B-Side

Medical Tourism, Culinary Adventure

Twenty-five years of crossing the border for medical care will do something to you. Not medically — experientially. When Dr. Chayet gave me my vision and Dr. Márquez rebuilt my teeth, they also gave me something neither of them billed for: a reason to stay a little longer and look around.

After my last appointment, Márquez sent me down the street for coffee. Caffe Sospeso. One of the top three cups I’ve had in my life — not an exaggeration, a fact. I walked out onto the sidewalk still thinking about it.

Directly across the street, a carnitas popup. Three square wooden high-tops, standing room only, about twenty-five people deep. No sign. No logo. Just the smell — pork braising low and slow in its own fat, citrus lifting off the surface, spices doing the quiet work underneath.

I knew immediately I’d stumbled into something.

The carnitas were what traditional carnitas are supposed to be: shoulder braised until it falls apart, then crisped on a hot surface until the edges catch and go golden. Served with fresh tortillas, raw white onion, cilantro, two salsas. That’s it. The lime did what acid always does — it cut through the fat and made every bite taste like the first one.

What made it extraordinary wasn’t the technique. It was the restraint. No over-seasoning. No fusion angle. No explanation on a menu about heritage and provenance. Just pork that had been given time and handled with respect.

That’s the thing about real carnitas — the name literally means little meats, and it comes out of Michoacán, where the method has been the same for generations. Slow heat. Patience. Pork fat rendering and braising the shoulder all at once, so the meat cooks in itself. Then a quick blast of high heat to shatter the edges. The contrast between silk and crisp is the whole point. You don’t rush it. You let it become what it’s trying to become.

I stood there eating it with traffic going by, and I thought: the best food is always the simplest food that’s been treated the right way.

A dental appointment brought me to Mexico. Culinary curiosity kept me there a little longer. I didn’t need a reservation. I didn’t need a menu. I just needed to follow the smell across the street.

The best discoveries happen when you stop checking the GPS.

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