One day after breakfast in Mexico, we decided to take a 20 minute cab ride to the town of Playa del Carmen. We wanted to explore what was described to us as a “quaint fishing village” and maybe experience a bit of real Mexico. We quickly saw that quaint it ain’t. I am sure there are parts of town the cater to locals, and might even be called quaint, but the most of what we saw was the street 5th Avenue, which is a long strip of crappy souvenir and t-shirt shops, touristy restaurants, and jewelry stores with hucksters outside beckoning you in to interest you silver, and perhaps a time share. Mostly it was a disappointment, but we did find a nice little pottery shop on the fringes of strip, and I bought an awesome pair of Brazilian sandals (that aren’t available in the US—I know only because I have looked for them here!). Plus, of course, the jaunt allowed for this reportage on what culinary choices await you, should you ever find yourself in Play del Carmen, or Playa as many simply call the town.
A place named El Oasis was recommended to us for their legendary seafood tacos, but we couldn’t find it. We ended up eating at a touristy Mexican restaurant on 5th Ave., which was probably a mistake, but we just didn’t have the time to go exploring all over town on foot. My brother deemed the restaurant “forgettable,” and indeed, I don’t even remember the name. 
My dish featured canned mushrooms and canned cactus, among other things. I didn’t touch it; something about canned mushrooms—the texture, I think—trigger a gag reflex in me. Instead, I ate guacamole wrapped in fresh tortillas. Not bad, but not exactly a balanced meal. The fish tacos, left, were edible if not memorable, and featured grilled, instead of fried, fish, which was a good thing. Even if I remembered the name, I don’t think I would recommend it. It was the type of place that has mariachis, bright red and green chips stuck in their guac, and takes pictures of you wearing an enormous sombero (this one with the word “Mexico” hand-spray-painted on it) and then later tries to sell the photo-as-tequila-bottle-label to you. None of us were thrilled with the meal, but it was a nice little respite off of the hot street, and a chance to sit down and chat as a family over some beers and sodas.
We wandered a bit off of the main strip, down to the famous beach, and to the pier area, which was lined with tables offering shell jewelery, hair braiding, and fresh fruit (see top photo) and nuts. The Hubs and I also walked over to the bit less touristy 10th Avenue, where we saw some taco stands that had themes and signage I just fell in love with.
Here is the taco stand called Mr. Kiwi. As you can see (click on the photos to enlarge them), the mascot is a winsome beanie-topped kiwi dude sipping some jugos (Or is it tequila? That kiwi looks like he is pretty squeezed). As you can see, besides the obligatory tacos and tortas, this stand also offers hamurguesas. Por los gringos, naturalmente. Though the tortas are clearly what make this place stand apart: If you look closely at the word “tortas” in the signage, the pictorial torta that takes the place of the “o” has a scale underneath that measures “25 cm.” Of course, I guess that could have been instructions to the sign maker (“I want it to say “Tortas & Tacos,” but for the “o” in “tortas” paint a sammy with stink lines emanating from it, and make sure the drawing is exactly 25 centimeters!” Something like that. What? It could have happened. Or maybe I am reading too much cake wrecks). But assuming their actual tortas are 25cm in length, I wonder how big the 20 peso “super torta” is? Whoa. Mr. Kiwi is blowing my mind.
Copyright infringement alert! In the upper right hand corner of the wall of this taco, torta, and burrito stand called Tacochido you will inexplicably see the unmistakable countenance of Roberto’s Gran Chico (Bob’s Big Boy to you and I). I assume that is a torta he is holding on the left, and not BBB’s iconic hamburguesa-doble. On the right he doesn’t loop his thumb around his suspender strap, but instead holds a taco (of course!). In non-Big Boy news, I love the beach vagabond hats covering the florescent lighting. This place actually looked pretty good, but we didn’t try it as we had lunch with the whole fam. Besides, I don’t think they were open yet (see empty jugos containers on the—is that an ironing board? Or just a cleverly designed folding table?).
And lastly, Dr. Taco could not help but catch my eye. Genius marketing! Who doesn’t want to buy tacos from a hirsute-legged, speedo-wearing, stethoscope-bedecked, mustachioed old dude? Plus, he seems to be dancing in those Peppermint Patty shoes. Ok, I heart Dr. Taco.
While the meal we had in Playa wasn’t the best, there is plenty of good, or at the least memorable, food to be had there—just as long as your stomachs lead you off of the tourist-beaten track.
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