I spent one summer in Mexico (San Pedro, Garza, Garcia... near the Oaxteca valley). My sister lived there with her husband who took a job with an International pertroleum company. She had such a huge house, she literally gave me the second floor as my apartment.
It was so cool to sleep out in the balcony and feel the fresh, cool air coming into the valley from the foot of the Sierra Madre every night. Any way, I made friends with many of the local guys my age (18/19 year olds). I had a little money I saved up from working the fall and spring previous to that. I wanted to spend one year in Mexico before I started college. So I was considered a rich American kid by the local guys I made friends with even though I literally had what I considered very little money. But the little I had was enough for them to party every weekend for the entire summer. Little did I know that was the unspoken plan, I would be the financier of the weekend parties at the local hang out place for these guys. Mario, Tiko, Jose, Adam (who was training to be a professional boxer), Juan and me. Party baby, parrrr-teee!
So the usual weekend ritual was this: Tiko would bring the onions, tomatoes and chiles. Mario would bring the meat from his Dad's butcher shop (the Oaxteca Valley was where cattle would graze and Mario would help slaughter some of the cows for the local farmers and they were sometimes paid with meat to sell and consume). Adam would bring tortillas (fresh from the local tortillera) and avocados. That left the two younger ones, Juan and me to buy the beer. Odd, we were the youngest, but were called upon to buy the beer. I learned later it was because Juan was quickly becoming my best friend and could've talked me into anything if necessary and also I had the money for beer. Any way, I needed Juan too because we didn't just go to a grocery store and pick up beer. We went to a local store, a mom and pop front store of a house. We had to buy ice and cheap beer (for me, for them it was an expenditure). Lots of ice.
We did this for the entire summer. Best norteno parrilla I have ever had and it got me hooked on the food off the grill method of eating norteno. Those guys were into the beer drinking, I fell in love with the eating. So I never got drunk with them at the hangout, a modified lot used for parking at the end of the street I lived in. By Friday night, it was empty except for the six of us eating and drinking beer, playing guitars and talking about women and cars. I knew little about both, so I listened more than anything else... and ate.
The very cheap beer we would buy each week: Tecate. It was worse than Coors, in that it was so watered down and tasteless, the whole idea was to consume a lot of the stuff (and you needed a lot of it) just to get a buzz. I was proud I could drink four to five Tecates and not feel a buzz or anything. I thought it was me getting more tolerant of beer but the reality was that the mexican version of Tecate sold to the every man was nothing more than beer mixed with water. Nobody really cared because if you saved a little, you could buy the stuff. But these guys now had a person in me who could easily afford to finance the beer buying.
It was heaven for most of the summer because of all the good cheer, including the beer consumption for most of us. Not much in terms of getting drunk, but in having it be part of the experience. Clear nights, singing, great grill food, stars in the sky, the foothills of the Sierra Madre and Tecate beer.
Kind of like a beer commercial, only real.
