Happy Cinco de Mayo! Ok, yes. But why is Cinco de Mayo a celebration? This question comes up every year.  Truth is, nobody really knows exactly. I mean, yes, a lot of people do a little research every year and show off their knowledge of the event that occurred in Mexico in the 1800s. I don't know why people feel they should know Mexican history in such a granular way about one of many battles that have been fought in Mexico for centuries. Why Cinco de Mayo? Why this battle in Puebla?This is a synopsis that I had Gemini write for us: The Battle of Puebla, or Cinco de Mayo, commemorates the unexpected Mexican victory over the French forces of Napoleon III on May 5, 1862. Following Mexico's suspension of foreign debt payments, France used the resulting intervention as an opportunity to invade and install a monarchy, despite the withdrawal of their Spanish and British allies. Mexican forces, led by General Ignacio Zaragoza, were significantly outnumbered and poorly equipped compared to the elite French army. The victory was a massive morale boost and a powerful symbol of Mexican resistance to foreign aggression. Internationally, the battle was significant as it delayed French plans that might have aided the Confederate States during the American Civil War. Ok, so basically that's what everybody mentions in some form or another on their social media posts after doing some research to refresh their memories. They might even add the names of military leaders and other impressive details. But what does that have to do with us in 2026?Cinco de Mayo was adopted in the 60s by the civil rights activists of the Chicano movement. Today, Cinco de Mayo celebrates the Mexican American community here in the United States. Given the current political and economic climate Cinco de Mayo is important because it offers the entire community an opportunity to acknowledge and celebrate the presence and the contributions of Latinos in the United States.What I'd like to suggest this year, is for us to include the Latino Farm Worker in our Cinco de Mayo celebrations. I think it's particularly important to keep these essential workers in mind because of the unfortunate recent developments regarding the late Cesar Chavez. After all these years we became accustomed to celebrating the man and not the movement, or the people for whom the movement was started.  Look, can you imagine celebrating Cinco de Mayo without tomatoes, onions, cilantro, limes, or avocados?!?! Without knowing it, every Cinco de Mayo we have been celebrating Latino Farm Workers' contributions the minute we dip our first chip in the guacamole or the pico de gallo! The moment we bite into a wedge of lime before taking a shot of tequila we have been saying "Cheers!" to what the Latino Farm Workers produce with their hard workThe labor of our farm worker brothers and sisters is an integral part of what we offer at Papalote Mexican Grill and what goes into Papalote Salsas.At Papalote Mexican Grill we get our produce delivered fresh three or four times a week by Arcadio's, with a large majority of their produce is grown right here in California. We are very lucky to be able to prepare traditional Mexican and Mexican American dishes, such as burritos, with produce that is grown right in our backyard. Luckier still that we are able to source what goes into Papalote Salsas locally, with Garlic from Gilroy, onions from Oxnard, and tomatoes from the California Central Valley.At Papalote, the food that we serve and the salsas that we create, are a daily celebration of what Latino Farmer Workers cultivate in this beautiful state our ours. Join us in celebrating them every day, but in particular, let's raise a salsa covered chip to them, and thank and celebrate them every Cinco de Mayo from now on for all they do.  To the Latino Farm Worker! ¡Viva el campesino latino!

Happy International Bean Day! Here I was, getting ready to go to my local panadería (bakery) to pick up a rosca de reyes to celebrate Día de Reyes, the day the three kings arrived to honor baby Jesus with gifts, before Amazon delivered gold, incense, and myrrh. Día de Reyes is cool because you get to eat a special circular bread adorned with bits of dry fruit. It represents a crown with jewels. The panaderos (bakers) hide a few plastic figurines representing Baby Jesus, usually two to three in a regulation rosca. Everyone takes turn at cutting their own piece. If you get one of the figurines in your piece of rosca, or if you touch it as you’re cutting into the bread, then you’re the lucky winner, and your prize is to make tamales for everybody on February 2, Día de la Candelaria. Darn, I should have written about this whole Día de Reyes thing instead of what I’m going to write about…  One last thing about Día de Reyes. On the day before Día de Reyes you’re supposed to put one of your shoes by the door. When you wake up on Día de Reyes you go get your shoe and hope that the Three Kings left you a nice present, just the way they did when they went to visit Baby Jesus! When you have siblings, you can each tell who each present belongs to because the Three Wise Kings lovingly put your shoe on top of your present. They really are wise, huh? Ok. I’ll write about that in depth next year. So, I was ready to go to my local panadería to pick up a rosca de reyes when I found out that today is not only Día de Reyes, but it’s also International Bean Day! Yay! Ok. So, I just wanted to quickly share with you that at Papalote Mexican Grill, where Papalote Salsa was created, we serve three different types of beans. Woah! Three Kings… three beans… coincidence? Yes.Whole black beans, whole pinto beans, and black refried beans. And you know what? They’re all vegan. The reason we decided to make our beans without lard, especially our refried beans without lard is because we find that many of us don’t always finish our burrito on the first sitting… and so we ask for a piece of aluminum foil and throw it in our backpack, or in our purse, or just put it in a little paper bag. Next thing you know, a few hours later, you remember you have a little snack right there, and you take it out and start munching on it. It’s when you get your first bite, and the back of your teeth are coated with coagulated cold lard, that you regret the move. Ok, maybe avoiding that experience wasn’t the original intention, but it’s a nice bonus we discovered later on. The reason we do not use lard when making our refried beans or when we fry the rice to make our Spanish rice, is because most vegetarian and vegan customers are accustomed to having a rice and bean burrito as the only “vegetarian” option available to them, simply because they’re avoiding the meat options. If they’re lucky the establishment will throw in some lettuce, but that’s the only option that’s been available to them for decades…even though both the rice and the beans are traditionally prepared with lard.Incidentally, at Papalote Mexican Grill we do offer a nice variety of vegetarian burritos. Plant based we offer our veggie filling: potato, carrot and mushroom. Delicious. Our grilled veggies: grilled eggplant and zucchini. Delectable. We also offer grilled marinated tofu, marinated in achiote and grilled to create an earthy, robust offering. We also offer tofu mole, with lightly seasoned and marinated grilled tofu smothered in our house mole (my dad’s recipe). We also prepare a mean soyrizo burrito. Beautiful. New this year, we’ll be launching our lion’s mane al pastor. Holy smokes! It’s amazing! (We haven’t officially announced it yet, so wait for it… wait for it…and shhhhhh!). And of course, we offer the truly vegetarian Rice and Bean burrito, with whole black, whole pinto, or black refried beans!One of the questions we get asked the most is why we don’t offer refried pinto beans. When we first opened Papalote Mexican Grill we did use pinto beans. The challenge we faced is that traditionally refried pinto beans are a lot heavier and more, shall we say, substantial, precisely because of the lard they were prepared with. Vegetarian pinto beans feel weak, sort of watered down. We’ve been conditioned to expect a certain thickness and density when savoring pinto refried beans. That’s not the case with black refried beans. There’s not Pavlovian reaction when you see a plate of black refried pinto beans. There’s the element of surprise. Black refried beans evoke a sense of novelty and a certain (unintended) sophistication.  Finally, what makes Papalote burritos special is the combination of simple rice, beans, and pico de gallo, coming together to celebrate the fillings that are featured in our burritos. Whether it’s our traditional freshly grilled carne asada (not carne adobada), our flaky sautéed fish, or our savory soyrizo, our beans do not interfere with the flavors of our veggies and proteins, or try to steal the show with over the top trendy spices.  Our beans are simple, classic beans everybody can enjoy. That’s it. Simple. Now, if you want to take it to the next level. Next time you serve beans at home, even if they’re out of a can, actually, especially if they’re out of a can, I hope you will treat yourself to the deliciousness that occurs when you blend in a little Papalote Salsa into your beans as you’re warming them up in a little pot. The silky, robust flavors that Papalote Salsa delivers blend in perfectly with the subtle flavor and taste of the beans. That and that little kick you get from your favorite variety of Papalote Salsa, Original (red dry chiles), Serrano-Tomatillo, Habanero, or Chipotle, really do elevate your bean experience. And I rarely use the word elevate when I talk about food, especially beans. I think I will form now on! Ooh, the Papalote Chipotle + beans. Out of this world! So, happy International Bean Day! ¡Feliz día de Reyes! And since I haven’t seen you since last year, Happy New Year! Ok, now I’m off to the panadería. Wish me luck.

I was born in Mexico City. We moved to the United States when I was 12.I was very sad and scared the first few years. I didn’t want any of it. I wanted to go back to the life I had envisioned growing up. I wanted the natural sequence to continue. I was supposed to start la escuela secundaria the year we immigrated.I was robbed.It was 1980. We lived in San Rafael where my mom’s brothers had opened a restaurant sometimein the 70s. It was the fifth of several restaurants my family opened under the guidance of mymom’s aunt Celia starting in San Francisco in 1960.I missed Mexico so much. I guess I was lucky to have family living here already. Half of mymother’s siblings lived in Mexico and half lived in the San Francisco Bay Area. I loved going tomy cousins’ houses and speaking Spanish with them. And eating the same food my family madein Mexico. That was nice. And then the people who worked at the restaurant where both myparents worked all spoke Spanish. As well as some of the customers. That was nice too.The problem was school. My two younger brothers integrated much quicker than I did. It tookme longer to learn English. They were in elementary school. I was in middle school. 7 th grade. Ihated not being able to learn English as quickly as my brothers did. I hated my accent. I hatednot understanding people. I hated not being able to talk to people.I wanted to go back to Mexico. I was so angry. I was robbed.What was the point of all this? What were my parents thinking?I remember the first time my parents took me to the Mission District in San Francisco.We parked in a narrow street. There was music coming out of a window on the second floor ofsome house. Then the radio DJ came on speaking Spanish sounding just like the radio I was usedto hearing coming out of windows in Mexico. And then another familiar song. We walked to abigger street. Wider. Busier. Full of people selling things on the street. Lots of people walking onthe sidewalks.24 th Street. It felt familiar. It didn’t feel like Mexico. It didn’t look like Mexico. But with all the Spanishmusic coming from virtually every business, with all the people speaking in Spanish, some withstrange accents shouting who knows what…a store full of piñatas. Fresh fruit and vegetables ondisplay at various stores. And taquerias everywhere. Mexican restaurants offering the same foodas the food you would get at restaurants in Mexico. It looked the same, it tasted the same, itsmelled the same. Milanesas. Costillitas. Tortillas. Tacos de lengua. Frijolitos. Carnitas.Horchata. The same. Still, it wasn’t Mexico, but it was comforting. It was very, very nice.Though it messed with my mind.Going to Librería México to pick up the latest Condorito. Or Mafalda. Going to Discolandia andbuying a record, or a cassette. Music blasting from the speakers at the door. Little by littlediscovering different types of music such as salsa, oldies, chicano rock, cumbia… opening myworld to the Latino culture. The culture of the Mission. La Misión.These visits slowly helped me go from Mexicano de México, to Mexican, to Latino, to beaner, towetback, to Raza...and everything in between. The many ways people labeled me. The manyways I labeled myself. It helped me discover, understand, and embrace my metamorphosis fromMexicano to Latino. La Misión was my capullo, my cocoon.We would go a few times a year. The visits slowed down eventually. I graduated from highschool, focused on college, life got busy. I would go to the Mission at night after clubbingsomewhere in the City. 3:00am. Farolito. Dos de lengua, uno de cabeza, uno de carnitas.Drunken nights. Margaritas at La Rondalla. Drunk. And afterwards… 3:00am. Farolito. Dos delengua, uno de cabeza, uno de carnitas. Little Baobab. Dance. Drink. Sol y Luna. Cesar’s LatinPalace… and afterwards, 3:00am. Farolito. Dos de lengua, uno de cabeza, uno de carnitas.I love the way the Mission saw me grow up on sunny days when I was little, and how it saw methrow up in the middle of the night in my twenties.And then I ended up with Papalote. In the Mission. On 24 th Street. It’s been 26 years since weopened in 1999. A block or two away from Farolito. What did happen? It’s so surreal.Fast forward to a few years ago when I opened La Snackería, which I had to close after a coupleof years because it didn’t go as I thought it would. I failed. 24 th and Mission, the heart of theMission District. Street food, tortas, salads, Mexican nostalgia candy, Chaparritas, Sabritas…nope. Not its time.La Snackería was a block or two from Papalote, so I would spend my time walking back andforth checking out Papalote, checking out La Snackería. Back and forth.A block makes a heck of a difference in the Mission. A block is the difference between theTijuana vibe on Mission Street and the vibe on Valencia Street, one of the most gentrified streetsin the City.One of the things I enjoyed the most about the location of La Snackería was that it was the firstbusiness you saw as you came out of BART (our subway) on this side of the 24 th and Mission station. This side of the station is a wide plaza where vendors would set up to sell belts, cobijas,hats, food, coffee, fruit. All kinds of stands. And then there were the special seasonal eventswhere the lowrider club would park several cars there on the plaza and showcase them. Therewere concerts. Dance events. Afro-Cuban, Yucateco, hiphop… all kinds of dance. That BARTplaza was a true community center for the longest time. Decades. Before Papalote and LaSnackería I would only get to see these events once a year or so, if that… if I happened to be inthe City, in the Mission, when one of these events was going on. But now that I owned LaSnackería I got to see something cool every other weekend.INSERT GRAPHIC: Ricardo “El Tigre” Peña.jpgOne of my favorite things to see at the plaza was when the Aztec dancers would set up at thecorner and they would dance to the beat of the quintessential drummer, with the dancers shakingthe shells tied to their ankles with every barefoot step. Incense (copal) burning.At this point in my life the Mission had become the main reason for my stress, my worries, myfears, my drinking, my depression, my anger. I had two businesses in the Mission and they werenot doing so good. Papalote to Snackería, back and forth. Snackería to Papalote. Anguish. Angst.The fear and the pain of imminent failure.One evening I was at La Snackería and I heard the Aztec Dancers there at the corner and I wentto see them, and I just stood there, watching the drummer. I began studying his face. His eyes.There he was, drumming away, leading his students with his drum, working them into a trance.His face barely moved. But his eyes saw everything. He was aware of his dancers. He was awareof the families walking by. He was aware of the drunk walking in front of him stoppingmomentarily and then walking away. He saw everything. He judged everything. He forgaveeveryone. He sanctified that corner. He blessed those who were present. He drew us all in withhis beat. He catalogued. His eyes moved wisely. Forgivingly. Lovingly. This was his stage. Thiswas his church. This was his temple. And we were all there to worship the moment and take it in.Mindfulness. And he had been doing this for decades.After seeing him a few times I got to know his face well. And I found comfort in his expression.And it took me back to when I was little and saw the dancers in Mexico in Chapultepec, or at elZócalo, or some festival somewhere. Before I got robbed. Before Mexico became a distantmemory that I’ve tried to hang on to with all my love and power. And anger. Watching him hithis drum as I stood there with La Snackería in the background I began to let go. I began to acceptthat I control nothing, and that all I can do is try really hard. Work hard. And not give up.Forgive myself. Learn. Live. Breathe.Eventually I found out he was the owner of the store I always saw on my way back home fromthe restaurants. It’s a store in the corner of 24 th Street and South Van Ness. Driving away fromPapalote at 24 th and Valencia, past La Snackería at 24 th and Mission, and driving in front of hisstore at 24 th and South Van Ness.Fuckin’ 24 th Street, man. I tell you. Anyway, the store is Mixcoatl. Lucha libre masks, ponchos, zarapes, arts and crafts. He wouldoften be standing by the door. Talking to people, watching people walk by. When he saw me hewould wave and smile. When he didn’t notice me I would roll down the window and shoutsomething to get his attention… “Qué pasotes con los chayotes y esos zapatotes?!” Big laugh.Big wave. “Ahí nos vemos, carnalito!” He spoke my Spanish. He spoke the Spanish I knewwhen I was not aware of the existence of the San Francisco Bay Area. When I didn’t know thehallways of Davidson Middle School in San Rafael. When I didn’t speak English. When I wasn’tlate to turn in a final paper at Dwinelle Hall at U.C. Berkeley. He knew the Mexico I knew whenmy reality wasn’t torn and distorted.Sometimes when I drove by his store he had a certain expression on his face that made me pullover and see what was going on with him. We were from the same place, but now somehow, weboth had a business or two in San Francisco’s Mission District… on 24 th Street. I cried with hima couple of times. Sometimes I would walk out of Papalote, past La Snackería, past theMcDonald’s, and make it to the corner just in time to let the tears roll. And he would comfort me.Sometimes I would be watching him hitting his drum at the corner with his dancers going all out,with all the people around them. And then he would catch my eye. Eye contact. A five secondconversation. A five second lament. A five second connection that filled my spirit and my heart.All of this until very recently.Ricardo “El Tigre” Peña passed away in his sleep on Monday, December 8th. Ask me where hisspirit is.