Here we were in Puerto Vallarta. Tourists are everywhere, cab drivers fighting for fares like dogs with one food bowl. What do we do? Head right past them all to the bustling interstate. A friend and local had recommended crossing over the pedestrian bridge and calling an Uber. It seemed like a good idea until we had lugged my giant bag to the other side. Having lived in tourist towns where the locals' income does not compare to the visitors, I immediately recognized that this may have been a bad decision. Just standing around with our luggage and confused faces we were sitting ducks for any scammers. Immediately a man comes up and offers a ride for less than Uber. He shows us that he drives for uber but he can take us on his own.  I go to hesitate and Chris is like “Sure buddy looks fine to me”

  Off we go hopefully arriving in one piece with our possessions still with us. The trusting soul won this one. He was actually a wonderful driver and did save us a lot of money. Sayulita is about 45 minutes from Puerto Vallarta, traffic permitting. That drive though. As you leave the bustling city you head into lush mountain roads. At first, the town seems disappointing. Small shacks and not much to see. We head into our Air BnB and we get our next letdown. At first glance, it seems nice. Then we went searching for the second bedroom. Maybe it's connected to the balcony? Wrong, it is on the balcony. A bed on the porch? It didn't have a shade to block the sun. Kelli graciously offers to take it but I couldn't help but feel bad. Not being ones to dwell on things or let them ruin a trip. We head out to explore.

The drive-in did not prepare us for what we would find. Heading down the cobblestone roads the wafts of food started to hit. We turned a corner and the first thing we see is a local gentleman placing tacos on a grill dipping them in a sauce and then his young assistant placing them in a bag and handing them to the long line of people waiting. I knew it was Birria right away and I was getting some. It was just as amazing as I remembered. Spending time in Latino neighborhoods in California had taught me what this was supposed to taste like. This was my first clue, somewhere here there is a lady standing over a hot grill with children under her feet. She is who I had to find because she had my treasured treat, Pollo Asado. 

 We head into town and it was not what I expected. Sayulita is a beautiful town. While smaller and less touristy than its bigger rivals it is still very tourist-friendly. While pretentious me always likes a hidden gem I understand that many want those creature comforts. The town is full of restaurants and shops. The roads have brightly covered overhangs that scream “I need a picture here”. The main road leads directly to the beach. The first night was a little drinking and a lot of searching for some staples for Kelli. We were exhausted from our travels and decided to head back and reserved our real exploring for the next day. As we walk back I recognize the smell. There she is! In a lean-to hut with a dirt floor she is standing over a grill covered in the red tinged chicken I have been dreaming of since I left California. We were stopping, someone would have to be dying for me to walk past her. Chris being a newbie orders 5. The look of disbelief on her face was priceless. I had to lean over and whisper “ One babe, you just want one” Confused he says ‘ There is three of us?” Don’t worry, I know what I am doing.

We sit down at the picnic table and her small daughter followed by her small furry companion brings us paper plates, napkins, and a giant plastic jar of sauce. A couple of moments later she shows up with a platter of perfectly grilled chicken. Chris now realizes an order is a whole chicken. Could you imagine if we got 5 whole chickens for 3 of us? As Chris goes to grab the bottle of sauce the lady reaches out in broken English and exclaims “ NO! Very Spicy” Being from Louisiana of course we think Phht spicy? Sure? We know spicy. Learning his lesson he puts a small dab on his plate and tastes it. After he clears his throat and looks up with glassy eyes he agrees “ Yes, Very Spicy. Yall watch out for those giant plastic containers. Those homemade hot sauces in Mexico are no joke. Once recovered we all dig in. The table was in complete silence and then everyone leaned back with smiles on their faces. “I told yall its magic chicken, one bite and every worry and stress slips away”  Now mine is not as good as hers but it's as close as I can get. I have a theory that Pollo asado is a secret passed down only to the chosen and never is it written down, it's in their genes imprinted for only them to see.