by ALICE AND YANKA

Though pretty much all jobs suck, we’ve always wanted to work the graveyard shift in a post office. So what if, according to mythology or whatever it’s called, postal workers are known to be wild greaseballs? We don’t mind. Is there a better way to spend the night than with arms buried up to the elbow in trillions of letters amongst sweaty postmen? Jamais d’la vie.

En attendant l’apothéose, des fois on travaille pour vrai. Today, it’s been 10 days in a row sucking the corporate dick et ça use en criss, pis pas juste les genoux. Looking for a drink, on est tellement décâlissées qu’on s’rend même pas compte qu’on est à NDG instead of Park Ex. Sad, hein?

Une quille de 500 du dépanneur is about to end this sorry quest when a board on the sidewalk nous écorche la rétine. Caza Azul, it says. There’s an awful nondescript door sandwiched between the dep, marché Misol and a gambling hellhole. “Do you make margaritas?” we holler into the empty stairway. “Sì,” it echoes back.

La Caza is not blue. It’s a brightly lit sous-sol mexicain where every wall surface is sponge-painted and crazy doilies hang like clotheslines over our heads. The place is dead empty save for a man who invites us to discover 5,000 years of authentic Mexican cuisine. “On est déshydratées par la routine, m’sieur,” is all we have to offer. He doesn’t care one bit. Leaning against a post, he slowly lists the day’s fares, all the ingredients in them and then some.

En bref, there’s no set menu. Marco’s kids cook and they rotate the dishes on an unknown (to us, anyways) basis. He explains he and his wife want to open a factory in Québec and manufacture authentic Mexican products. They’re both accountants. Diego Rivera’s kids are their friends back in Mexico.

Margaritas, enfin. On a les larmes aux yeux; the glass rims are crusted with salt and ground nuclear chilis. Par chance, the liquid part doesn’t taste like diluted frozen bar mix or boiled tequila. Bravo! Ça saoule comme un charme.

Tonight there’s corn-fried fishy, huitlacoche or coriander soup, chicken tacos, cheese quesadilla, some pork dish called pastor and for dessert, “flan or flan.” On n’aime pas l’flan. We want soup ($3.50), chicken tacos ($7.99) and the pastor dish ($9.50).

Marco suggests we reserve in advance next time and bring many friends so he can prepare a fiesta and play Mexican videos. We don’t have any friends but we say, “Ok, why not?” Then he says huitlacoche is corn fungus, not a nervous breakdown, sillies. Ah.

With every dish comes an instruction on how to consume it. There’s cheese and fried something in the coriander soup: il faut tout mixer. It’s good. It tastes like cucumber soup.

The eight small fried cigars huddled together on a bed of shredded iceberg, c’est les tacos. The middle part is covered with white sauce. The trick is to gently spread green salsa on the top part, red salsa on the bottom part; then eat the Mexican flag. Ça nous fait rire mais c’est compliqué. We dip instead and make a mess.

La superstar, c’est pork pastor. It’s not its real name, on l’sait, but there was no tablecloth to take notes on alors c’est comme ça. It’s a whole family of baby tortillas laden with shredded marinated pork, pineapple chunks and cilantro. The human instruction manual says: sprinkle lime all over the plate, take one tortilla, add salsa, fold and eat. We fuck it up in no time mais c’est crissement bon. The man is happy. So are weeeee.

Jonovision, tu es demandé à la réception du cheapmotel@hotmail.com

La Caza Azul
ADDRESS: 5974 Monkland,
NO CAR? Good for you. Metro Villa-Maria &
bus 162 can take you to Mexico, NDG.
PHONE: 481-0200
HOURS: Mon–Sat 2–9:30 p.m.; Sunday closed!
PRESIDENT: Marco Antonio Aguirre R.
BEST FEATURE: The pork pastor dish!
WORST FEATURE: Dry limes!
ALCOHOL: Margaritas @ $6 each.
PRICE: $37 for two, including booze & taxes but not tip.
WHEELCHAIR ACCESS: Maybe 10 steps down;
one step to the bathroom.
TAKE-OUT: Apparently so. Call first. You can shop for chicharron & chiles poblanos in the “épicerie” too.
CARDS: Cash, Interac, Visa.
NO-SMOKING SECTION: Don’t know. We were too tired to smoke.
RATING: Good!