J00sterJournal: Taco Time Part 1: You Mean Chipotle Isn't Mexican?

With a frigid Thanksgiving vortex in store for the Northeast corridor, it's time to pivot towards some turkey tacos topped off with a little cranberry mole. Bring on Mexico City, land of mysterious pyramids, mysterious meat-like substances in street tacos, and mysterious drug cartels. Speaking of the latter, no prizes for guessing what's stashed in these innocent piñatas heading north o' the border. After all, there's an amnesty in effect, si?

The ritzy, leafy neighborhood of Polanco is where you retire to once you've wrapped up your, ahem, piñata exporting business. With Wall Street bouncing back there's a lot of pesos in being the official piñata supplier to the Boom Boom Room.

The rich north of the continent likes to cast a disparaging eye down south, but the reality is Polanco could easily hold its own as a town on the WASP-y Connecticut commuter corridor. There's more to Mexico than Cancun beach resorts and tacky sombreros folks.

That must be where the owner of Chipotle lives. Hang on, what do you mean he's from Colorado? Next you'll try to tell me vegan sofritas aren't real Mexican.

Who prunes the trees when all the gardeners are busy manicuring the lawns of Beverly Hills?

Nope, putting up a Mexican flag does not make this an authentic mercado. It seems stewed fish heads and fried grasshoppers don't go well with Prada.

It's like Mission Cantina, except without a three hour line of hipsters out front.

Actually it's just like Mission Cantina, including the hipsters. Forget capitalism, the real forces of globalization are skinny jeans, a hint of irony, and a predilection for exposed-filament Edison bulbs.

A library hidden behind a coffee shop. It's enough to make one curate a bespoke beard and peddle up on a one-speed. Luckily it comes fully equip with a reclaimed leather book bag.

Nothing like importing a little piece of New York to boost you street cred. Although they would have been better off importing something with global megabrand Brooklyn in the name. Brooklyn Burrito anyone?

General Mao is feeling a bit peckish. Unfortunately his buddy General Tso is busy experimenting with a new kung pao quesadilla recipe to drum up interest from the fusion-loving hipster crowd. The communist overtones help too: wasn't that the original sharing economy?

The problem with socialism is that a pool for the 100% isn't quite as nice as a pool for the 1%. Luckily the JW Marriott doesn't suffer the ignominy of catering to low-percentilers.

The hottest opening in New York this winter is Enrique Olvera's contemporary Mexican outpost Cosme. Like all hot openings, reservations are booked out well into 2015. But it never takes a Manhattanite long to spot an arbitrage opportunity: in the four hours you'd wait for one of the coveted walk-in tables, why not fly to Mexico City and try his original restaurant Pujol instead?

Tempura kale with chili is an early highlight. Shades of Asian influences here, maybe old General Tso was onto something after all.

The one fine dining experience where it's ok to order the margarita.

Thanksgiving dinner, deconstructed.

The Museum of Anthropology boasts an impressive collection of whatever didn't get pillaged by the Spaniards.

Architecturally the design of the museum is stunning, which almost makes up for the fact they've discontinued the daily virginal sacrifice exhibit at the top of the Mayan pyramid.

The new headwear that's taking the winter gala circuit in New York by storm. Certified polar vortex proof.

By executive order undocumented immigrants are now eligible for any and all forms of birth control covered under Obamacare, including but not limited to the sombrero.