I've had it up to here with work, so I've decided to phone in my column from the thriving Mexican city in which I'm vacationing. I'm seated on a long, brown and green picnic table with clusters of Hispanic families and couples, all speaking so fast in Spanish that about 99.9 percent of it goes right over my head. Before me is a bowl of birria, hunks of tender top sirloin stewed in a reddish-brown broth so savory that I know I'm going to lap it all up. Beside this bowl is a stack of freshly made corn tortillas, and beside this stack, a jumbo glass of coconutty agua fresca. The horns of mariachi music are trumpeting in my ears, and nearby, an exquisite, sloe-eyed beauty smiles coyly at me. Phoenix and those endless deadlines seem a... More >>>