Outskirts of a city without end

Roughly half of the citizens of greater Mexico City live at or below the poverty level. Most of them are in endlessly extending outskirts, in one-story buildings of grey brick and cement, rebar popping from the roof for that hope-springs-eternal day in the future when a second floor might be built. The great majority of those who live privileged lives in the central areas of the Federal District are blithely unaware of the reality of the urban sprawl here.

Many who live in the outskirts do not precisely get a complete nutritional package on a daily basis. Still, if anyone dies of hunger in Mexico City it is an anomaly. If those on the oustkirts live in a way that would be considered marginal in the U.S., Canada or most of Europe, they are doing better than the billion or so humans in the world who go to bed hungry every night. There are few homeless here. Virtually the entire metropolitan area is electrified, has running water, garbage collection and a host of services, however incomplete or irregular.

Unlike some other sections of the country, most in Mexico City tread water at the poverty level but don't sink under its weight. Once in a while, almost miraculously, someone even manages to crawl his way out of it.

(These photos were taken in Mexico State, on the edges of the urban sprawl. The poverty in some sections of Mexico State has been compared by the U.N. to Africa's.)

Beauty parlor

I was recently in Gomez Farías, Chihuahua, and found myself fascinated by this building. I'm not exactly sure why. I think it is the warmth of the words and illustration, and the contrast of the starkness around it. And the shin-level patina.

Nick Gilman and carnitas

In "Regrets," one of the short stories in my book Travel Advisory, a character refers to carnitas as "Swollen slabs of brown and fatty flesh -- hooves and haunches, maws and jaws, cross-hatched tripes, deflated udders, unidentifiable viscera gleaming golden with grease. Stringy, squiggly, plump as pillows, flat as pennies. All on offer in a hole in the wall, protected behind a glass shield, kept warm under an infrared lamp. Carnitas: Mexican mystery meat. This is as deep into a pig as you can go, puerco profundo."

Carnitas are, in fact, hunks of pork, shoulder or butt, mixed with the rest of the pig -- liver, heart, snout, skin, even reproductive organs. They are braised in water or milk, seasoned, subsequently fried and then chopped into bits before being made into tacos. The squeamish order pura maciza (only the white-meat flesh of the pig, unadorned by anything that has to do with bodily functions). But the surtida -- the whole lot mixed together -- is sublime. Before I was diagnosed with high cholesterol, I ate it all the time.

My friend Nick Gilman, pictured above at a presentation for his charming culinary guidebook, Good Food in Mexico City, not long ago  on his website touted La Reina de la Roma, on Calle Campeche between Monterrey and Medellín, as his favorite purveyor of carnitas. I couldn't agree with him more. Whenever I whistle in the dark past the cardiologist, I make a beeline for that changarro.

Art and theft

The Colonia Buenos Aires, in central Mexico City, is full of chop shops where you can buy spare parts or get your car repaired at bargain prices. Auto theft is a common crime in the city, and many claim that the neighborhood's cut-rate rear-view mirrors,  windshields, radios and steering wheels come straight from stolen vehicles.

Don't lose heart, though: your purloined auto may have had a higher purpose. On the traffic island in the middle of Calle Dr. Vertiz, just north of the Viaducto, there is a series of sculptures made from auto parts. Of course no one wants to get their car ripped off, but show some sympathy: We all know how tough it is for struggling artists to acquire their materials.

Swill

Once you leave Mexico, drinking tequila is a dodgy issue. Take a look at the bar at Mena's Palace, a beloved luncheonette in the French Quarter of New Orleans.  On the middle shelf you can find a couple of brands of tequila, "Juarez" and "Pepe Lopez," that I have never seen in Mexico. Call me skeptical, but I wouldn't disinfect my bathtub with that stuff. (I would also stay away from that bottle of  "Aristocrat" gin.) Something tells me that Mena's has Greek owners, because  on the bottom shelf they carry both Metaxa, a brandy I remember from my sojourn in Athens as a 20-year-old, and several brands of ouzo, including one that appears to be twelve years old.