Mexico City is landlocked. The closest body of water is Xochimilco, and it boasts neither salmon nor yellow tail, nor tuna nor crab. So why, for the love of over fishing, is sushi ubiquitous in this city? Despite my love of the slimy and raw, uncooked fish in a landlocked place – where even the locals refuse to drink the tap water – surpasses even my level of worthwhile risks of gastric distress. (Things that have made it: tacos bathed in cheese, street fruits slathered in lime and salt, and the ice in my – let’s face it, several – micheladas). The reason, I’d posit, for the numerous restaurants, and yes, at least one street cart, serving this documentary worthy cuisine is that it’s damn delicious and damn trendy.
It turns out, New York is not the only center of the known universe and the popular and cutting edge lives here too, reasonable or not.
Another arena in which Mexico trends are not to be outmatched by New York seems to be in the realm of dog ownership. In New York, you walk your Saint Bernard, your Great Dane, your three Golden Retrievers because, as my friend Pat says, you can’t walk your apartment. Here too, I have seen an unfounded love of furry friends. (Except for that girl I saw cradling a ferret. Clearly, she really loved that ferret, and honestly, wouldn’t you?). I’ve seen yappy Pomeranians, coddled Chihuahuas, and even Dalmatians on laps of restaurant diners. Perhaps my favorite ridiculous (or entirely reasonable, depending on your point of view) dog siting was in the Parque México in the upscale neighborhood Condesa. At midday, a group of perhaps twenty were sitting like middle schoolers at a dodgeball game, each waiting his turn to be trained in the fine arts of siéntate, baja, and pata pata. Dog training seems to be a career on the rise in the ritzier neighborhoods, and if it wouldn’t put me in the hospital, I’d join the ranks of people making more money at this than teaching English.