Lupita's chicken.

Everyone (well, nearly everyone) tells you not to be too adventurous about food in Mexico. Having gotten turista a few times my own self, I understand the sentiment. But what's the point of being in Mexico if you're going to eat like an American?

Eating Lupita's is not exactly daring in these parts. Her roasted chicken is highly recommended by the Canadians and Americans we've met. Plus, everyone standing in line in front of us today was clearly Mexicano.

But you wouldn't see this process in the states. The roaster is outdoors. The sauce container is a plastic garbage can. The end of the big rotisserie skewer is resting on the dirty concrete as chickens are being pinned on them, just about three feet away from us.

It cost about $7 for a chicken, which I think is more than you pay for a roasted chicken at Costco nowadays -- but I'm guessing this one didn't have salt water injected into it. Plus, for some reason, we got a chicken and a half. A sale, maybe?

This photo is a little blurry, but I was trying to be sly and look a little less like a tourist, so I shot from the hip (literally) and didn't focus.

By the way, the chicken was as good as I'd hoped.

Next week, I promise I'm going to try the roasted corn from the woman who shows up around 3 p.m. at the end of our block.