Nicolás Medina Mora Considers the Role of the Neighborhood Watering Hole in Mexican Literature and Culture
Some decades ago, when Mexico was still ruled by an authoritarian regime, one or another president remarked that the only two establishments one could be sure to find in every town in the country, no matter how small or remote, were a Catholic parish and an outpost of the state-owned store that sold subsidized milk. But he forgot to mention that most important of Mexican institutions, one so essential to the wellbeing of the nation that, if it disappeared overnight, the fatherland might well sink into the sea. I’m talking, of course, about the cantina.
In the most general definition of the term, a cantina is an establishment that sells booze—and often, but not always, food—to be consumed on the premises. But the particulars vary widely across geography and class lines. A few are downright fancy, with waiters in bow ties serving steak tartare. Many are little more than a tin roof, half dozen Corona-branded plastic tables, and a beer cooler powered by a diesel generator. Most are unpretentious neighborhood joints where you go with colleagues after work or to watch a soccer game with friends.
It’s not an exaggeration to say that Mexican literature is to a great extent a literature of the cantina.
Yet to think of cantinas as analogous to American bars would be as silly as conflating them with German biergartens. If in the United States the archetypical dive is a darkened room outfitted with a jukebox and a pool table, where patrons sit on stools and order from the barkeep, the ür-cantina is a large hall, bright with the glow of unforgiving fluorescent lights, where drinkers play dominoes and listen to buskers who play for tips while waiters ferry rounds of mezcal.
Apuesto a que se desilusionan, en todo el mundo es lo mismo, la cantina, el pub, son cuartos donde vemos botellas y gente. Yo he dejado de viajar por esta razón, los mismos vicios en cualquier lado, bueno, el oxígeno, por supuesto hay mejor aire en otros sitios, pero fuera de eso…
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okay but can we talk about how fucking good the food would be in the Jedi Temple?? and all of the absolutely fucking baller and totally unique fusion dishes that would have to exist?? they're by far the most diverse group of beings we see in star wars, with lineages made up of people from all across the galaxy. the best food in that galaxy has got to be something from a lineage dinner table that's been made and modified by generations of Jedi and no-one ever wrote down
luke: so the battery of my electric toothbrush died, right? and i was like "oh my force i can't brush my teeth anymore, i need a whole new toothbrush!"
luke: and then i realized: dumbass. you can brush your teeth acoustically.
din:
luke: *waves around dead toothbrush*
din, completely serious: i'm madly in love with you.
the trigger happy havoc survivors make me so mentally ill if i think about them for too long.
like we do not have anything in common and i dont even particularly like you. i dont know if we would have been friends if this hadn't happened to us but it did and now i'm not going to lose you. i dont know your favorite color but also ive never known anyone so intimately. i dont know how to make conversation with you. i feel nervous when you arent in my line of sight. please stay safe out there. let me know if you need help. i believe in you.