GypsyJan
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Posts: 489
Registered: 10-29-2013
Location: Baja Coast
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Mood: "If a dog will not come to you after looking you in the face, examine your conscience." Woodrow W
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Culinary Tour of (Ensenada) Baja, Mexico
From Travel and Leisure Magazine: http://www.travelandleisure.com/articles/culinary-tour-of-ba...
"Lured by spicy quail, tuna ceviche, and Mexico’s best fish tacos, T+L lights out for Ensenada—and from there, things just go south.
Ensenada and the nearby Valle de Guadalupe, in northern Baja, are known outside Mexico for three things: the burgeoning local wine scene, which has
been hyped ad infinitum; the food, which hasn’t been hyped enough; and the spectacularly bad roads, which everyone warns you about, though you never
fully believe them. Really, you think, how bad could they be? And then one night in the gathering dark you take an innocent shortcut across the valley
and drive your rented Hyundai into a riverbed. A dry riverbed, but a riverbed all the same. You and your equally baffled companion spend 40 minutes
spinning the car’s wheels in what might as well be quicksand, then digging frantically, then panicking, then digging and spinning some more, until
finally you resolve to abandon the car and hike the two miles back to the highway—suitcases sinking in gravel, sand filling your socks. And as the
coyotes wail in the ink-black hills you decide that you probably should have paid more attention to that part about the roads.
“Ah, the Baja shortcut!” said our innkeeper, Phil Gregory, when, at the conclusion of said ordeal, he collected us and our dusty belongings from the
side of Highway 3. “Never a good idea!” Severe rains the previous week, our host explained, had caused the river to flood, washing away a whole chunk
of the road we were on. Those tire tracks I’d followed across the sandy riverbed—believing we were still on course—had been left by a backhoe,
dispatched to repair the road. No one had bothered to post a sign, let alone erect a fence. “Honestly, this happens all the time,” Gregory said as we
rattled down the inn’s rutted dirt driveway. He meant this to be reassuring. “But let’s get you settled, pour you some wine, and we’ll retrieve your
car in the morning!”
Gregory’s tone was oddly chipper—maybe this did happen all the time? After showering off the dust, we sampled the inn’s own Tempranillo beside a
crackling mesquite fire in the lounge. Not the smoothest specimen, but it worked: two glasses later I gave up worrying about the Hyundai.
The Valle de Guadalupe’s wines get most of the attention here. But it was the food that lured me to this corner of Baja California, 90 minutes south
of San Diego. Friends had raved about Ensenada’s plentiful huarache oysters, sweet baby abalone, and ruby-red bluefin tuna. On the Baja forums of
chowhound.com, I pored over descriptions of barbecued-quail stands and itinerant sea-urchin vendors, unfiltered honeys and farmstead cheeses. I
devoured the posts of StreetGourmetLA (real name Bill Esparza), a Los Angeles–based musician who seems to spend all his days eating his way across
northern Baja, then regaling fellow Chowhounds with his discoveries, including an Ensenada ceviche stand “that will change your life.” (Baja Tourism
should put this guy on retainer.) Most tempting of all were the fish tacos. Ensenada’s signature snack was invented by Japanese fishermen who migrated
here in the early 20th century and introduced tempura cooking to the region. Today the taco de pescado—a perfect storm of double-fried fish, shredded
cabbage, pico de gallo, lime juice, and mayonesa on a warm corn tortilla—is sold on every corner.
Ensenada had loomed in my imagination since Warren Zevon name-checked the town in his 1976 ballad “Carmelita.” I’d always envisioned a
jasmine-scented, hippie-boho idyll—a sort of Laurel Canyon South—where barefoot senoritas danced on beaches to the lilt of Spanish guitars. (Those of
you who’ve actually been to Ensenada can stop laughing now.) Stirred by visions of oysters, tacos, warm sunshine, and ice-cold micheladas, I invited
my friend Adam to join me for a four-day bacchanal. How could we go wrong?
The trip began well enough. North of Ensenada the coast is quite lovely indeed, recalling that of Oregon or central California: vivid-green slopes
tumbling into the silver-blue Pacific. Our first stop was at Casa Natalie Hotel Boutique, an intimate seven-room resort set above a rocky beach six
miles north of town; we would spend two nights here and two in the Valle de Guadalupe, 30 minutes inland. With its handsome infinity pool and
votive-lit seaside bar, Casa Natalie made for a promising start: here you might convince yourself that Ensenada was a bastion of sophistication and
style.
Well. The reality was decidedly less dreamy, with blocks of sleaze and tackiness between the occasional nice parts. Most of Ensenada’s 325,000
residents are employed in fishing or shipping (this is Mexico’s second-busiest port), but in the compact, low-rise downtown, you might think everyone
works as a mariachi, a souvenir vendor, a strip-club tout, or a pharmacist. Dozens of farmacias line the main drag, their billboards advertising cheap
prescription drugs: Ultram, Cialis, Propecia. (Orange County retirees seem to be the primary target.) It’s a reminder that Ensenada is still a border
town, albeit a slightly more refined one.
Fortunately our meals made up for it. We tasted raw perfection at La Guerrerense, StreetGourmetLA’s beloved ceviche cart, where just-caught shrimp,
octopus, and pismo clams are marinated in lime and soy sauce—another gift from Japan—then dressed with avocado and pico de gallo and served on crisp
tostadas. The bill: $3. (We discovered a near-identical cart down the street, called Mariscos El Gordito, that was just as good if not better.) And at
Tacos Mi Ranchito La Fenix, a corner stand no uninformed visitor would think to stop at, we found what may be the best fish taco ever. It’s a DIY
affair: they give you the tortilla and double-fried nuggets of angelito shark, then you build the rest from a counterful of trimmings—though it hardly
requires a thing, so moist and flavorful is the fish. (A note for nervous eaters: food from busy street stalls is generally a safe bet, given the high
turnover.)
The trip highlight, however, was a four-hour lunch at Manzanilla, owned by acclaimed chef Benito Molina. The Mexico City native started his career in
Boston, working under Todd English at Olives, where he fell in love with the bold, direct flavors of the Mediterranean. Returning to Mexico, he found
in northern Baja a Med-worthy combination of rustic wines and stellar ingredients from land and sea. Molina takes full advantage. Local Manila clams
arrive in a bacony broth tinged with saffron. Baby abulón, farmed in nearby San Quintin, is sliced into thin disks and seared on a hot rock, then
sauced with mesquite-smoked tomato and cream; the delicate flesh is nothing like the outsize abalone so cherished in Asia. Tender grilled rib eye is
seasoned with rosemary and served with strong mustard (how Mediterranean is that?); on the side come buttery morsels of fat, twice-cooked to resemble
crispy chicharrones.
After nine years downtown, Manzanilla moved last year to an industrial garage in the shipyard district, which makes a funky stage set: raw-concrete
floors offset by zany canvases and pink Plexi chandeliers. It’s a fine place to while away the day. Adam and I were due to check in that afternoon at
La Villa del Valle—Phil Gregory’s inn in the Valle de Guadalupe—but we wound up lingering at Manzanilla over chamomile panna cotta and didn’t reach
the valley until after sunset.
That was our first mistake. Our second mistake was taking that left in the dark. Only now do I realize (a) how insane we were to attempt a shortcut,
and (b) how lucky we were not to wind up someplace worse. Oh, and (c) how foolish it was to take a two-wheel-drive Hyundai Sonata on a road trip in
Baja. Back in San Diego, our rental company had charged us an extra $25 a day in mandatory insurance just to bring the car into Mexico. At the time
this struck me as suspect. Now, with our Hyundai in the riverbed, $25 a day seemed entirely fair.
We hiked back to the car the next morning, accompanied by Gregory, his handyman Juan Paredes, and four shovels. It took a half-hour to uncover the
wheels. Finally we were able to push the car forward a few feet—and then it promptly sank back into the sand, unmovable. Clearly we needed a tow. But
what vehicle could negotiate the riverbed? Paredes suddenly pointed at a distant plume of smoke. “Retroexcavadora!” he cried. A backhoe—likely the
same one whose tracks we’d followed the night before. So off we trudged, across a mile of floodplain, to enlist the operator’s help. I offered him $50
to haul us out (in Baja there’s probably a going rate for backhoe rescues), and soon the Hyundai was bouncing and rattling down the pitted valley
roads once again.
The Valle de Guadalupe’s terrain alternates between harsh (cacti and agave; acres of dust) and graceful (olive and citrus groves; grapevines receding
into the hazy distance). Watching skinny horses graze in scrubby fields, I was reminded of Tuscany’s Maremma. Needless to say, the valley is far more
attractive than Ensenada itself. The bulk of the region’s few visitors come for the wineries—more than 60 of them along a stretch of Highway 3 known
as La Ruta del Vino. The valley’s arid microclimate, cooled by ocean breezes, is near ideal for wine cultivation, and though the product is still
mostly uneven, the wineries, farm stands, and restaurants of the Valle de Guadalupe form a remarkable little foodie universe. We savored buttery diver
scallops, seared bluefin tuna, and local roast lamb at Laja, the valley’s most famous restaurant. Amid the orange groves at convivial Restaurante Los
Naranjos, we feasted on spicy Guadalupe quail and slow-cooked pork shank marinated in tequila, beer, red wine, garlic, orange juice, and rosemary.
There was fig jam and tangy Real del Castillo cheese from the humble provisions shop Cremería Los Globos in the one-stoplight village of San Antonio
de las Minas. And for breakfast there were eggs collected that morning from the coop at La Villa del Valle.
Poised on a lone hilltop with 360-degree views, La Villa del Valle occupies a handsome, two-story hacienda that was built in 2002 but looks as if it
has belonged here forever. Phil Gregory and his wife, Eileen, imbue the place with thoughtful touches: bottles of mint-infused water at bedside;
sprigs of lavender on your pillow. Guest rooms are basic, but the public areas are gorgeous, especially the main living room, with its cowhide
ottomans, pressed-tin lamps, and burnished-oak bookcases filled with bird-watching and wine guides.
As the sun descends, cool air sails in from the mountains, carrying the scent of rosemary, mint, and citrus blossoms up the hill to the inn, where it
mingles with the primal aroma of mesquite burning in the hearth. No better time to take a snifter of tequila reposado to your balcony and gaze out at
those Georgia O’Keeffe hills. In the fading evening light you can trace the trajectory of the riverbed in the near distance—which, really, looks so
much nicer from up here."
Getting There
Fly to San Diego’s Lindbergh Field and rent a car for the 90-minute drive south to Ensenada. Be prepared for long waits at the border—up to 90
minutes—on your return. Note: most rental companies permit only certain vehicles to cross the border and add a premium for Mexican insurance (around
$25 per day).
Safety Advisory
The climate in Ensenada is more secure than some border areas, but travelers should exercise caution. For more information, visit travel.state.gov.
[Edited on 12-5-2016 by GypsyJan]
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