Years ago my partner in crime and I sat at the bar of the Hotel
California in Todos Santos, Mexico, sipping Pacificos with friends
while our kids bought baubles at the outdoor market.
Years ago my partner in crime and I sat at the bar of the Hotel California in Todos Santos, Mexico, sipping Pacificos with friends while our kids bought baubles at the outdoor market. When we walked in, the bartender had immediately pressed “play” on the CD player, thereby putting into motion a surreal experience that should have been a movie scene.
The CD contained only one song, the Eagles tune that had made famous the mysterious and now sorely dilapidated Hotel California. As it played again and again in the nearly empty bar and the overhead wooden fan swatted feebly at the heat, a mid-sized rental car pulled up outside the open door.
The trunk was tied down with rope, barely able to contain the mountain of suitcases that threatened to tumble out of the back. The front doors slammed and two men got out in pleated slacks and formerly crisp cotton shirts now wrinkled by heat and sweat. They opened the back doors, reached their hands in and each pulled out something sweet, frilly and expensive: a high-maintenance woman.
Now, I am not a perfect translator, but I will endeavor to describe the scene that transpired as the Texans descended upon the Hotel California. One woman teetered to the bar door in her flowered capris and high leather sandals, a pink totebag slung over her shoulder. A waterfall of blonde hair cascaded to her shoulders under a mile-wide straw hat tilted just so on her head.
“Is this it?” she said from behind her perfect black shades, then added, unconvincingly. “Hoooow charmin’.”
Her friend ordered the men to get the bags, and they obeyed. They scurried back and forth at least a dozen times, stacking matching trunks, hanging bags and Dolly Parton-worthy cosmetic cases on the dusty sidewalk.
“Not the-ere!” shrieked the second woman, a petite brunette in a swirling, tropical-print skirt and gold high-heeled thongs. Her perfectly manicured fingers glittered with rings as she set her leather purse on an empty bar table. “Isn’t there a bellboy?”
As we sat with our chins on the bar, watching this Texas-flavored circus, we already knew the answer: no bellboy, no waitress, but if they would wait around for half an hour, someone might come to register them and take their money.
Having already taken a self-guided tour around the hotel, I knew what they were in for: concrete-floored rooms, tiny bathrooms at the end of the hall, a swimming pool filled with muck and leaves, and a restaurant open only three hours a day.
The simple bar, however, was quite hospitable, and so they and their sweating husbands joined us as we listened to the 20th repeat of
“Hotel California.”
“Are y’all staying here?” asked one of the men. “Is there anywhere decent to eat.”
We recommended a Pacifico, but broke the news that they couldn’t get a bite to eat until after the siesta. They gamely ordered four bottles of beer in the murky light and the glamour girls perched on high stools and took off their sunglasses.
I have a picture of myself in the bar that day, and I looked nothing like them. My hair was pulled into a high bun on top of my head and I had not a stitch of makeup on my freckled, reddened face. My “outfit” was a jumble: jean shorts, tank top thrown over a bikini, dusty thong sandals. I looked like an orphan, albeit a beer-drinking one on vacation in Mexico. While I sweated, they glowed.
They were walking magazine ads for Estee Lauder and big hair. Their faces gleamed with muted foundation, pink blushed cheeks, blue eyeshadow and black-rimmed lids. Their mouths pouted perfectly pink and, I am not kidding here, their eyes flapped with false eyelashes.
They looked like two pastel-colored Barbie dolls who had mistakenly fallen into a drab, brown Western movie. Their colors, their curled and sprayed hair, their high-pitched drawls created an unreality I have never seen matched anywhere else.
We chatted for a while, acted surprised when they said they were from Texas, and told them about Pillar’s Fish Tacos and their truthful slogan: “Lo major tacos de pescado en Baja” – the best fish tacos in Baja.
But somehow, I couldn’t picture them eating with their toes in the dust at the rickety plastic tables set under a canopy next to Pillar’s mobile home. Or sunbathing next to the leaf-laden pool. Or applying their makeup under the bare lightbulb in the bathroom at the end of the hall.
I’m not sure whether they actually stayed at the Hotel California, or packed it up and headed to a nice hotel room in Cabo San Lucas, a few hours away. When our kids came to get us, toting their new treasures and pulling us toward the beach, the Texans looked truly sad to see us go. Looking back, we wish we had stayed to eat dinner with them, listen to their accents, and gape at their clothes and their outsized opinions. We could have even listened to the Hotel California CD … one more time.
Now that would have been a story.
• Speaking of Mexican: Bill Randall e-mailed a request for a Chili Con Carne recipe. This one is from John Madden, who got it from a Charger fan. It’s heavy on the meat and spices and should be great in a tortilla.
Carne con Chili Verde
2 lbs. stewing beef
1 large onion, sliced
1 clove garlic, minced
1 T. oil (or lard)
1 10-oz. can whole green chilies
2 jalapeños, seeded, minced
1 large tomato, chopped
1 tsp. salt
1 cup water
Flour
Brown beef, onion and garlic in oil. Add all other ingredients except flour. Simmer, covered, for 1 hour or until beef is tender. Stir occasionally.
Mix small amount of flour with water to make a smooth paste. Slowly add to stew, stirring. When thickened, take off heat. Serve with tortillas.
• Weeknight casserole: This casserole recipe is from Santa Alonzo, the longtime secretary to Luigi Aprea, former principal of Brownell Fundamental School. Her layered recipe is a keeper, and one that you can make a night ahead of time and pop into the oven when you get home from work.
Chicken con Tortillas
1 1/4-oz. cans sliced black olives
4 oz. can diced green chiles, minced
4 oz. can mushrooms, stems and pieces
10 corn tortillas, cut into small squares
1 cup milk
1 medium onion, finely chopped
1 10 3/4-oz. can cream of chicken soup
1 10 3/4-oz. can cream of mushroom soup
1/2 lb. Monterey Jack cheese, grated
1/2 lb. Cheddar cheese, grated
1 medium-sized whole fryer chicken, cut up
Put chicken in a pot of water and bring to a boil; reduce heat to medium.
In a small bowl, mix the olives, chiles and mushrooms. In a medium bowl, mix together both cheeses. In a large bowl, combine tortillas, milk, onion and both soups.
When chicken is cooked, remove bones and cube the meat.
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. In a 3-quart casserole, layer 1/2 of the soup/tortilla mixture, then 1/2 of the chicken mixture, and then 1/3 of the cheese mixture and 1/3 of the chile mixture. Repeat layers, ending with remaining soup, cheese and chile mixtures. Bake for 1 to 1 1/2 hours.
• Easy cheese hors d’oeuvre: This is a repeat from 2001, by request of Maggie Sharp of Morgan Hill. She wants to make this hors d’oeuvre for a Sunday brunch. This cheese recipe is a cinch to make, but gets rave reviews.
Last time I served it, we ate outdoors on a deck and speared the delicacies off of a huge platter with our forks. Serve with sliced baguette rounds to mop up the balsamic sauce.
Aged Gouda with Balsamic Reduction
2 cups balsamic vinegar
8 tsp. sugar
12 small wedges of aged Gouda
12 tender spears steamed asparagus
Watercress or Italian flat-leafed parsley for garnish
In small saucepan over high heat, bring vinegar to simmer. Continue cooking until vinegar is reduced to 1/2 to 3/4 cup. Whisk in sugar; set aside to cool. For each serving, put three spears of steamed asparagus and three wedges of aged Gouda on a plate (or serve as above from a large platter). Drizzle with balsamic vinegar reduction. Garnish with watercress or parsley.
Tip of the Week:
Make a list of 15 meals your family likes to eat. Divide the list into three weeks of dinner ideas (two days off per week). Take one list to the grocery store with you each week and shop accordingly.
End note: “For disappearing acts, it’s hard to beat what happens to the eight hours supposedly left after eight hours of sleep and eight hours of work.” ~ Doug Larson
