shoestring gringa

If you’re a fan of Chinese food, the good news is that there are Chinese restaurants everywhere,  even in Mexico.  Even rather small towns will often boast one or two.

If you want to make your own at home, you can usually find basic Asian items in large city supermarkets.   Warning — most of the available soy sauce is pretty awful — if you see a jug of Kikkoman in Costco, grab it!  Jars of  plum sauce, oyster sauce, hoisin sauce, and kung pao are easy to find.  Once we found tofu in a tetrapak which was quite acceptable.    We’ve regularly been able to buy fresh ginger (jenjibre) at Soriana for the past year.  Ingredients for other Asian cuisines are sometimes seen, but less common.

If you live off the beaten track, you can still satisfy those Asian cravings with a combination of planning, improvisation, and keeping it simple.  For example, we’re very fond of wonton soup.  The miracle of a steaming bowl on a chilly day was recently achieved by:

Planning:  (1) Having bought ginger when we last shopped in the city (growing it would be even better and is on my to-do list).  (2) Always having soy sauce, cornstarch and sherry, the basics for Chinese food, on hand, and of course garlic.

Improvisation:  (1) Making our own wonton wrappers.  This is easily done with a pasta machine (or rolling pin) and a recipe off the internet.  (I think we bought ready-made wonton wraps once in Merida, but I can’t swear to it.)  (2)  Using pork broth left over from  another dish combined with Knorr chicken powder and water for the broth.

Keeping it simple:  Forgetting about luxuries like dried mushrooms and Napa cabbage and just using locally available green onions.

For someone who learned (perforce) to cook out of books, this way of cooking and thinking is an ongoing learning experience for me — beginning with what’s on hand and fashioning something hopefully enjoyable out of it, as opposed to dreaming up a menu and going out and buying all the stuff for it.  As with so many areas of Mexican life, it involves a whole lot more creativity and way less expense.  Although it can be frustrating at times, it seems ultimately a more sustainable and satisfying approach to doing things.

For many years I made a ritual of buying an art reproduction calendar every year at a local museum.  I’d find an artist I didn’t know well and spend the year communing with their work.  It was an enjoyable tradition which I’ve regretfully abandoned in these times of lean earnings and ~$20 art calendars.

So how’s a girl to know what day it is?  There’s always the date on the computer screen, but sometimes you need a visual representation of the month, and sometimes you want to be able to write on it.

Our first year in Mexico we lucked onto a half-price sale.  The second year, I printed calendar blanks from the computer and stuck them onto some picture we had lying around.

And then I discovered hardware store calendars.  They may not be the most attractive items in the world, but their usefulness makes up for it.  And, they’re free!  We’ve used them for two years now and they’re great.  Not only do they indicate both legal and unofficial Mexican holidays, they also show official US holidays, which comes in quite handy at times if you’re still banking or doing any business in the states.  They also show the saint associated with every single day of the year and the moon’s phases.  The one we got this year even has the day of ingress of each astrological sign.

In cities, other types of business often give away calendars as well.  Once when visiting Merida we got a calendar with a beguiling photograph of a large pig from a carnitas takeout joint.  But if you live in a rural area, hardware stores are the most reliable source of free calendars.

Now why is she writing a post about salt in Mexico,  you’re probably asking yourself.  What could possibly be different about Mexican salt?  So I will tell you.  In some places (Yucatan is where I experienced this) it is almost impossible to find salt which is not fluoridated.  Being one of those cranky people who thinks fluoride is poison, I had a huge problem with this.

I  had to search all over Mérida before locating some unfluoridated salt, and it may have been there by accident, it was so difficult to find.  I think I finally found it at Comercial Mexicana (a large supermarket chain).   The next time I visited the states I brought back pounds of the stuff in my suitcase, worried I’d never be able to get it locally again.  (Reminder:  Finding an item someplace in Mexico one time is no guarantee you’ll ever see it there again.)

An internet search revealed that a number of countries in Latin America and, amazingly, France, have salt fluoridation programs purportedly for the prevention of dental decay.

Having read that, I assumed the disgusting phenomenon was the case in all of Mexico, but have been pleasantly suprised to find out otherwise.  In Zacatecas both unadulterated and fluoridated salt were easily available.  And in Sonora I haven’t seen any fluoridated salt at all.  Even better, in Sonora there’s a  local brand of sea salt, Sal Bahía (it is iodized).  As to the rest of the country, I don’t know, so I recommend carefully examining the label of any salt you buy if you object to fluoride.  Yodada = Iodized, and Fluoridada = Fluoridated.  Let the buyer beware!

In honor of the festive season, here is some info on the world of affordable spirits (drinkable variety)  south of the border.

Table Wines

For the devoted drinker of red wine, the biggest drawback of living in Mexico is that it is not a wine-drinking country.  I really should have moved to the Mediterranean.

Wine is not everywhere in Mexico.  It’s rarely to be found in little corner tienditas or even midsize markets, and many liquor stores don’t bother with it either.  The best source for wine is the really large supermarkets like Soriana, Comerical Mexicana, and Walmart, which carry selections of imported wine in a range of prices.  Good buys can be had on bottles from Chile, Argentina and Spain.  (Of course, this being Mexico, you’ll probably never find the same thing twice, so don’t get too attached to anything.)  Our biggest find to date has been five bottles of really decent champenoise from Argentina for ~$2 a bottle at a Walmart closeout.

For everyday use, I’ve found two sources of acceptable plonk in Mexico that I can recommend.  One is the  California label, produced by Valle Redondo in Aguascalientes.  It comes in red and white (both are good) and is sold in 1-liter tetrapaks in the aforementioned large grocery markets.  It can also be found at Sam’s Club in gallon jugs at a comparable price.  The regular red and white are still hanging in there under ~$3 a liter as of this writing.  Valle Redondo also offers tetrapaks of a Cabernet Sauvignon (north of ~$4) which I haven’t tried.

Equally drinkable and even a few pesos cheaper is Don Simón, a Spanish brand, in a choice of red or white in 1-liter tetrapaks.

In the same vein and price range, Costco sells gallon jugs of a brand called F. Chauvenet, made in Baja California where something of a Mexican wine industry is developing.  I haven’t tried the white but the red is acceptable although I prefer the other two.

In the ~$7 range, another Baja winery, L.A. Cetto, makes some really decent white wines, although I don’t care for their reds.

The most widely available Mexican wine is Padre Kino, which I find totally undrinkable.  The red is SWEET (horrors!).  I’ve used the white to cook mussels in with okay results.  It comes in cute reusable carafes and the last time I noticed the price it was over ~$4 a liter.

Sherry

Mexico only produces sweet sherry (vino tipo Jerez) that I know of.  I’ve gotten quite fond of it.  Mexican Jerez is dark and syrupy with distinct raisny overtones.  The two brands I’ve found are Valle Redondo and Tres Coronas.  Both are cheap.  It’s really too sweet for most cooking purposes, so I substitute white wine for that.  For dry or medium sherries, Spanish brands can be had for a price.

Liqueurs

Indigenous varieties of sweet stuff are plentiful.  My favorite is Mexico’s version of Cointreau, Controy, which is fabulous (actually tastes closer to Grand Marnier) and a mere ~$8 a bottle.   Also try Rompope (many different brands available), a delicious eggnog-type liqueur, and Don Pancho, an excellent coffee liqueur a fraction of the price of the famous brand.  In addition to the big national brands, there are many small producers of licores made from locally grown items such as quince (membrillo), almonds, etc., whose products can be found in tourist shops, street markets, and local liquor stores.

Beer

If you’re a beer drinker, this is a good place.  Mexico produces dozens of great beers.  Not the cheapest thrill on the block, but good value.

Hard Stuff

If it’s tequila you’re looking for, we are in Valhalla here.  I personally never got into the tequila mystique, it’s all gasolina to me, so I only buy the cheapest, in big plastic jugs.  Rum (destilado de caña) is similarly available at dirt-cheap prices.  I’ve been experimenting with homemade liqueurs using it as a base.  Several brands of Mexican brandy are produced in varying price ranges and quality.

Other types of hard liquor, such as vodka, bourbon, etc. are mostly imported and therefore relatively costly.

Moonshine

A tradition of self-sufficiency persists in Mexico, as evidenced by a wealth of home- and locally-produced drinkables ranging from Sonoran bacanora (a tequila variant) to fizzing batches of tepache (a kind of pineapple wine) ladled from five-gallon buckets by roadside vendors (highly recommended).

¡Salud y felices fiestas!

When we were rebuilding this house last year (and freezing our butts off in a dismal, damp-walled rental), a big preoccupation was how to heat the place in the winter.   After some research, we decided to build a rocket stove in the living room and a corner fireplace in one of the bedrooms.  Now we’re living with these decisions, and the results are decidedly mixed.

The Rocket Stove

I found out about this concept looking around on the internet, and being a big fan of all things innovative and sustainable, promoted it enthusiastically to the Mexigringo, who I must say looked on it with a rather jaundiced eye from the first.  But I persisted.  It promised one-third the fuel consumption of a conventional wood-stove, clean and thorough wood consumption, a warm, comfy, and architecturally appealing adobe bench to read and snooze on, plus, cheap and easy assembly!  What more could you ask?

It really did seem like a great solution.  We wanted something efficient because of our large space and high ceilings.  Wood is available but not plentiful here, so the promise of low fuel consumption appealed.  The back of the how-to-do-it book asserted that it could be thrown together in a weekend by anyone with minimal building experience.  And, we already had a huge pile of adobe construction rubble on site which could be recycled into the bench.

So we built it and now it’s winter and we’re using it.  And have somewhat sadly concluded that doing this in Mexico was way more trouble than it was worth.

For starters, the materials, so easily obtainable and often free in the states, ranged from difficult to impossible to find here and involved literally weeks of searching hither and yon.  They were also expensive.  Nothing goes to waste in Mexico:  An old barrel is not a throwaway item but a valuable asset to be parted with only in exchange for cash.  The only freebies were the dirt and sand, which are plentiful locally.  There were no “cheapies.”

The stove took us WAY longer than a weekend to build, more like three weeks all told, and that’s not counting the bench, which we finished months later.  The book’s breezy assertion that any idiot could do this left us feeling like, well, lower than idiots.  In practice, the how-to instructions often proved vague, contradictory or open to various interpretations, leading to much lost time and interpersonal strain among the construction crew.   At some point we realized that no information was given on how to finish the surface of the bench — that was in another book.  One of our cats decided the unfinished bench was a giant kitty box, and we had to cover it over with tarps and weights.  It was not an easy journey, any of it.

Upon using the stove, it appears to be mostly suitable for colder climates than ours.  It’s meant to be fired up on a daily basis, which warms the adobe bench, which then radiates a steady warmth.  So far this year (which does seem unusually mild) we’ve yet to use it two days running, as we’ve been having chilly days alternating with warm days.  So we haven’t been able to benefit from heated bench effect.

Lastly, the stove is temperamental (as the book more than adequately warns).  It has lots of personality, and a bit of a personality disorder — if not given abundant attention, it tends to pout and smoke.   If YOU are temperamental too, then this is perhaps not the best stove for you.  On the other hand, if you’re what they call process-oriented — but really REALLY process-oriented — it may be just the thing.

To the stove’s credit, it does take off the chill in a hurry once we light it up.  This in a 12 x 30 ft. room with 14 ft.  ceilings and tons of windows.  Who knows what wonders it might perform in a smaller space?

To sum up, if we had it to do over again, we wouldn’t, not here anyway.  But if I ever found myself mysteriously transplanted to the back woods of Oregon, I’d totally try it again, hopefully with the help of lots of knowledgeable mountain-man types.  Ironically, these heating stoves are a spinoff of a successful cooking stove developed for use in Third World countries with wood depletion problems.   The heater version, however, appears more doable back in The Land of the Affluent.

If you’re interested in learning more about rocket stoves, see the book Rocket Mass Heaters by Ianto Evans and Leslie Jackson, or their website here.

And stay tuned for part 2 of this tale, which has a happier ending…

Most everybody we know belongs to one or the other of these consumer emporia, not because their prices are so great, but because they carry certain items that just can’t be found elsewhere.  The items on our usual list are few but critical:  Kitty litter, olive oil, Parmesan cheese, cod liver oil caps, paper towels.  Sometimes we’ll splurge on giant jars of marinated artichoke hearts, jamon serrano (similar to prosciutto), or the occasional find in the liquor department.

We’ve been bouncing back and forth between the two, being too cheap to join both at $40 a year (that was a year ago, who knows what it might be by now with inflation raging).

We started out at Sam’s, because when we first moved we had a card from the states that worked in Mexico too.  Then last year we were lured to Costco by their fabulous, irresistible deal on jamon serrano.  Sam’s was selling single packets for about ~$12 US, and we discovered Costco had boxes of 10 packets for less than ~$25!  So, no contest, we migrated to Costco.  They also have both 5-liter jugs of regular olive oil, and 2-liter jugs of extra-virgin, whereas Sam’s had only 3-liter jugs of extra-virgin, which I would (extravagantly) use for frying and everything.

However, we’re thinking of migrating back when our card expires, because of the kitty litter problem.  The Costco product is perfumed to the point of inducing nausea, and we’re about ready to renounce our jamon serrano habit to see the last of it.   Another thing I won’t miss is Costco’s wasteful, annoying, mile-long paper towels.

But we will miss the artichoke hearts.  And the 5-liter olive oil.  Maybe we should live dangerously for once and just cough up for membership in both.  The way things are going in the global economy, who knows if they’ll even be around this time next year?

The conventions regarding street addresses in Mexico are somewhat different than those in gringolandia, and not terribly consistent from one place to another, but here are some general pointers that may be helpful.

The street name is given first, the number second:

Calle 25, No. 150 (25th Street, Number 150)

There is often, especially in big cities, a helpful addition of nearby cross streets given:

Calle 25, No. 150 ÷ 66 y 68 (read as “entre [between] 66 and 68th Aves.),

or Calle 25, No. 150 x 76 (por [near, by, or at] 76th Ave.)

or Calle 25, No. 150, Esq. 76 (esquina [at the corner of] 76th)

Most towns consist of named neighborhoods called colonias, which are included in the address.

Calle 25, No. 150 x 76, Colonia Centro

Or newer areas of housing developments may be designated as Fraccionamiento (abbreviated Fracc.) rather than Colonia.

And finally, there’s the city, state, and zip.

Merida, Yucatan C.P. 97000

Mexico

I saw somewhere that it’s a good idea to write “C.P.” before the codigo postal on mailing addresses in Mexico to distinguish them from US zip codes which are identical in some cases. Probably not a bad idea.

Many buildings, especially in smaller communities, have never been anointed with a number. These may be designated as either

Calle 150 S/N (Calle 150 sin numero [without number])

or

Domicilio Conocido (known residence)

This may seem excessively vague and annoying by gringo standards, but Mexicans move about far less than their northern neighbors, making a rigid system of addresses a low priority item to say the least.

If you’re searching for a specific address, locating the street and then the number is unlikely to work too well anyway, as street signs and building numbers are conspicuously lacking. It’s usually necessary to ask for directions, often repeatedly until you zero in on the location. As with most things in Mexico, personal interaction is required, and landmarks such as “the Corona beer store” or “the telephone tower” are usually more useful than street names and numbers.

Looking for a house in Mexico can be either an amusing adventure or a nightmare, depending on how much of a hurry you are in. As with most other matters Mexican, hurry is bad. Patience is all. The remarks below apply to houses either for rent or for sale.

It can’t hurt to try the familiar approaches first — especially if you’re in an urban, touristy, or expatriate area — of real estate agents, newspaper ads, and the internet. These sources are the least labor-intensive, and the most likely to offer properties with gringo-style amenities. They’re also most likely to have gringo-style prices.

If you decide to venture further afield in search of a bargain, or more “authentic” surroundings, it will be necessary to resort to the time-honored “wild goose chase” method. This method will be the only choice if you’re in a non-urban locale with few tourists or expats.

The Mexican wild goose chase is a decidedly demanding pursuit, and is best carried out with proper preparation and equipment. Essential items include:

• A cell phone
• Notebook and pen
• Map of the area (if available)
• Good walking shoes
• Spanish (or interpreter)
• Car

The cell phone is the most important. The other stuff will help you to attempt to stay organized, and to endure. This is the purpose of the notebook. Make it a point — nay, a religion — to write down every possible detail about each place you see. That is, the actual address if you can ascertain it and/or cross streets and landmarks, a brief physical description of the place (”yellow house on corner”), and any names and phone numbers given. Also write down the name of anybody you talk to about the place. Leave ample room around each entry so you can keep all the followup notes with it, crossing out bad phone numbers, adding in new ones, etc. Doing this may seem a bit laborious at the time, but becomes indispensable after things begin to blur together approximately halfway through the first day.

If the place has a sign with a phone number on it, always call immediately while you’re standing in front of it. You might get lucky and find someone willing to run over and show you the inside.

If a phone number doesn’t seem to work, do not give up immediately. Sometimes area codes are omitted from signs, or the fact that it’s a cell phone, etc. If possible enlist the help of a local to ascertain what the problem might be.

Once organized for the chase, the remainder really lies in the domain of chance. When relying on randomness, hazard, luck, fortune, synchronicity, the Fates, etc., it behooves you to increase your chances as much as possible by using a two-pronged approach: Talking and Walking.

Talking involves telling everyone you meet what you are looking for. This means anybody you can get to talk or listen to you — the employees at your hotel, the shoeshine boy, the person on the park bench, the ice cream vendor, the bus driver, any friends or acquaintances you have in the area — everyone. Get out and mingle at every opportunity, even when not in active hunting mode, in order to come into contact with as many people as possible. Have your notebook on you at all times so you can write down any information you get.

Walking involves a systematic combing of the area. Start at one end of the town, neighborhood, etc., and troll every street in as thorough a way as possible, looking for signs and unoccupied buildings and accosting anyone you happen upon. Depending on the size of the area you’re considering, this may take a while.

Note that many Mexican neighborhoods are not as homogeneous as stateside ones and humble dwellings can often be found rubbing shoulders with much fancier digs. Also remember that it’s Spanish tradition not to flaunt one’s wealth: the most unpromising exterior may harbor a gem within. So avoid making snap judgments and look at everything. Because you just never know.

People in the neighborhood can be a treasure trove of information. If you need to locate the owner of a place, ask the neighbors, or at nearby tienditas. These folks will often be able to provide you with the owner’s name, phone number, home address, and life history, as well as details about the house and leads to other houses that might be available.

You have to start somewhere, and looking for signs is as good a way as any, but any empty house is a potential candidate and most of them don’t have signs. So ask away, write everything down, follow up every lead, have patience, and happy hunting!

I’d have to say the difficulty of getting information is right up there with shopping withdrawal as a major source of culture shock to gringos in Mexico, or at least to this one. We’re always hearing about how we live in an “information society,” but it never really meant much to me until I moved to Mexico, which is decidedly not a member of the club, surface appearances to the contrary. It’s true that communications technology here has improved vastly. Cell phones and internet cafes are everywhere, and you can get phone and even high-speed internet service in most places now. So, if I need to find the zip code of a bank in NY, or find out the hours of a museum in Paris, it’s business as usual. However, if I need the zip code of a bank in Mexico City, or the hours of a museum in Oaxaca, say, I’m likely to be out of luck.

The tech revolution in Mexico has mainly accomplished two things that I can see: (1) Enabling the population to do what it loves best, which is to chat with one another, more often, and (2) enriching the providers. In terms of making information available, it hasn’t done a whole lot. Getting information is not the easy walk through the Yellow Pages we gringos are accustomed to, and I’ve personally found this more frustrating than shopping problems.

I used to get really irritated with the Mexigringo, in the early days of our relationship, when we needed to shop for some specific item. He’d jump in the car and drive to the nearest likely store, get out of the car, wander all over the store, finally find a clerk only to learn that they didn’t have such an item, then get back in the car and drive on to the next store. We lived in L.A., by the way, where there are lots of stores. I found his approach to shopping the biggest waste of time I’d ever seen, and thought it was some kind of character defect on his part. With time, I convinced him of the superiority of looking in the Yellow Pages and calling around first. Well, twenty years later, I now know why he did it that way. It’s the only way you can ever find anything in Mexico.

It’s not that Yellow Pages don’t exist in Mexico, they do; you’ll usually be given a copy when you get a new phone, and you can also obtain them just by asking in any TelMex office. And they look just like the ones in the states, from the outside. It’s once you try to use them that you realize you’re not in Kansas anymore.

One big problem is that only a miniscule portion of businesses advertises in them. It’s way beyond the means of most small businesses here. So you’re less likely to find a good price even if you manage to find the item or service in question.

If you do find a place in there, don’t expect their business hours to be noted, that’s rare indeed. Sometimes even the address will be lacking, you’ll need to call and ask for it. Good luck if you don’t speak Spanish!

The rationale behind the categories used in the Mexican Yellow Pages is obscure, nay mysterious, in the extreme. One of my favorites is the long series beginning with the designation “Artículos” (things). You have things for beauty, things for photography, things for the home, things for engineering and architecture, things for publicity and promotion, religious and church things, things for industrial cleaning and maintenance, and things for regular cleaning. Some, but not nearly enough, of these are cross-indexed to the more useful word (i.e. the non-thing word). Another great category is “Materiales,” which encompasses teaching materials, electric materials, first aid materials, materials for laboratories, schools, and industries (huh?), materials for hospitals and clinics, iron materials, construction materials, decorating materials, packing materials, raw materials, raw materials for the food industry, and raw materials for the rubber industry. Oh and, not wishing to belabor the subject, but I can’t neglect to mention the eminently helpful “Tiendas” (stores) category.

The White Pages are not much better. An amazing number of really large concerns are nowhere to be found in them. (I remember spending half a day once trying to locate the number of the beauty salon at Liverpool, a huge upscale department store in Merida. The MG finally found it by calling directory assistance). And just FORGET trying to find the number of a government office or anything like that.

Lots of big places, like banks, have websites now. Beautifully designed, great graphics, a button to click for all the bank’s branch locations which you’re looking for – and no locations listed behind the link. Lots of style. No links.

You can try finding stuff through the newspaper classifieds too, but these have their own special annoyance: They almost never specify a price in the ad. People are very coy about stating prices in Mexico. So, you have to call in order to find out if you’re even interested in the item.

The real information network in Mexico is the person-to-person one, as it has always been. This involves asking anyone you can corner where to find the desired item or service, following up on their suggestion, and repeating the process (also known as the wild goose chase) until you either find what you need or decide you really didn’t need it after all.

Feeding the little buggers south of the border has proven to be quite a hassle, which is presently in abeyance only due to our proximity to el otro lado. It’s not that you can’t get cat food here, it’s that you can’t get DECENT cat food. Well, here’s the story.

We have three cats, two about age 6 and one who’s over 10. So, they were already old – and set in their little ways – when we moved to Mexico. I had started buying so-called premium brands of cat food some years ago after reading scary things about the cheaper stuff, and during the last years of the late, great, much-mourned Lolita, who had a delicate digestion. So these current cats had long been dining off one of those pricey brands from Petco, something with “nature” in the name if I remember (and YES!! One of the very brands that poisoned all those cats about a year ago, thank GOD we moved when we did), along with a brand of dry food called Azmira which I got at the Holistic Animal place in Tucson. They all seemed to do fine on this.

Fast forward to Yucatan. We’d brought a couple months’ supply (one of the more brilliant ideas I ever had) because even in my boundless ignorance at the time, I had a wee suspicion that I wouldn’t want to be hunting for CAT FOOD in a strange land while rehabilitating a house and trying to figure out how to feed us.

The cans ran out first, and that was simple, we just went back to Friskies. You can get it in Walmart and its clones, and large supermarkets like Soriana and Comercial Mexicana. Whiskas is equally available, but our cats won’t eat a lot of their flavors, so I gave up on that. So, we had Friskies. It’s about 60 cents US a can as of this writing.

Then we ran out of the dry food, and that turned into a BEEG problem. We got some Whiskas dry (known as croquetas in Spanish), which is available everywhere I’ve been in Mexico. You can get it in bags or boxes in grocery stores, and many little tienditas have a giant bag on hand and will sell you the stuff by weight.

Well, the cats liked that fine too, but I noticed that after about three weeks they were getting really jumpy, and their coats turned dull, and I could see that this just wasn’t going to work. Cheap-food carbo OD. So the search was on for some better quality dry cat food. Which we finally located, after numerous trials and tribulations which I haven’t the strength to relate here, in a – get this – pet store in the Gran Plaza shopping mall in Mérida. Eukanuba. At 400 pesos or $40 US smackers for a teensy 8-pound bag. Yep. We love our kitties, yes we do!!

The good news is that it worked, their shiny coats returned and their nervousness abated. The only real downside was that sinking feeling I got every time I had to shell out 40 bucks for another bag.

Eukanuba also makes dog food, by the way.

Then we moved to central Mexico, taking a couple of bags of Eukanuba along, of course. By the time those ran out, we managed to locate a source, not exactly local, in a veterinary clinic about 30 minutes away. Crisis averted once again.

Along about that time, feeling royally sick and tired of the whole cat food business, I started researching on the net how I might feed them real food, so that I’d actually know what I was giving them. Well, THAT turned out to be quite a Pandora’s box, and with disappointing results to boot. I did learn a lot. Cats, it seems, are what they call “obligate carnivores” which means they need meat, pretty much exclusively. Unlike dogs, who can thrive on a more varied diet. It’s something to do with the length of their digestive tracts. Cats also need a substance called taurine, which is added to commercial cat foods. Not all meats contain taurine for some reason. Although liver supposedly has some, and heart has the most of all (yum, yum!). Maybe some of the taurine comes from crunching on little bones in the wild; according to one source you can roast egg shells and grind them up and put them in your homemade cat food to provide taurine.

Then, as if all this weren’t enough, there’s the hotly debated issue of cooked vs. raw meat. And what kinds of meat. And on, and on, and on.

I decided to experiment, and at least supplement their diet with some “real food.” Up to then it hadn’t occurred to me that the cats themselves might not be in favor of any more dietary changes. At least a variety of meats was available where we were living. We even had a friend who owned a butcher shop! I tried quite a few things. The two younger cats LOVED raw liver, couldn’t get enough of it, but every time we gave it to them one of them would barf it, in the middle of the night, all over our down comforter. Which we would then have to wash. Which was not good for it. All of them were lukewarm on ground beef, raw or cooked. The tabby adored raw chicken; and they all deigned to eat cooked chicken. The older cat would eat only cooked chicken, and would have nothing to do with any of the other stuff. They unanimously hated the heart, raw or cooked, taurine-packed though it supposedly was. I got stuck with a kilo of the stuff. WE certainly weren’t going to eat it.

As you can see, there’s no happy ending to this story. A few months after the Failed Real Food Experiments, we took a bunch of paintings up to Arizona, and bought a couple 25-lb bags of Azmira in Tucson. 25 pounds!!! For only 25 dollars!! We couldn’t believe how incredibly, miraculously cheap that seemed. And soon thereafter, we moved to Sonora, which is only a few hours away from Tucson. If we ever move back to central Mexico, I’m not sure what we’ll do. I guess if we could afford to do that, we’d also be able to afford Eukanuba. Or Azmira via FedEx.

Meanwhile, if we should foolishly acquire any new cats, we’d be well advised to raise them from the start on real food (with egg shells, I guess, or I think you can buy taurine supplements, which would certainly be cheaper to FedEx than 25-lb bags of Azmira).