Alameda facelift

For nearly all of 2012, the Alameda Central was closed for renovation. I was worried about what might happen to Mexico City's oldest park, which goes back about 400 years. Things don't tend to get better when they are supposedly "fixed" by governments.

It took me a few months to get there -- it was reopened at the end of last year. But I think they did a terrific job. The passageways were repaved with white marble.

The fountains and the statuary were all given a shine and a polish, and there is more greenery than ever, including these lavender bushes, which I understand are easy to maintain.

I went on a Sunday. Before the renovation, las muchachas -- young women who work as housemaids, most of whom come to the city from the provinces -- would dress up and congregate en masse at the Alameda on Sundays, their day off. They would be courted by their male counterparts -- construction workers, shoe shine boys, grease monkeys -- similarly spiffed up for the day.

None of these people were there on the Sunday I visited. It was all middle class families. Ever since I have been haunted by the question: What happened to the muchachas?

Upper crust comida corrida

It is more expensive than the typical comida corrida, but it is also more elegant, healthier and has fresher ingredients. At the corner of Sinaloa and Medellín, a restaurant called Artisans et Boulangers is a great place for a quiet lunch in the colonia Roma Norte. The chef is Japanese, and much of the food, although Western, is at least inflected by her home. They start you off with fresh bread, subtly flavored water (it was chamomile that day) and a homemade olive spread.First course the other day: salmon tartare. Followed by poached extraviado (a fish similar to grouper), served with mashed potatoes and grilled vegetables.

And what they call "angel cake," with homemade whipped cream. All of this, with coffee, cost 179 pesos.

A freebie

Photo by Keith Dannemiller

Keith Dannemiller is a photographer from Ohio who has lived in Mexico City since 1987. We have been friends for about 15 years. Today, he is more chilango than anything else -- he has a Mexican wife, the esteemed journalist Viétnika Batres, and their son Diego is now at university.

So many photographers have come to Mexico from other countries that their work, if not precisely clichéd, has become predictable. It is hard to come up with arresting images that the viewer hasn't seen before. I most admire Keith's work because it's original. He captures the immediacy, the contradictions and the mystery of the city. I've been here forever, but when I look at his photographs, I see my home with fresh eyes.

The Fideicomiso Centro Histórico de la Ciudad de México has begun to publish a series of booklets of photos of the centro, and the photographer they chose for their first book is Keith. For a limited time, the booklet, Callegrafías, is available, free of charge, at the Antigua Librería Madero, on calle Isabel la Católica 97 (near the corner of San Jerónimo) in the centro. Pick up your copy -- more than a memento, I think it will become a collector's item.

A humid institution

If you find yourself stressed by the pressures of navigating one of the most populous cities on earth, you can do what a lot of chilangos do: take a steam bath. There are many bathhouses in the city, but my favorite is Baños Señorial in the centro histórico, on Isabel la Católica #92, between Izazaga and Mesones. If  your thing is a communal steam room, they have those, but I go for the private ones. Their most deluxe version -- the turco privado -- costs about 135 pesos per person (couples tend to come here to, um, unwind together).

This is the changing room where you get undressed and can chill out if the steam gets too hot. Note the TV above the dresser, for those who can't do without it.

This is the shower room, where you can rinse off your perspiration and lie down on that table. I tried to take a picture of the actual steam room, but of course the steam clogged up the lens on my camera.

You've got to love their logo.

If you have the stomach for this

Are organ meats an acquired taste? Perhaps, but I suspect if you don't acquire it at an early age, it's not going to happen. When I was a little boy I wouldn't go near the tripe that my mother prepared, Polish-style, in a creamy sauce. But by the time I was a teenager, I saw the light. When I got to Mexico, in my 20s, I was ready to eat sesadillas (quesadillas stuffed with brains), sopa de fideos con menundencias (noodle soup with giblets) and pancita -- stomach soup, pictured here.

Most people I know won't eat any of this stuff, period. I suspect whether or not you go for offal may have to do with how many generations ago your forebears lived in poverty. Or in Europe, where innards are still considered a delicacy, at least by older folk.

In any case, if you like pancita, or are at least willing to give it a try, I suggest you go to Pancita Rebeca, at calle Golfo de Adén #41, in Colonia Tacuba, where they have been serving it since the 1940s from 6 in the morning to 4 in the afternoon. At Rebeca it's served with a quesadilla (stuffed with cheese, not any other organ), fresh tortillas, lime and verduras -- "vegetables," as chopped onion, cilantro and chile are referred to in these parts. Three freshly prepared sauces adorn the table, including a killer habanera.

My friend, the writer Juvenal Acosta, brought me to Rebeca. Here he is, doing his best to look dignified while wearing the establishment's apron. Is it a lost cause?