If the sip of a crimson drink will take me there, I will go.  I will go freely and happily, just as this tart, crisp flower that stained my water to a delicious and refreshing memory lures me back, I will go willingly.  Because even though the traffic is horrendous, the likes of Bangkok’s gridlocks and Cairo’s chaos, and even though the news of crime and kidnap and danger ricochets from its warm and forgotten embrace terrorizing those outside its magic and charm, I will go, gladly,  I will go back to Mexico.

I gravitate towards the most crowded spot in the city, the Mercado de la Merced, the Saturday market, a labyrinth of tiny alleys and passageways leaking with cow guts and blood from pigs’ feet, where chickens dangle upside down in skinned nudity, waiting to be snatched and boiled …Read on

I was greeted by a dead 25-pound iguana when I opened my front door to get the New York Times yesterday morning. It was a learning opportunity having this prehistoric creature available at such close range, but even still, sad and gross. The poor thing had frozen to death; unable to withstand the uncharacteristic frigid evening that had blasted South Florida the night before. It lay there upside down, little claws sticking straight up to the sky with its tail whipped along my crocus plant like another lost weed.

“Wow! This would be awesome for my animal-obsessed seven-year old son to see,” I thought to myself. How fascinated would he be to have an up close look at this precursor to one of his all-time favorites, the dinosaur?

But once I spoke the thought out …Read on

The first diploma I ever got hung proudly in the one place I felt people would truly contemplate it: my bathroom wall. I had worked hard to get it and wanted it fully appreciated. The space was small and with few distractions, so I imagined that as folks would go about their business they’d be happy to meet face to face with my diploma and indivertibly contemplate its scholarly script. Plus, the diploma always got a response from the bathroom-goer. Nine times out of ten, any newcomer to my bathroom would exit with a surprised look and say, ‘Really? Columbia University? Bartending?’ and I would slowly smile and gloat (each time) filling with pride and a sense of endless accomplishment because I had snagged a coveted Ivy League education, even if only in the unscholarly art of mixing the …Read on

Passover begins this Saturday, and now, bottle upon bottle of the Jewish version of fine wine (also known a Kosher Sweet Concord Grape Wine) are flooding stores promising to add an unquestionable delight to the celebration.It’s true, as a people we are not really known for our consumption of alcohol. We tend to gravitate more toward food items: a tender brisket, an unbeatable chopped liver, homemade kugel, and, of course, the famous cure-all chicken soup. Yes, name the place and the occasion and we will be there. We will chug mouthfuls in the blink of an eye and come back for more.Still, holidays are created to forge exceptions, and Passover, one of the most festive and culinarily charged celebrations, paves the way in placing alcohol on the same pedestal of food.Wine is introduced in an all-inclusive …Read on

My nephew David became an official Jew last week. That’s a nice way of saying he got his penis snipped. Most Jewish men will tell you it is a very proud moment: in fact, they will go as far to say it is the most important moment for the Jewish male. Of course, I think they say this because they can’t remember a thing of their own snipping and they need desperately believe in this to counteract the panic they feel surging in their groin as the preparation for the brit takes place. The Brit Milah, which in Hebrew literally translations to “covenant of circumcision” is also referred to as a ‘bris milah’ or simply the Yiddish, “bris.” It is the religious ceremony that welcomes infant Jewish boys into a covenant between God and all Jews …Read on