey Brown. I definitely detected the faint smell of burnt sugar. TJ thought it was a good balance of lightness and bitterness, like a "spring sunset over Playas de Tijuana." Next up was Zacas by Zona Norte Cerveza Artesanal.
This English pale ale is probably named after Zacatecas, a city and state in central Mexico, home to "people of the grasslands" who were conquered by the Spanish for potential mining lands in the 1540s. The beer better matched the brewery's name, probably after the red-light district of Tijuana, because it was, in just a few of TJ's adjectives, "contaminated, raw, and hyperactive." The beer was extremely foamy; it exploded for a guy at Beer City and for us at home, indicating that it wasn't quite finished; the ale was unfiltered, and the unsettled yeast made it taste vinegary. But TJ's final declaration was that it was "like a beer I've made by mistake -- amateurish with an undertone of promise." The third sip was Batari Chonami by Cerveza Ramuri.
This brewery's name possibly refers to the Rarámuri, a tribe of "runners on foot" from Chihuahua that fled to the Copper Canyon during the Spanish Conquest. "Batari" refers to a traditional alcoholic drink in the north-central Mexican state made from fermented corn sprouts. I couldn't find the meaning of "Chonami," but TJ's translation was "good, really good," which he said about the beer three times. The label said this London brown ale was a "dark beer with soft notes of brown sugar." I also got hints of coffee, which reminded me of my favorite Czech beer, Kozel Cerny. Not surprisingly, TJ was reminded of one of his favorite Czech beers, Krušovice Cerne. Last up was the Oatmeal Stout by Cerveza Agua Caliente.
Neither the brewery's site or the bottle's label gave us much to go on, which wasn't much of a surprise considering this was probably the closest to a true home brew (The labels appeared to be of the laser-printer variety). But it also was the closest to what it purported to be. It was fuller than the brown ale, and it had the sour taste of oatmeal and the bold flavor of malt, as opposed to the more subtle brown sugar. TJ criticized it for finishing on an up note when it should have been a down note. But overall, the beer was a decent end to our four-quaff-flight night. Check back occasionally for more beer reviews as we try to branch out from pizza shops to taco stands.

Wine or beer on the occasion of any kind of entertainment, dance, picnic, bazaar, or festival (26USC5122)

Now that our employment roles have been reversed, I arrived to Mexico knowing that TJ was ready for me to play cruise director, especially on weekends, since he had little time or energy to make plans during the week. So I spent most of my first week making sure I would be ready to take the helm, but nonetheless, I still hit an iceberg. America's Finest Beer Festival, which I thought sounded like the finest way to relax, was canceled at the last minute.

This prompted my first homemaker rite of passage: I directed TJ to go play golf with the guys. Afterward, of course, he owed me, so I dragged him to a more cheesy pursuit, the U.S. Open Sandcastle Competition across the border in Imperial Beach.
Actually, I lured him with Rite Aid ads, which promised a variety of beer cases on sale. Other people, it seemed, needed no such bait. The strand around Imperial Beach's famous pier was crammed with enthusiasts of sandy chateaus.
We only glanced at about a half-dozen sculptures before we headed to the street fair and main attraction (for me, anyway): the food. TJ got a grilled chipotle sausage; me, an equally pork-packed bacon-wrapped hot dog. We shared "Baja" fries with chili, guacamole, cheese, salsa, and sour cream. As you can see, we had to sit on the curb because the street was filled to the hilt.
If nothing else, the festival was good for people watching -- or mocking. Like the post-middle-aged guy in the T-shirt with a Tide-style "Stud" logo. Or the dude in the Attila the Hun fur hat but no shirt. At least he was ink-free; as TJ said, southern California appears to have an "egregious" amount of tattoos. Even the entertainment was rockin' some fashion, if you consider a Selena-inspired leopard-print shirt and tight pink jeans stylish.
We sipped the rest of our agua frescas as we walked back to our car through the Tijuana River National Estuarine Research Reserve. Across the estuary, we could see our city of residence, including the Plaza Monumental bullring at Playas de Tijuana (I swear, it's there along the shore in the distance).
After a stop at the aforementioned Rite Aid, we were looking at Tijuana from the inside at the Festival de la Brasa, where we managed to find room in our bellies for caprese and carne empanadas and grilled oysters topped with pork and some cool vegetable that looked like mini-asparagus. The food was high-class, but the beer was low-cost: 25 pesos (a little more than $2) for a bottle of Bohemia. Still, TJ splurged on a non-alcoholic Clamato cocktail with heaps of whole clams.
Fully sated, we carefully drove up the steep inclines to our house, stopping at one level spot to snap the scenic view back toward the States. And so concluded the first of likely many weekends spent cruising between two countries.

To assist first-time homebuyers on the basis that ... while a homemaker (42USC12713)

As many of you know, TJ and I didn’t find his first posting, just across the U.S. border, to be that exotic, considering we have ventured to further-flung places. Little did I know that, although the country was not so foreign, our house would be. Yes, I said house, with three bedrooms and 2-1/2 baths, bigger than anywhere I have ever lived, even my childhood home. Instead of culture shock, I am experiencing domicile disbelief.

The first jolt came from the security system, which I set off my very first morning. We arm it during the night while we are asleep, and I forgot to turn it off before I opened the door to let the dog out. This alerted the guards, who were ringing our doorbell, set for some strange reason to the tune of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” within minutes. I felt safe but incredibly sorry.

The next day, the guards came again because the security system “called” them. Before they arrived, the system had beeped and a yellow caution light had come on, but I couldn’t find anything wrong and I didn’t know how to make the little lit emblem go away. During this visit, I remembered a valuable stock phrase: “Todo bien,” or “All is well.”

A day later, I heard the same dreaded beep, but no one ever came to check on me. I figured I had become the annoying wife who called wolf too many times, but when TJ came home from work, he said other people were reporting problems with the system, which eased my conscience a little. But still, I’m sure I will wear out my welcome soon if I don’t learn to use all the gadgets in my first home.

Upstairs, our master suite – incidentally, I’ve never been in a place with enough bedrooms to require giving one the distinguishing title of “master” – includes a walk-in closet. I prefer to call it a sleep-in closet, because truly, I have slept in a room of the same size. I was looking forward to filling it up until I realized that I didn’t have enough hangers to fully use it, so I had to stack clothes on the shelves.

The suite also includes a bathroom, complete with a vanity that I don’t know what to do with. Getting ready does not take me any length of time that would require resting on a chair. But there are also a guest bedroom and a powder room, which already are inducing nightmares about not having stocked enough toilet paper. However, it was a dream come true when I could use the toilet without disturbing TJ during his shower.

Downstairs, the kitchen is its own suite; it has multiple rooms, including one for the washer and dryer, making it the first time I have had such amenities not in a single device or outside or across town. The other room of the kitchen suite is the pantry, which was left packed with spices but no bread, leaving it with plenty of capacity for me to become a hoarder of supplies like – oh, I don’t know – toilet paper.

The kitchen itself isn’t anything spectacular, but it does have plenty of counter space, including a peninsula topped by cupboards with glass doors, you know, to show off that collection of crystal we’ve been acquiring over the years (bless my friend Erika for providing some margarita glasses to showcase; she always knows exactly what we need for a home, i.e. towels). It is nice to continue to have a full-size refrigerator and now an over-size range, with a six-burner stovetop, including a griddle you can lay across two, so I can whip up pancakes, bacon and omelets for TJ every morning. But alas, the oven is not currently working, so I cannot prepare the lovely quiche I’ve been perfecting for the past few years. (How much sarcasm is acceptable in one paragraph, anyway?)

Probably the only reason we were put in a house instead of an apartment is because we begged for a yard for Sage, whom we didn’t want to fall in with a bad street-dog gang. Our groveling paid off, and since the climate here is so great (I swear, I’m not rubbing it in; okay, I am), we can leave the door open so he can go in and out whenever he wants. The lawn was just as disconcerting to Sage as the house was for me. Although he took to peeing in it right away, it wasn’t until the evening of his third day here that he pooped – six times!

Connected to the yard is a garage where we can store our two cars and most coveted delivery vehicle, a kegerator! It only reminded me how much I love my husband when he told me he had purchased the item I had coveted in a switching-posts sale ad. It fits in perfectly with our new grill, which incidentally was the main culinary implement for the first week. The only cooking I did was microwaving leftover grilled chicken and steak.

For security reasons, I can’t describe our neighborhood in too much detail, but a strip mall with many amenities, like a gym, is within walking distance. From that mall and our house is also a great view, as long as you squint through the wire fencing and barbed wire. Now that’s exotic!