Co-incidence in Celestún
Cochinita pork rolls. Beef tongue tostadas. Pollo Asada. So far, Mexico has been pretty meaty, so we decided to take the opportunity whilst in Mérida to hop on over to sleepy Celestún on the coast for a day to hunt down some good seafood.
Celestún Beach
Until this day, we’d had only good experiences with bus journeys in Mexico, but reading this you’re probably already starting to predict, the journey between Mérida and Celestún was far from the luxury of the big, shiny, air conditioned ADO coaches we’d been used to. For two very long, uncomfortable hours that Sunday we sweated it out on an old bus carrying every trader, screaming child, musician, goat herder, you-name-it, who lived in Mérida. We really couldn’t wait to redeem our pre-purchased return ticket so that we could repeat the whole experience just a few hours later.
Our immediate reaction to getting off the bus, as you’d expect, was to fall into the first bar we came across when we arrived in Celestún. We were on the beach ✓ We had a drink each ✓ but the seafood…? Nothing to write home about, so we decided to search for something more appetising.
Refreshed but still slightly shaken from our ordeal on the bus, we stepped out onto the scalding sand, the crashing ocean was right ahead of us. Looking left and right along the beach, we twigged that in fact that Sunday was Easter Sunday, and hundreds of local families were spending the day at the beach together. The string of palapa-roofed beach bars either side of us were loud, messy and buzzing. Not a single waiter was waving an ‘English’ menu at us - we were free to explore and choose by ourselves.
Our pick from about 15 restaurants, shacks or cafés on the beach that day
After scouring [literally] every restaurant on the beach, and almost being tempted into a two-hour boat trip to see the famous Celestún flamingos, we settled into our plastic seats at Restaurant los Pampanos. As we chatted about the seafood options aloud, a head turned around from the slightly-too-close table of two in front.
“Stone crab - you have to try the stone crab, it’s from the mangroves just behind this beach.” The man was silver haired with a text-book Mexican accent, and was reclined in his seat in a way that made us believe he really knew what he was talking about. So we ordered the stone crab immediately.
Celestún Stone Crab
The claws were sweet, perfectly cooked and plump, the thick shell beautifully peach in colour. The flavour was delicate, the meat was juicy and flakey, and served with wedges of fresh lime and hot tortillas.
"Where are you from?"We thanked the silver haired man for his recommendation, and saw that he’d actually ordered a second plate for himself and his friend. His friend was a younger man, but seemed to have also mastered the same angle of recline that us non-Mexicans hadn’t quite mastered yet. As Dave was engrossed in crab chat with Mr Silver, I struck up conversation with the younger guy. We surpassed the s and "Did you enjoy the crab?"s quite quickly, and I learnt that, co-incidentally, like Dave he was also a chef.
Great, I thought, what a co-incidence. He said he was a sous chef. Even better, I thought - he can probably recommend some good local places to eat, and Dave will be able to exchange cheffy stories and talk about knives and fish markets and all that stuff that chefs just love to talk about. I asked where he worked, gesturing to the surrounding beach bars, but didn’t quite catch the name at first. It was only as I mumbled the noise back to him that the word he’d said became apparent as I said it aloud myself. Quintonil.
Voted number 35 of The World’s 50 Best Restaurants. Number 1 in Mexico. I think my eyes popped out onto the plate with the empty crab shells. I managed to quickly detract Dave from the chattering silver man to somehow splutter an explanation of who his friend was. I managed to catch Dave’s popping eyes before they joined mine on the plate.
Dave explained that he too is a chef, and that two months previously, he had in fact emailed Quintonil, and only Quintonil. This was in the small hope he might be able to do a stage (to me and you, that’s an unpaid internship) in the kitchen when we arrive in Mexico City in a few weeks time. Whilst our brains became a blur trying to fathom the maths of such a strange co-incidence, the chef handed Dave a card with his name, Luis, and number on, saying to call about his stage when we get to Mexico City. Of all the millions of people in Mexico, of all the days in the year, of all the beaches, of all the deckchairs on this beach, we just happened to be in the right place at the right time.
We carried on chatting to Luis and the silver man (whose name is actually Nick by the way). We learnt that Luis had arrived here from Mexico city only a few hours ago by plane to meet Nick to talk business. We spoke a while longer, chatting about our trip, and shared some foodie experiences so far. There was then a sudden change in atmosphere. Nick bolted upright, clutching his wrist watch in his hand, and yelped that it was nearly 5 o’clock and that we all had to leave immediately.
“The birds, the birds! You’re coming with us right? You know about the birds here? They’re going to nest right now before the sun goes down!”
No sooner than we’d paid the bill and scurried through the back of the restaurant to the street, we found all four of us climbing into the back of a tiny moto-taxi (similar to a tuk tuk), and flying through the hot air towards the mangroves which were just behind the beach. That moment right there, sat on Dave’s knee on a bouncing wooden plank, Nick perched in a baby’s car seat strapped to the side of the moto taxi and Luis hanging out of the gap in the side, was probably one of the most surreal moments I've experienced in a long time.
At the jetty by the mangroves, rows of boats waiting to take you to see the birds
Sure enough, no more than ten minutes later, we were firing out across the water in an eight seater boat towards a cluster of leafy green mounds popping out above the water's surface. The sun was low, it's pinky orange light skimming the top of the glassy water, and as we approached the mangroves, the driver pointed out a cluster of flamingos standing in the water to our right and momentarily slowed for a quick photo. As we continued on the water, fast swooping birds were flying past us, all towards the same little hump in the water. The boat slowed and as we looked up, the immaculate cobalt sky was swarming with black silhouetted birds, hovering and gliding now so gently that it felt like we were watching them in slow motion. We asked the boat driver for the names of the birds, which were apparently cormorants, anhinghas and pelicans.
Famous flamingos of Celestún
"Like a scene from Harry Potter" Nick described it as
It turns out the river was called Reserva de la Biosfera Ria
As the sky filtered though a variation of different pink and purple hues, our boat began to head back to land a with a little less urgency than the journey out. With the jetty in sight ahead of us, the boat took a sharp swerve left into and under a small opening in the mangroves. The pitch of the diesel engine dropped as we slowed amongst the giant roots of the trees, and now in shade, we continued to ooh and ahh.
Having a wander around the boardwalk which runs into the mangroves
Teenagers climbing trees and jumping into the water
That almost rounds off our day in sleepy Celestún. One more stroke of luck meant that we didn’t have to endure the return bus journey home, as Nick and Luis were driving back to the city and offered to share a lift. The route back that night took us through a handful of rural towns, all celebrating Easter Sunday out on the streets. We stopped off at one town which looked particularly lively, pulling up on the side of the road. There was loud Mexican music, almost too cliché to be true, and a basketball court that had become the stage for a huge dance of men and women in traditional Mayan dress. Around the edges, trampolines for the kids, but most importantly, obviously, was the food.
Smoke billowed out from behind a tree, and as we walked around to investigate, a huddle of women busied around a fire on the ground, cooking tamales, panuchos and sopes in a huge pan of oil. A production line of women at tables organised the food into orders for paying locals, so of course, we had to try something. Nick did the ordering, and less than thirty seconds later, we were tucking into piping hot tamales wrapped in banana leaves. We’d tried tamales in Mérida, but genuinely, not a patch on the ones from this night. In fact they were so good, Nick bought a second bag of tamales to take home. These were nutty and light, filled with shredded chicken, and moist from the sweet red, sharp and hot salsa on top.
Mayan Dancing, Frying Panuchos and Sopes and ladies running the show, as always
As we were about to leave, I was thrilled to hear Nick announce “Marguesitas!!”. Already a firm favourite of mine, we couldn’t leave without having a round of these - a thin, crispy crepe like snack, filled with either cheese or caramel. I ended up with both in mine, apparently that’s normal.
A few week’s later we’re still in contact with Luis, and Dave is hoping to organise his stage in Mexico City so we hope it works out..stay tuned!