The jackfruit came on the night bus from Tabasco. Packed in a cardboard box amongst parcels and suitcases, between kids with headphones and sleeping gray-haired campesinos, on a beat-up bus loaded with the human capital needed to massage, manicure, pedicure, rub hot stones on, remove seaweed with shovels from the sight of, twist towels into woodland creatures for, ferry mixed drinks across hot sand towards and minister to the whims of the welter of tourists in Tulum.
The crate of star fruit came in from Chiapas. The cacao beans from Yucatan. The octopus, currently being massaged by an Australian chef named Kane, came from Nayarit and the melon clams, which only three men know how to harvest, from four hours off the coast. The four pigs heads on the grill, flesh tightening around their teeth into a posthumous rictus, were until recently attached to bodies rooting around Chiapas. To this jungle kitchen traveled fruits obscure and fruits common, cacti and bromeliads from across Mexico, insects from the jungle and field, bivalvia and octopodidae from the Sea of Cortez and corn from centuries ago stream in daily in plastic crates, in pickup trucks and, in the case of the jackfruit, passenger buses.
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The man who summoned all these things here, the pied piper of product, is about the only thing around here that is not local. He is the pale-skinned hazel-eyed lightly-bearded Dane named Rene Redzepi. Recently, or at least since he opened Noma for one month on the jungle side of Carretera Tulum in April, it should be noted his skin is a bit tanner and his hazel eyes sparkle with a bit more fun than usual.