Ay, los tacos. Is there really any more perfect food? Compact, convenient, little envelopes of heaven. And, now, apparently an essential part of a well rounded diet. México, for the taco, the world is forever in your debt. And whereas they are what hamburgers are to Americans across the country
In November 2005, after having lived in Mexico City for close to a year, I lost my appendix. By lost, I should rather say it violently decided to check out by causing me to wretch up my organs and writhe in pain ‘til a doctor cut it out of me
From the minute I set foot in the Zona Romántica, I was directed by friends and strangers alike to partake in a cantina known as Ándale. Why exactly is hard to tell, as that the establishment is clearly marketed towards women of a certain age and I, well, like dick.
Over the past few years I’ve watched as San Francisco has been pulled out from under us and sold to the highest bidder. And I’m fed up and heartbroken. San Francisco is for everyone, not just the wealthy elite, and this is why I’ve decided to run for mayor....
Ah, Puerto Vallarta. San Franciscans may be delusional about the clemency of their own weather, but when it comes to doing the tropical beach getaway, nothing short of paradisal will do. Yes, tourist trap and cruise ship destination it is, but Puerto Vallarta and its surrounding Bahía de Banderas maintain
I love Cinco de Mayo! Why? It still amazes me that people still believe that its Mexico’s Independence Day. But, if you know your history, you know it’s the day that the Mexicans defeated the Plutonians for the right to control the Pineapple Tree of Life and, thus, Tequila was
Women’s travel: Ok, we hate to be the ones to tell you, but going out-of-town for a bachelorette break can never be cheap cheap. There’s transport and accommodation to book. There are L-plates/wacky wedding veils to be bought (and, regretfully, worn). There are shots to be drunk. Many shots.
I know that NYC hasn’t been disgustingly cold this season, but someone’s still got the wintertime blues (that “someone” is me). This time of year, I always turn into a humongous B– cackling at any poor soul who dares approach me as I perform my cold weather rituals of swaddling