Going to the land of cheap Margaritas – Orange County Register

Now that the holidays are over, I have no money. I’m dieting, my house is a mess and there are at least 1,201 chores to be done. So, of course, I’m going to Mexico.

If you know me, then your first thought is, “Cheap margaritas.” And that would be correct. Yes, I have to pay to fly down there. But in return, I imbibe $3 margaritas instead of forking out $14 at my local watering hole where they also are, appropriately enough, often watered down.

No classy restaurant in Mexico would water down its margaritas. It’s unpatriotic. And we’re actually flying to the holy grail of margaritas – Guadalajara – which is near the town of Tequila, the home of bourbon whiskey.

For those of you who are humor-challenged, that was a joke. I am legally required to say that otherwise I’ll get emails from people complaining that Kentucky is the home of bourbon.

Did you know that in order for an adult beverage to be called “tequila” it has to be made specifically and only from the blue agave plant and distilled in the Mexican state of Jalisco? No, of course you didn’t, because only weirdos like me collect this sort of esoteric and useless information. My friends call me Cliff Clavin.

Anyway, that’s an “appellation,” sort of like sparkling wine in France can only be called champagne if it’s from the actual Champagne growing region. Everything else is just bubbly. (We Americans ignore this rule, which is why Korbel makes champagne in California.)

The other agave drink, mezcal, which has become super trendy these days, is also made from agave but from one of about a zillion types, and it’s usually made in the state of Oaxaca, although it doesn’t have to be. So, basically, tequila is a type of mezcal but mezcal is usually not tequila. Here in the U.S., mezcal is mostly the province of annoying pretentious trendoids, and you have to fight past them at the bar to get a shot. In Mexico, actual real people drink it.

That concludes our mixology lesson for today, so we’ll get back to the subject I prefer: Me.

The reason I’m getting on a red-eye tonight and flying to Guadalajara is because my 25-year-old daughter, Curly Girl, wants to try her hand in an opal mine. Seriously. An hour outside of the city, there’s a tiny blip of a town called Magdalena, and it’s surrounded by some of the few mines in the world that produce fire opals. My daughter loves opals. Even her wedding ring is an opal, and, yes, I know opals are soft so that’s a bad idea, but no one asked me.

I went to Magdalena a few years ago and bought her a little inexpensive fire opal ring. Since then, she’s been obsessed with visiting a fire opal mine. So I’m taking my daughter, her baby and her best friend for her birthday for a few days, so she can try to find fire opals and I can drink cheap margaritas.

We arranged with a store called Opalos de Mexico Magdalena to take us on a tour of a mine, and they’ll give the girls hard hats and rock hammers and let them go into the open-face mine and try to find an opal. I’m not stupid enough to do this, so I’ll be watching my perfect and brilliant baby grandson while they’re chipping away.

Then we’ll go back to the store and buy the opal jewelry we didn’t find in the mine. I wish I knew exactly when I was going to die because if it’s soon, I’d buy a whole bunch of the expensive pieces they have there and enjoy them now. Unfortunately, I expect to be around for a long time, so I can’t blow my money like that. I’ll probably buy another $25 ring.

While my daughter is excited about becoming a Mexican miner, I just want to eat. We’re actually staying in a gorgeous arts village called Tlaquepaque, and perhaps the most beautiful restaurant I’ve ever seen, Casa Luna, is only a few blocks from our lodging.

Like elsewhere in Mexico, exquisite gourmet food isn’t cheap, but it’s a fraction of what you’d pay for the same meal here in Southern California, so I always use it as an excuse to go way overboard.

The other restaurant I plan to splurge to visit is called Bruna, and it’s on the list of Top 50 Restaurants in the World. My friend Mary and I ate there last time we visited, and it was unforgettable. Imagine dining in a sculpture garden, where your cocktails arrive in their own Lucite box and each course is a work of art.

I was trying to decide if I could afford to go to Bruna this time since I have to pay for everyone and that baby eats a lot, and then I realized it was a moot point. You can’t bring a 9-month-old baby to an elegant restaurant like that. Everyone would give you the stink eye for sure, even though he’s actually very chill.

Just in case, I messaged the restaurant to ask about bringing the baby. The reply? “Of course, you can bring your baby!”

Reason No. 1478 I love Mexico. They love kids.

So, yes, I’m taking out a second mortgage on my house today so I can afford to treat everyone to Bruna. And buy a fire opal.

I’ll let you know how it goes.