Jim's local bar story

11:00

We headed out to get some birrias, supposedly Jalisco style after a fun night /early morning out at a Cuban bar. No showers, no dressing up, not even a quick brush of the teeth because we'll be right back home. The birria's weren't bad but definitely not Jalisco style. They added some variety with Oaxaca cheese that helped the somewhat mediocre taste but didn't have consume.

Noon

The pastry store was right up the block, so why not, Alisa loves pastries? Oh look, there's a pool hall! I can always rope her in with a little competition. We played for a couple hours and I think she realized it had been way too long since she last played. After I purposefully scratched on the eight ball we decided to grab a taxi and head home. Oh look, a rooftop bar!  $40 later and after two complimentary shots of the best Mezcal, well one that only has a faint taste of band-aids it was time to get home.

18:15

Oh look, the perfect rooftop bar to watch the sunset, why not? Wow what a view it was! Up three stories, we watched as the city took a breath. Buses no longer screeched to a halt, the streets were almost empty. It was the golden hour for all. A perfect moment to stop, relax and switch gears for what's to come. Waiting for what's to come? We were just going out for some greasy hangover birria's, why are we waiting for what's to come?? We need to get home!

20:00

Stumbling to the the next intersection to hail a cab home, I found another small birria stand. The owner was carrying a huge pot of what I imagine the best consume in the world. I asked if I could have some. This guy literally turned around, placed the pot back on the burner and fired it up. I say, no, no frio es bueno. We have to get home after all it's getting late. I ask him if we can get it to go. His wife places some unknown meat in a styrofoam cup and he ladles a liquid, so thick and golden over it. After all, this is what we in search of this morning. After paying probably triple what he was going to charge me, we stood on the corner of the street and sipped on the second best consume we've ever had, fighting over the shredded chicken bonus at the end.

21:00

But we seriously need to get home. Rough night, last night. Our cab drops us off a couple of blocks from our place. As we walk down this now familiar road, we always see a bar literally 50 ft from our place. The problem was that it was almost too local.  We haven't been inside since we've been here. After hearing "we need to get home" all day from Alisa, she says, let's check this bar out, it is our neighborhood bar. We're met by a man sitting alone at a table filled with empty shot glasses. He looked up, I looked at him, tried a nod to which he didn't respond. As I made eye contact with the owner, El Jefe, he rushed out from behind the bar and told people sitting in other chairs to move. At the bar sat five guys; the owner, the one without a shirt and three other guys along with one woman who was working behind the counter.  There was a sense of mourning and condolences being passed around. Strange funeral vibe, like an after funeral party vibe.

We'll just get a beer before bed. Dos Victoria's por favor! They bring nuts, oranges and limes, not so bad, we're still alive and not getting stares anymore. Damn I'm already out of beer. Ok we'll take two more! El Jefe brings three shots of the nastiest Mezcal known to humanity to our table. The room silences, even the mosquitoes stop flying. But there are plenty of stares. Moment of truth. Yep, it still tastes like a band-aids. A round of "Salud" erupts! 

A man with sorrowful eyes approaches shortly later, wielding two more shots of that vile liquid. "Salud!"

Then the shirtless mourner, the one going from laughing to crying then back to laughing has his turn. He brings the whole bottle to our table and two more shot glasses. Alisa's protesting both non verbally and verbally in multiple languages by now. The smell alone was horrid, but the taste, goodness. I have no idea how to reply to the guys who recommend we drink it slowly so we can enjoy it. Down the hatch, "Salud!" The entire bar erupts in cheers and hand claps.

Another man came over with a branch of leaves of some sort and blessed us as if he were making us knights. He says we're now welcomed in his house. He walks off, sits down and starts playing a mournful song on his guitar while belting out some Mexican tune that silences the bar. Everyone stopped and watched until the last note.

As the silence becomes deafening we're welcomed to a game of billiards. Thankfully we had time to practice today, in which we accepted and won... After Alisa trips and falls into the cue stick rack taking it off the wall and I slip off the edge of the 2 foot platform, we call it a night. By the third attempt at leaving we received way too many hugs but we finally left and walked around the corner home.

00:30

In true Oaxacan hospitality, that night our new amigos transformed our once seemingly cold neighborhood into our "hood."