The Soup Nazi of Tuxpan

There is a restaurant on the entrance to the town which Luis has wanted to take me to for a long time. One night we were driving around, trying to decide which version of meat, cheese and tortillas we wanted for dinner that night (tostadas, tacos, quesadillas – they are all different versions of the same ingredients). Suddenly we thought “pozole”. Pozole is a wonderful soup made with hominy, pork, and cuero (skin). You can add cabbage, hot sauce, jalapeno peppers, lime juice to it to flavor it as you like. For gringas like me, you can even request it without the cuero. It’s kind of a Mexican version of Vietnamese Pho.

Luis said that restaurant had great pozole, so we should try them if they were open. We arrived and sat ourselves. They still had pozole, so we ordered two bowls. Luis started to tell our waitress what he wanted in his, but she cut him off and told him that the soup comes with everything included, regardless. Ok, that’s fine.

As we sat waiting for our pozole, other customers came in with buckets, hoping to buy pozole to take home. (It’s a common thing here to bring your own plates and containers when you go to buy food to go. Want a tostada? Where is your plate? Need some salsa with that? Where’s your Tupperware container?) Apparently we were the lucky last pozole eaters that night. Each customer who walked half way into the restaurant with a bucker was immediately told, “ya no hay” – there isn’t any left. And each customer who heard those words turned around with a disappointed look on their face and walked out to look for another source of food for dinner.

Not many people sell pozole in their restaurants here. I’m a little surprised, especially after seeing how many people were in search of it that one night. But apparently it’s a difficult thing to make, especially to make it well. And our current restaurant chef knew how to make a good pozole.

I commented on this and Luis told me, “the owner is an asshole. If you come in with an attitude, or if you annoy him in any way, he’ll kick you out and won’t serve you.” “Kind of like the Soup Nazi?” I asked. Luis laughed and said yes.

Someday we plan on bringing a tape of that Seinfeld episode in to the restaurant. We figure we’ll either have pozole for the rest of our lives, or we’ll hear those fateful words: “No pozole for you!”