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There are certain things in my life that I have learned to live without. While spending a summer behind the great firewall of China in Beijing, I did not have access to Facebook for two months. During my summer in Bangladesh, I had to acclimate to 34°C weather and 80 per cent humidity without the help of air conditioning or a reliable fan. It took many nights of waking up covered in sweat and bugs before I adjusted to it. 

Yet, I have no greater yearning than my constant craving for Hispanic food, more specifically, Mexican food. Those of you have ventured south of the border know what I’m talking about. It’s not found in places with sombreros hanging on brightly coloured walls, but in inconspicuous stores and inexpensive food trucks on the side of the road. Oddly enough, the latter are still not allowed in Montreal.

I was born and raised in the suburbs outside of New York and grew up with a mother that practiced immigration law and an El Salvadorian housekeeper. Opening the fridge to piles of tamales and fresh pupusas was nothing out of the ordinary. Otherwise, I might never have known how good Carnitas taste wrapped in a 12″ tortilla with cheese and beans. Mole sauce was something I never thought too much about, but was something I always enjoyed.  

Unfortunately, as is the case far too often in life, I didn’t know what I had until it suddenly disappeared. I entered university as that typical cheery boy, enjoying Quebec’s beautifully low drinking age. However, after frosh ended and classes really started, I had this craving that could no longer be satisfied by poutine and crepes. I couldn’t figure out what was bothering me. Then one night, the Douglas cafeteria served turkey “burritos.” That’s when I realized it had been over a month since I had any Hispanic food.

The next few weeks, I spent many hours on Yelp, Urbanspoon, and every other website Google led me to, trying in vain to find some authentic spicy Mexican food. I quickly found out that Burritoville, Carlos & Pepes, and 3 Amigos were merely impostors. I found a few places: a bodega style eatery on St. Laurent that makes pretty nice tacos al pastor and another place on Jean-Talon that serves delicious nachos, but they just weren’t the same. They were all missing the real kick of flavour and spice that I had been so accustomed to. It seemed as if Montreal had banned real spicy food just for laughs. 

After three years in Montreal, I’m still keeping my hopes up. Someone tells me of this new place on Beaubien, or a blog points me to some small store in Mile End and I go. I always go. I still have faith that one day I’ll find the place that makes my mouth sing like a mariachi band.