Una Torta, Porfa

"Una texana, por favor," I say to the tortero, who nods briefly and returns his attention to the grill. I have just ordered one of the greasier, more satisfying sandwiches offered here. The hand-painted sign to my left explains that the white French roll will be filled with milanesa (breaded, fried strips of beef), chuleta (fried pork cutlet), and quesillo (melted Oaxaca cheese). I know to expect the bread to be grilled and the avocado to be spread on generously, not unlike mayonnaise. I'm no stranger to this sandwich shop. Over the month I've been working in Mexico City it's become my favorite and most-frequented lunch stop.

A rickety shack, it stands at the busy corner of Horacio and Emerson in Mexico City's bustling business district. The front of the stand boasts its purpose in large, hand-painted, red and yellow letters: Super Tortas. And they are super. Six basic ingredients are thrown together in nearly all possible combinations to make a menu of over a dozen items, each bearing their own name – Texana, Rusa, Olga, etc. All these options are presented at prices ranging from 18 pesos ($1.70 USD) to the fully loaded Cubana for 35 pesos ($3.25 USD).

Puestos de tortas, as Mexicans call them, are a popular choice for local fast food. Their popularity is evident by their prevalence throughout the city. Some have wheels, and are supported by planks of wood on the uneven pavement. Most of them don't look like they're supposed to be there at all. They block sidewalks, stand in front of other businesses and steal electricity. It's important to be watchful when passing by a puesto de tortas, as you may need to duck to avoid hanging wires.

I can hear the sizzle of chuleta on the grill through the window separating us. The smell of greasy street meat mingles with diesel fumes from passing traffic. To my right is a microbus stopped at a red light. It's the same one I take to and from work, though at this time of day it's not packed to the ceiling with people and no one is hanging on to the outside. I find myself thinking of how unfair it is that those who don't quite make it inside the bus still have to pay the full fare. The light turns green and cars immediately start honking, signaling nothing other than their own impatience. It's all part of the pollution for which Mexico City is famous.

I look back at the tortero, who is hard at work on what will soon be my lunch. The quesillo is now melting away on the grill, mixed in with the chuleta. He pulls the milanesa from the bucket where it's been draining of oil, along with a pile of deep-fried hot dogs. He's a rotund fellow, no doubt full of healthy servings of torta himself. He wears the quintessential Mexican mustache, as do several of the other customers.

"What kind of chili do you want?" he asks. I always enjoy hearing those words, as they mean that my lunch is nearly ready. Every torta comes with one of two types of chilies: rajas, sliced peppers, or chipotle, smoked jalapeños in adobo sauce. Today, as usual, I go with the rajas. I can feel the Mexican sun beating down on the back of my neck. At an altitude of 7,347 feet, the difference between sun and shade is noticeable, to say the least. Here, the sun is particularly fierce, and likes to burn. I can't quite get under the shelter of the blue awning, as there are several patrons crowded around, eating their tortas from a small ledge on the front of the shack. Puestos de tortas always offer the option to 'eat in.'

The tortero uses the tools he needs to assemble my sandwich. This includes one slightly undersized spatula, and one large, meaty paw. He's not afraid to get his hands dirty, and clearly doesn't think that I mind if he does, either. After expertly wrapping it in paper, he slices the torta once horizontally, and passes it to me in a paper bag twisted once to provide a perfectly snug fit. In return, I pass him three coins through the hole in the window.

As has become my habit, I've decided to enjoy my lunch in the relative calm and clean air of my office. Once across the four lanes that separate my office from the puesto de tortas I glance back at the other customers, happily enjoying their own tortas on a one-foot deep counter, nestled between pedestrians and passing traffic.

"Maybe next week," I think. 'Eating in' is one cultural bridge I have yet to cross.


Colin Nekolaichuk is currently working on a six-month internship with the Canadian Education Centre Network in Mexico City. He enjoys traveling, cooking, and studying languages.