OK, so maybe I’m not your average guy. Your average guy sits in his La-Z-Boy on a Sunday. One hand gripping a Bud. The other clutching the remote.

Me. I go dancing in the desert. But let me explain.

A couple of years ago, this place called Zandunga opened up. I wasn’t sure what it was. No one seemed to know exactly what it was. But almost everyone knew it was only open on Sunday. And we all knew it had music. Very good music. Gil Gutiérrez, a local hero with an international reputation as a world class guitarist played there. And every week there were musical guests. Sometimes, very special musical guests.

It took me a while to get there. Maybe because it takes a while to get there. It’s about half an hour from San Miguel de Allende. On the road to Jalpa the directions say. In the middle of nowhere I say. And I get a little jittery when there’s no smog, no sirens.

The road to Jalpa is pleasant. You pass cactus and cornfields in almost equal measure. Rolling hills where Spaniards once sought silver rise on each side of you. And, apart from the swerve or be swallowed problem of potholes or a flock of next month’s barbacoa thinking it’s their road to Jalpa, getting to Zandunga is rather painless.

You may miss the tiny sign your first time. But the second time you’ll be watching your odometer knowing it’s 10.5 km after you turn off the road to Queretaro. You may curse Zandunga for not putting up a larger sign. Until you think that if it was north of the border it would be humongous. And flashing.

You make a left, pass through some iron gates, weave and wind between stone markers, and bounce your way into a parking lot. Parents try to keep dogs out of brambles and kids out of cactus. A short walk along an almost path and you’re there.

Someone’s home is what I thought it would be. Maybe Gil Gutiérrez’ home. But I knew Gil had a home in Centro, even closer to the smog and sirens than mine.

What it is is hard to describe, hard to put a name on. If it wasn’t going to be a home, I expected it might look like where small-town America would go to see Shakespeare In The Park on a hot July night.

What Zandunga mostly is are efficient tables and comfortable chairs loosely arranged around a stage with a roof on top to save you from spending money on SPF-30 and instead allowing you to spend it on flavored margaritas.

“The Land” is what Gil Gutiérrez wife Rebecca Kamelhar calls it. An event center is what others might call it. “El Rancho” is what one person called it. Fandango is what I’ve heard at least two people call it. “Zangunga” is what Rebecca tells me Gil sometimes calls it. And me, I call it a performance venue.

“Zandunga is the result of a 34 year marriage during which Gil, aside from touring in South America, Spain, and the U.S., performed at numerous restaurants in San Miguel, all to the benefit of each of those restaurants but not necessarily to our benefit”, Rebecca told me, “And so, after all these years, Gil is finally performing at his own place…we now have a place of our own.”

Rebecca was the one who chose the name Zandunga. For before it was a performance venue, “La Zandunga” was a song in waltz-time from the state of Oaxaca that tells of a woman mourning the death of her mother.

Richard Malmed, on guitarist Tim Sparks’ website says, “The word sandunga – sometimes spelled zandunga – is not a frequent visitor to the average Mexican’s daily vocabulary. Most lesser Spanish-English dictionaries don’t include it. Those that do vary a bit in their English translation. A combination of references define sandunga as: gracefulness, elegance, charm, wit, celebration.”

I’ll take that definition “celebration”. For that’s what a visit to Zandunga is. A celebration of music. And not just by the guests but by the musicians. Gil Gutiérrez walks around with a perpetual smile. When he’s on stage, perched on his Mezquite chair, with what he calls “my musical family”, that smile becomes a grin.

I could talk about the music until the cows come home (and they were coming home on the road to Jalpa when we left last Sunday). You might hear Mexican Abajeño or Chilena tunes. Istmeños music from Gil’s home state of Oaxaca. Dexter Gordon’s “Round Midnight”. Music from the TV series “The Civil War” or the film “Cinema Paradiso”. The Beatles “Blackbird” or Sting’s “Fields Of Gold”. Or, in a rousing finale last Sunday, a medley of “La Bamba” and “Twist And Shout”.

Everything that Gil Gutiérrez and friends play is music to my ears. But there’s another kind of music at Zandunga. One that’s played by Rebecca Kamelhar. And it is music to my tongue.

Almost everyone arrives at Zandunga between 1:45 and 2:30 pm. They are given a welcome frozen margarita that, on one Sunday, might be flavored with tamarind, on another might be ginger or mango.

At approximately 2:40 pm, there is a waft in the air. Primarily peppers but also meat. Perhaps chicken or pork.

At approximately 2:45 pm, about 20 of the up to 200 people at Zandunga lead the way to a far corner of the building where a buffet awaits them. Dancing flames attract most people to a spinning spit of pork, manned by an Oaxacan called Isael who executes his best fencing moves, shearing off thin slices of cerdo al pastor. The pork is juicy. The chile is tangy.

Two tacos per person at a time is Rebecca’s stern rule, regardless of a plea that you’re picking up for your table though “you can come back for more”. Pineapple from the condiments table is the perfect compliment.

To ease the length of the line, the off-stage orchestra leader, Rebecca Kamelhar, directs some of the people to some very good sausages in a bun at the end of the buffet. I want to know what’s in the sausage as I want them to be more than a Sundays-only special treat.

”The sausages are pork and beef and are made for me”, says Rebecca. I shape my mouth into a little sneer when she tells me, “Who makes them is my secret.”

At about 2:50 pm, another 20 or so people check out the buffet. If they’ve been to Zandunga before, they’ll know the line will soon be shorter so they’ll head back to their table and order beer, wine or another margarita.

Meanwhile those first in line will now be on to the quesadillas. Most choose the flour tortillas. I choose the sweeter, nuttier blue corn tortillas. Most people, including me, choose the cheese rather than plain. Then most people, including me, take way too long to decide what else they want from the inviting pots and pans.

I remember my first time at Zandunga. I wondered what size kitchen was turning out all of these fillings for the quesadillas. I went up, down, around, was frowned upon by a woman who thought I was leering into the ladies room, but no kitchen.

I asked Rebecca where the meats and sauces magically appear from. She said, “All the food is prepared at my home and then taken out to the venue.”

My first choice of quesadilla is easy. It’s always the rajas, the roasted poblano peppers. They’re a perfect companion to the Quesilla, the Oaxacan cheese.

My second choice last Sunday was the chicken in chipotle sauce. The chicken in mole, the roast pork in cheese sauce, the chorizo will have to wait until the next time. Susanna, the woman who mans the quesadilla griddle, smiles when she hears my choice is chicken in chipotle.

”Although all the recipes are mine I do give credit to Gil’s mother who taught me a lot about Mexican cooking”, Rebecca says. “I have taught Susanna, who has worked in my home for the past seven years, to prepare the food to my specifications and we work side by side preparing the food fresh for each Sunday…oh, one correction, the pollo al chipotle is Susanna’s recipe, not mine.”

People are up dancing when I return to our table and, between picking up plastic cups and paper plates, Rebecca Kamelhar is out on the dance floor, giving Gil a wink and a smile and pulling back silver strands from her face every few seconds.

It’s about 3:40 now. There’s one more thing at that buffet I have to go back for. The barbecued chicken wings. The sauce is a little like Buffalo style only no vinegar and more peppery. There’s not just chile pepper but black pepper.

The chicken is prepped not into wingettes and drumettes but into six, maybe seven inch long forms that I find strange but intriguing.

From behind the bar, Rebecca tells me, “The chicken wings are also prepared for me and are also my secret but there is nothing strange about the shape. The smaller joint is removed and the two remaining joints are broken open so that they can fit nicely on the grill.”

I decide I’m still not going to try to butcher them that way at home. I’ll just have to keep coming back to Zandunga.

I look at my empty beer bottle and, while I’m deciding if I have room for one more, Rebecca brings a bowl to the table that brings out the child in me. And everyone else. Not just fingers but whole hands reach inside.

I think about why I enjoy coming to Zandunga so much. It’s not just the music. It’s the food. It’s mostly Mexican food. In many ways it’s simple food. But in many ways the flavors are very complicated. Magnetic music may have pulled me to Zandunga the first time. The food is the attraction for a return performance.

I decide I’ve had enough beer for now and we round everyone up and head to the car. Two things sum up Zandunga on our way down the little hill to the parking lot. There’s what a blackboard says when I stop to take a photo of birthday-boy Stan Jones and there’s what Don Day’s Wife says.

“I can’t think of any better way to spend a Sunday afternoon”, are her exact words. And to prove it, she bought the t-shirt.

Weekenders were leaving their trail of smog as we headed back to San Miguel. An ambulance tried to wind its way past them. I walked into the house and snapped the cap off that one more beer, easily found the usually missing remote and turned on the TV. There was still a lot of sports to be watched.

Pre-purchase of tickets is required for Zandunga. They are available at Mixta, Pila Seca #3 in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico.