Ringing in a new decade

Welcome to old age.

I have to admit that the eve before my birthday I felt reluctant to leave my 20s behind. It's a curious feeling, since the 20s (at least mine) were filled with angsty self-doubt, plastic furniture and poverty. And yet, something in me felt sad that I would have to move on. As I am drifting off to sleep on August 10th, I rally myself from unconsciousness for a few extra minutes of 29 years old.

But 30 does arrive. Remarkably, it feels pretty much the same. However, I gift myself the day off of work, and To Do lists to celebrate myself.

I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.

My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air, Born here of parents born here from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thirty-seven [or thirty] years old in perfect health begin, Hoping to cease not till death.

Thank you, Walt. That's a good one for 30.

First on the agenda for me are pancakes. They're not that common here in Oaxaca. But I think birthdays should start and end with cake. So...the hunt ensues. I eventually find myself at Naturel, one of my favorite breakfast spots in Oaxaca, up in Colonia Reforma. Pancakes alone won't suffice. I've got a craving for a bit of salt AND sweet. Since indulging oneself is tantamount to proper birthday etiquette, I order enough food for two: a creamy Oaxacan hot chocolate with milk, a freshly squeezed glass of OJ, pancakes topped with fruit and amaranth AND a quesadilla-type dish filled with ricotta cheese, herbs and topped with fresh guacamole and salsa roja.

I take my time noshing and reading a bit. I follow it up with a leisurely stroll through the tree-lined streets of Reforma, wandering back to my hood and home. My friend Itzel is due any moment. We're taking the afternoon to build a birthday picnic.

I hop into Itzel's 30 year-old white punch buggy, and we zip off to a few markets to pick up the necessary ingredients: charcoal for the grill, fresh veggies, mezcal, tasajo and chorizo links, and some fresh quesillo. The market is filled with interesting characters today. Our cheese vendor turns out to be a secret (or not-so-secret) poet. As he winds our long strand of smokey quesillo into a ball, he recites bawdy limmericks to passerby. And as we're filing out the front door, making our way to the car, a nieve vendor sings to us of our beauty, 'Hola, bonita! Qué tal, chula! No quieren un poco de nieve?" The sweet compliments inspire us to stop and purchase a bit of nieve (snow).

The "guest bedroom" at Itzel's; cozy up in a hammock

We zip along out towards the direction of Etla, to the village where Itzel lives, San Lorenzo Cacaotepec. She shares a beautiful home with her friend Luzbella, on a large piece of property, filled with citrus trees, avocado trees, and delicate cypress reaching up to the sky.

On the agenda is a Mexican barbecue, of sorts. Itzel slices up the nopales (flat cactus leaves), wraps the tasajo and chorizo links in foil, cleans the calabazas (small, wild squash) and green onions. I'm in charge of the salsa; after sautéing the jalapeños and tomatoes in a shallow pan, I grind them up to a fine pulp in the molcajete. Meanwhile, Luzbella gets the coal-fired barbecue going outside. This bbq is a bit different than Dad's Weber at home. It's really an open-mouthed square dish, lined with course chunks of charcoal. We place the calabazas, green onions and foiled-wrapped meats straight into the fire. The other munchies (like fresh tortillas with epazote leaves and quesillo, get sandwiched between metal grates, and held over the fire.

Look at that grinding action!

A small, shin-height table is pulled out onto the lawn. Our meal will overlook the green garden and empty pool out back of the house.


As the meal heats, we take turns making our own concoction of grilled nopales with tortilla and quesillo, or toasted calabazas with red salsa; I even take a bite of the whole white bulb of a green onion. Yum! We toast mezcal, sucking from fresh limes to chase the spicy Mexican liquor made from maguey plants.

As the sun starts to dip towards the horizon, Itzel and I hop back in her car and head for city center. I've got a phone date with Mom, and Itzel's got a coffee date in the Zócalo.

Mom and I share a nice chat. She calls this birthday a milestone--which I'm reluctant to agree with--as that makes me feel some extra pressure to make this one count. In fact, I think my birthday is better seen as an opportunity to take stock of the year, and also to honor what one has accomplished--something I think I often forget to do throughout the other 364 days.

It's dark now. 10 o'clock ticks off, and Alex comes by to take me out to a late dinner. I'm stuffed at this point, for sure. But there's always that extra birthday stomach we keep in reserve once a year. We head to Trastévere, an upscale Italian place not too far from my house. A bottle of wine, seafood ravioli in red Vodka sauce, and some reminiscing about what we were like 10 years ago caps the evening.

Truly it was a lovely birthday.