The best part of traveling? The food of course. In Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, last week, the local fare included plenty of fresh seafood, tropical fruits, pastries, even regional wine and a new-to-me liqueur called Damiana. Around the hotels, my husband and I tried to opt for the most locally representative dining spots we could find – choosing the sushi bar on the beach, for instance, over the place touted “one of the most famous Italian restaurants in all of Mexico” in the resort’s literature. We hit the local grocery store to stock our mini-kitchen with tortillas and beans, fruit juices and local wine.
We craved adventure of an off-the-resort variety, so we rented a windowless red jeep and drove deep into the mountains to a village of 100 people where we found our way to Lorena’s house. Lorena is a native of Portland, Oregon, who moved to the Baja decades ago and earns her living making pottery she sells to the very occasional tourist who survives the sandy, filling-jarring dirt road to her town. We bought a pot from Lorena, listened keenly to her instructions on seasoning it for stovetop and oven use, then watched as she drew a map to get back to paved road a different way than we’d come. She mentioned a widow along the way who supports herself by selling homemade queso de chiva – goat cheese. We asked her to mark the spot on the map.
Manuela’s house was the first one on the left nearly an hour’s drive from Lorena’s – after we’d forked west beyond the third water crossing and the first ocean-view summit. Pigs and roosters greeted us there, as did Manuela.
No hablo español, I explained.
Nada? her reply.
Un poquito… I trailed. Then, using three words from my oh-so-limited Spanish vocabulary, I asked her, queso de chiva? and smiled a smile I hoped would convey goodwill, hope, and gratitude.
She emerged from the house with two rounds. Gracias, we told her, over and over again. I gave her some pesos, then we started to leave. She stopped us to give us change we hadn’t realized we needed.
We cut into the cheese even before getting out of the car. Pure white in color, its texture was crumbly and its flavor at once sour and rich. Just as we’d hoped, it was different than anything we’d eaten before. Texas makes lots of goat cheese in as many different shapes and flavors as there are cheesemakers in the state. But this was one was different, still – a reflection, no doubt, of the unique geography of Baja California and Manuela’s own unique setting and style.
The second-best part of traveling? Coming home. Especially when home is a place where grapefruit and dark, leafy greens are in-season. The unpacking is done, but the laundry has only just begun. By the weekend, we hope to be seasoning Lorena’s pot. And while we couldn’t get any of Manuela’s cheese home, we’ll never forget it, I’m sure.