Dispatches

At approximately 2 in the afternoon, May 5th, 2012, I fell in love with a sandwich. I was in a taquería line somewhere uptown with the rest of the city's agave-soaked droves, when I caught an irresistible whiff of something entirely un-Mexican. The scene: It's a breezy but clear Cinco de Mayo, the city's trading sobriety for sombreros, and I'm aimless -- jostling against foot traffic, towards the source of a sweet, smoky aroma, groping the air for more, like a madman. I stumbled down thirteen...