“Don’t eat meat from the street!” That was the advice a friend gave me on my first trip outside of Canada or the US. I can’t remember who was so concerned, but the words stayed with me.
Turns out I should have been warned about life on an all-inclusive resort. It was the mid-90s, and my girlfriends and I were on our way to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico for spring break. We were looking for culture, adventure and well, a good party. Before we even ventured off the resort one girlfriend sprained her ankle, another got food poisoning. When another girlfriend decided to have an early night in I was undeterred! With a group of new friends, I ventured out for a night of dancing.
As we left the club we noticed a light glowing in the distance. Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the rebelliousness of disregarding the ominous advice. But, the lure of the quesadilla cart was too much. Lead by our nose and our stomachs, we approached the woman behind the stand. She offered warm, soft tortillas with a variety homemade salsas and sauces ranging in colour and heat; so began my love for street food.