For a week I had the pleasure of staying with my younger sister in Puerto Vallarta, where she’d rented an apartment on a steep hill straight up from Mexico’s rugged western coastline for four, 80-degree weather winter months. (Yes, I was just a few kilometers from where those 22 Carnival Cruise passengers were robbed at gunpoint in the jungle.)
Puerto Vallarta is a tourist town, and for good reason: It’s insanely beautiful. The Banderas Bay Beaches, palm-dotted mountains, sunsets that put ours to shame, even with that view of Manhattan in the background. Heck, Liz Taylor and Robert Burton shacked up here for a reason back in the 60s. (Kind of–they had two haciendas across the street from each other, connected by a footbridge, worth a peek should you visit.)
But instead of photos of cobblestoned streets and blooming bougainvillea in many colors and blue blue skies and many many margaritas–they’re about buck, at many of those beachside resorts along the boardwalk where tables and chairs sit directly in the sand–I have only photos of food to show you.
Above are some beauty shots of my favorites: Meals made at home and the best of the taco trucks–where everything comes with pink Peruvian beans and often chopped slaw or pickled red onions, a major difference from the toppings you’ll find here, as most of Brooklyn’s Mexicans immigrated in from central regions, not the western coast. They also serve the “volcano” taco, made with meat and an explosion of salsa and cheese, though sadly those were eaten far too quickly for any photo shoot.