Yucatán

I have learned much from the regional cuisine of Yucatán, a fantastic mixture of elements that still preserves both pre-Columbian cooking techniques of the Maya and a lot of influences that came with conquerors and traders from several parts of Europe. But I have to admit that my first-hand research trip was overshadowed by an entirely different experience. Every impression is filtered in my memory through a curtain of pain—real physical pain.

I am scarcely able to climb off the plane at Mérida airport. I can hardly walk as we emerge into the most paralyzing heat I can imagine. (It is early morning, but already the air hits your lungs like a blast furnace.) I am fresh from a disastrous, unplanned overnight stay at an airport in the state of Tabasco where, between lugging heavy purchases and sleeping on the airport floor, I somehow managed to wrench a muscle in my back. I am in agony, hardly able to take in the sight of the majestic ciudad blanca (white city) that is Mérida. My mother is with me, busily reminding me that she had warned me not to visit these parts in summer. Through my discomfort I half register the sunlit blaze of white buildings against a background of tropical vegetation, tall palm trees, and brilliant flowering plants.