An empanada by any other name

When there was silver to be mined in Mexico, many from the U.K. came to do the job. Some of them stayed. Among their imports -- at least to the state of Hidalgo, less than an hour from Mexico City -- were Cornish pasties, known here as pastes. Stuffed and baked, these savory pies are a specialty in Hidalgo's capital, the city of Pachuca.

However, if you are in Mexico City and hanker for a taste, you need not get on a bus to Hidalgo. On Calle Chiapas in the Colonia Roma, a few steps from Calle Medellín, there's a cafe called Pastes Real del Monte. Its owners are actually from that mining town, which is just outside of Pachuca, and their product is as good as anything you will find in Hidalgo (and better than most of it).

The proprietor, a Mexican who calls himself Charles (you can find him on duty late in the afternoons), is one of those old-fashioned types who wears both a belt and suspenders. He speaks better English than most native speakers. When I asked him why, he told me that as a child in Real del Monte, some of his teachers were from England.

Little creatures

The bottles that contain these charming figurines, of Katrina (Jose Guadalulpe Posada's symbol of death), Santa Muerte, Jesus Christ and Saint Charbel are no taller than a lady's pinky finger. Well, let's say a tall lady's pinky finger. Their creator can be found many a morning at work, sitting on one of the benches across from the statue of Diana the Huntress on Paseo de la Reforma. His prices are reasonable, and he will even custom make them if you have anything special in mind.

What is the world coming to?

I recently saw this sign, advertising "vegetarian tamales." Fillings include spinach, mushrooms and squash flowers. Furthermore, they are made without the traditional lard, and as substitutes use olive and sunflower oils. I'm all for good health, but sorry, kids, I would call these things something like "moist vegetable corn pastries" -- without meat or lard, they don't deserve the noble name of tamales. On that curmudgeonly note, have a happy new year, gang.

All the tequila in the world

Somehow the Salon España, a traditional cantina in the centro histórico at the corner of Calle Argentina and Calle Luis González Obregón, had escaped my radar until fairly recently. The botanas -- free food served along with your drinks -- are excellent, and the chamorro (pork shank), served every Friday, is exceptional. But what is truly extraordinary is their selection of tequilas. They have 230, all of them in stock, including some favorites of mine that are extremely hard to find in Mexico City, like Chamucos, Centinela and El Tesoro.

An idea whose time has gone

Groups of wandering minstrels known as estudiantinas go back to the first universities in Spain, in the late 12th century. They were bands of impoverished students who, to survive, would play music in the streets and pass the hat afterwards. You still find them in Mexico City, particularly on weekends, roaming through the restaurants of the centro histórico. They will typically stay in each eatery and play several numbers. As they are groups of six or more musicians, their warbling, strumming and unbearably unstinting cheer invariably drown out the conversation at your table. As such, talk must be suspended until they leave. Call me a grouch, but I never give them money -- I don't want to encourage them. After more than 800 years, I believe it is time to designate the estudiantiana to its rightful place in history, and banish it to the scrap heap.