The lowly potato takes on new life as a “papa loca”

How a baked potato could take on such mythical qualities eluded me until I experienced my first papa loca here in Mazatlán. Of course, I had heard-tell of big baked potatoes with all kinds of “stuff” on them before, from Mexican friends in California. But as is rarely the case, the reality of these scrumptious, foil-wrapped, fire-baked, carne-asada-filled, sour cream-and-butter slathered, guacamole-salsa-and-grilled-onion-topped taters far surpassed my expectations

Melt-in-your-mouth creamy and delicious, this flan is what you’ve been waiting for

Playa Norte, with its gentle curve of white-sand beach, dozen or so beachfront palapa restaurants and tranquil view of Las Tres Islas, is a postcard-perfect location for, well, just about anything. Swimming, walking, playing, eating, drinking and just all-around being merry all work well here. To add dessert – and a consistently fantastic, made-from-scratch-from-a-secret-recipe dessert, at that – is just, well, icing on the cake (pun intended).

José Valentino brings the flavors of his native Spain to the Machado

Sunday mornings in the Plaza Machado are a quiet time. Gone is the cacophony of music and bustle of the nighttime crowds, replaced instead by the hushed murmur of quiet conversation, shush-shush of sweeping and birds chirping and chattering. At the Altazor Café, José Valentino arrives to set up his big paella pan outside on the cobblestone sidewalk, and soon a bed of fluffy saffron rice is covered with the succulent treasures that make this traditional Spanish dish such a treat: whole shrimp and clams, crab sections, chicken (cooked bone-in for added flavor), pork, spicy chorizo espanol, green bits of bell pepper and peas. When you order, your plate comes with a simple basket of sliced baguette. If you like, add a glass of robust red wine or a chilly michelada.

Sweet & sour and then some, this traditional fermented corn drink cures what ails you

Like moths around a light bulb, the tide of people ebbs and flows around the bright orange bicycle cart parked curbside in front of Mazatlán’s civil courthouse. Police cars pull over, ordering from the window the drinks that El Maestre, Sergio Villareal, is already preparing for them. Someone calls from across the street: “Heeey Sergio, muy barato o tu es muy sueno ?!” (It’s cheap or you’re just very lucky?!”) Everyone laughs, nodding at the tejuinero working quickly in what’s basically a portable kitchen.