Chapter 63: Beer Tastes Best When You Win It in a Bet
Topolobampo was a small port on the Pacific coast.
The salty, fishy smell brushing against the tip of my nose, mixed with the diesel exhaust from fishing boats, revealed the place in all its rawness.
“The restaurant is inside the fish market.”
Lucas pointed toward a small fish market attached to the harbor.
Unfamiliar fish and all kinds of fresh seafood were packed into Styrofoam boxes filled with ice at the makeshift stalls.
After walking through the market for about five minutes while looking around with interest, we found several open-air restaurants crowded together in one corner beneath flimsy slate roofs.
Instead of signs, they had wooden boards painted with the word MARISCOS in white.
“Hmm... Let’s go with this one!”
They all looked the same to me, but after giving it some thought, Lucas chose one and went inside.
“Welcome!”
“¡Bienvenidos!”
The employee, who had been sitting around looking bored, immediately jumped to his feet when he saw us.
All the chairs were red plastic ones with large Coca-Cola logos printed on them, while the folding steel table wobbled because it was uneven.
I chuckled when I noticed that someone had tried to level one of the legs with a beer-bottle cap.
“You’re... okay with a restaurant like this, right?”
Lucas asked while studying my expression.
“Yes. I actually like places like this. Local markets and restaurants are more interesting.”
“Hahaha, that’s a relief. Places like this are where the food is truly authentic. Joven!”
Lucas quickly scanned the menu written on the wall, then called for the employee.
Joven meant “young man,” but in Mexico, people called waiters that regardless of their age.
Otherwise, they made a sound like “psst!” or whistled to get their attention.
Doing that in the United States would have been incredibly rude, so it was a rather fresh cultural shock for me.
Thud, thud—
Before even taking our order, the employee set down a basket of roughly chopped limes and a bowl of thin stew.
“I recognize the limes, but what’s this?”
“Oh, that’s botana, a complimentary appetizer. They serve it automatically when you sit down. Fried tortillas are more common, but this place must be generous if they’re giving us fish soup.”
Slurp—
Lucas spoke while scooping up the broth with a large stainless-steel spoon.
A short while later, before even five minutes had passed since we placed our order, the first dish arrived.
Raw shrimp? I never expected to see sashimi in Mexico.
It was an unfamiliar dish consisting of translucent raw shrimp half-submerged in a green sauce inside a chilled stone bowl.
“This is aguachile verde. You could call it the pride of Sinaloa. It may look like raw shrimp, but the acid in the vinegar has fully cooked it, so you can eat it without worrying.”
(Translator’s Note: Aguachile Verde — A seafood dish strongly associated with Sinaloa, traditionally consisting of raw shrimp, lime juice, green chilies, cucumber, and seasonings. The citrus acid changes the texture of the shrimp’s proteins, but it does not sterilize seafood in the same manner as heat cooking.)
Something about acid denaturing proteins, I supposed.
I had never had any aversion to raw seafood to begin with, so without much hesitation, I speared one with my fork and put it in my mouth.
“Mm...!”
The sharp acidity of lime struck my nose and tongue first, followed by the tingling heat of chili spreading through my entire mouth.
Then came an astonishingly cool taste of the sea from the shrimp and cucumber.
“This is the real thing. It wakes up your appetite immediately.”
“Right? Hahaha. Whenever I come to this area, I always start with this. One beer, please! ¡Una cerveza, por favor!”
At Lucas’s words, the employee brought over a bottle of Pacífico, a famous Mexican beer occasionally seen in the United States, along with a glass and a plate.
(Translator’s Note: Pacífico — A Mexican lager originating in Mazatlán, Sinaloa. Cervecería del Pacífico was established by German brewers in 1900, and the beer later gained a following in the United States, particularly among travelers and surfers returning from Mexico.)
A plate with beer...?
While I stared in confusion, Lucas liberally sprinkled salt and chili powder across the plate.
Then he moistened the rim of the beer glass with lime and pressed it firmly into the plate covered in salt and chili.
Glug, glug—
“Try drinking it like this.”
Lucas poured the beer into the glass, whose rim was now coated with salt and chili powder, and handed it to me with a confident smile.
I had seen people salt the rims of margarita glasses before, but...
Half doubtful and half expectant, I first ate another bite of shrimp, then drank the beer.
...Huh? What is this?
The moment my lips touched the glass, the intense acidity and spiciness made the space between my brows twitch.
At the same time, a wave of beer immediately washed away those powerful sensations, leaving behind an unbelievable freshness.
“Wow... This is a whole new world.”
Just as a cold beer tasted better after leaving a hot sauna, the refreshing sensation that followed the intense flavors was extraordinary.
“Hahaha! I knew you’d like it! Your palate is practically Mexican, Jason!”
Lucas laughed delightedly.
That was a trait Mexicans had.
They were genuinely happy when someone enjoyed food they had recommended.
“There’s still a lot more food coming. Eat as much as you like!”
Just as Lucas said, the table was soon filled with pen-shell scallops, which were also served raw, fried calamari, and a whole fish grilled over charcoal.
The cooking methods were somewhat rough, but perhaps because the seafood was so fresh, its natural flavors came through even better.
And compared to the United States, the prices are ridiculously low.
After spending about an hour filling our stomachs, the surroundings had grown dark before I knew it.
Perhaps it was because of the difference in latitude, but evenings in Mexico felt especially short.
“Then shall we go for the second round?”
“The second round?”
“Yes. The meal was the first round. Now we have to go drink beer.”
...Ah, right.
I had briefly forgotten.
This was the country of people who had eaten and drunk until midnight at a birthday party.
“But is it safe to go out at this hour?”
After dropping off our luggage at the accommodation we had reserved, I immediately headed back outside and followed Lucas along the sidewalk.
It was already past nine at night.
In the United States, it was late enough that I would have hesitated to walk around without a car.
“Hahaha, this is Mexico. From the outside, it looks like an incredibly dangerous country, but once you’re actually here, it isn’t necessarily like that. Anyway, you’ll understand when we get there.”
Listening to Lucas’s vague explanation, I followed him to a small plaza about fifteen minutes away on foot.
The moment we arrived, I immediately understood what he meant.
“Wow... What in the world...?”
The late-night plaza was filled with energy and people.
More so than during the day, even.
There were young couples enjoying dates everywhere, and even families pushing strollers.
The sight of children who looked around ten years old sitting on benches and eating ice cream this late at night came as an enormous shock.
Bzzzt—
“Aaagh!”
“Hahaha, estás fuera! You’re out!”
At that moment, an unidentified electrical buzzing sound and a scream came from a crowd gathered in one corner of the plaza.
“Wow, I haven’t seen that in a while. What do you think, Jason? Want to try it?”
When I looked over curiously, Lucas immediately dragged me toward them.
Judging by how he could not stand seeing a foreigner curious about something, Lucas was unmistakably Mexican.
“Toques, toques! Come take the challenge!”
At the center of the crowd stood a middle-aged man with a worn leather bag hanging from his neck.
He held a small wooden box fitted with metal handles, and it looked like something from a science experiment in the 1970s or 1980s.
“What exactly is that?”
“It’s called toques. Several people hold hands and endure an electric current, and whoever lasts the longest wins. It’s a kind of betting game. You’re going to try it, of course.”
After explaining the game, Lucas abruptly pointed at me and shouted to the people around us.
“Who wants to play against this guy?”
“¿Quién quiere jugar contra este?”
The people who heard his challenge looked me up and down with interest, then began stepping forward one by one.
“Hmm... I’ll give it a try.”
“Mmm... yo lo intento.”
“Sounds fun. Then I’m in too.”
“Suena divertido... yo también.”
They then began placing one-hundred-peso bills on top of the wooden box.
Why in the world were these people so enthusiastic?
In the end, five people, including me, joined the bet in no time.
“Jason! Our beer money for tonight is riding on you! ¡Ánimo!”
Before I could say anything, four determined-looking Mexican young men grabbed my hands and formed a circle.
“Then let’s begin!”
“¡Ándale!”
Bzzzt, bzzzzzt—
As the man turned the knob on the wooden box with a mischievous smile, I began to feel a faint tingling in the fingertips of our joined hands.
I had braced myself because they said we had to endure electricity, but it was nothing special.
What? People make such a fuss over this little—gwaaaaagh!
Every time the man nudged the knob slightly to the right, the strength of the current running through my hands increased.
“Dios míooooo!”
“God almighty!”
When I glanced to the side, the Mexican youths were also screaming and twisting their bodies like squids.
“Hahahahaha!”
The surrounding crowd clutched their stomachs and laughed at the sight.
“Out!”
“¡Fuera!”
Two people immediately released their hands and were eliminated.
Only three remained.
The circle had grown smaller than before, and the knob continued turning farther to the right.
“Why can this foreigner endure so muuuuch?”
“¿Por qué este extranjero aguanta tantooooo?”
The young man right beside me shouted through trembling lips.
BUD/S, the Navy SEAL training course with a dropout rate of roughly eighty percent, came to mind.
That’s right. Navy SEALs are respected because they learn not to quit! Gwaaaaagh!
Clack, clack, clack—
My tightly clenched teeth knocked together with a crisp sound.
Only about a minute had passed, but my arms and legs were twisting uncontrollably regardless of my will.
The Mexican youth across from me looked at me as though begging me to give up.
His eyes even seemed slightly watery.
Not a chance!
I clenched my jaw.
The unfamiliar sensation of my muscles twitching under the electrical stimulation was strange.
Bzzzt, bzzt, bzzzzzt—
“Ugh, ughhh...”
At last, just as not only my limbs but even each of my toes began twitching as though they possessed wills of their own—
“Aagh! I give up! I lost!”
“¡Me rindo! ¡Perdí!”
The remaining youths finally tore their hands away from mine.
At the same moment, the current abruptly stopped.
“Wow! That Asian guy won!”
“¡Wow! ¡Ese asiático ganó!”
“That was incredible! I’ve never seen anyone endure that much!”
“¡Qué impresionante! ¡Nunca había visto algo así!”
Wheeeet—
The surrounding crowd whistled and applauded together in amazement.
“Jason, that was amazing! You won! So, how was your first shocking experience?”
Lucas hugged me in delight as though we had just won the World Cup.
“Uh... My body feels refreshed...”
It sounded absurd, but it was true.
How should I describe it?
It felt as though I had received physical therapy over my entire body.
Lucas tilted his head slightly at my answer, then quickly shook it off and snatched the five hundred pesos, approximately forty-two thousand won, from the top of the wooden box.
“Whatever! Let’s go drink beer now! Hahaha!”
That night, we used the money we had won to drink ten bottles of beer with two plates of food at a cantina, the most common type of local bar in Mexico.
Perhaps the electric shock had even loosened up my tongue, because the beer tasted especially good.
Before I knew it, ten days had passed since I came to Mexico.
The leisure of the first day had been short-lived.
After that, we had continued on a relentless schedule.
Even by a rough calculation, we must have traveled nearly twenty-five hundred miles, or four thousand kilometers.
As a result of scouring every corner of Mexico like we were hunting rats, we finally succeeded in purchasing seventy-two vehicles, two more than our target of seventy.
The distance we traveled was impressive, but the amount spent on the purchases was even more astonishing: 2.207 million dollars.
Even looking back at it now, that really was an incredible journey.
Lucas, who had acted as our purchasing broker in Mexico, was paid a commission of approximately forty-four thousand dollars, equivalent to two percent of the purchase price.
“Jason, this may sound strange, but this business trip was both exhausting and incredibly enjoyable. It’s been a long time since I felt like I truly worked hard. I’m satisfied with the earnings too.”
Lucas said this as he dropped me off at the long-term parking lot after we crossed the American border.
I sincerely agreed with him.
“Yes. Those ten days were so full that I barely know how they passed. We could never have succeeded without you, Lucas.”
The two of us stood there for a while, staring into space as we reflected on the journey.
There had been the time we drove one hundred eighty miles, or approximately two hundred ninety kilometers, after hearing that a vehicle was available, only to be told it had just been sold.
There was the seller who immediately raised the price by more than ten thousand dollars the moment he realized I was a foreigner.
And there was the time we drank with a prominent local figure who owned the last Mercedes-Benz 280SL on our list, starting in the middle of the day and continuing until five in the morning.
At the time, each experience had been exhausting enough to leave us completely drained.
It was ironic that, looking back now, all of it felt like a memory worth treasuring.
“Heh. Still, Mexican beer really was delicious, wasn’t it?”
“Yes. Especially the beer we drank for free on the first night.”
Pacífico was also sold in the United States, but it could never taste the same as it had that night.
“Then please give my regards to Rafael.”
“I will. See you again, Jason. Drive safely the rest of the way.”
After parting from Lucas, I climbed into my Chevy truck, which I had left in the border’s long-term parking lot.
It had been ten whole days.
Creak, vroom—
“Whew... I’m back.”
The modern Tahoe SUV we had driven in Mexico had been comfortable and pleasant.
Yet for some reason, the moment I climbed into my own vehicle, I felt the cozy familiarity of returning home.
“Then shall we move on to the next stage?”
I lightly smiled as I glanced over the list of seventy-two vehicles written on the paper lying in the passenger seat.
The “ammunition” for our next attack.
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