Author: typepadtowordpress

Traditional Food for Day of the Dead :: Calabaza en Tacha (Winter Squash in Brown Sugar Syrup)

This is just a portion of one gigantic calabaza de castilla (squash from Castilla), the winter squash that's used to make calabaza en tacha (squash cooked in syrup). Calabaza en tacha is a dish that's frequently seen on a Día de Muertos ofrenda (Day of the Dead altar).

The portion of squash in my photo (above) is about 18" in diameter; you probably will want to look for a smaller one in a Latin market near you. Right now, I'm seeing these squash in all the markets here in Mexico City, and it's the perfect cold-weather treat for your family. Even though the name of the squash suggests that it comes from Spain, it's Mexican in origin and is truly delicious in this recipe. Below the squash in the photo are beets, and behind the squash are plátanos machos (plantains).

Mari, the woman who at one time spoiled Mexico Cooks! by doing all of my housework, gave me a squash. She brought two home from her rancho (the family farm) out in the country, one for her family and one for me. The 8" diameter squash wasn't very big, as Mexican winter squash go, but it was plenty for me. Mari's first question, after I had happily accepted her gift, was whether or not I knew how to cook it. "Con piloncillo y canela, sí?" (With cones of brown sugar and cinnamon, right?)

The squash Mari gave me, next to a charming kneeling figurine dressed in ropa típica (typical dress) and selling typical green-glazed clay pottery from Michoacán. The figurine is made of cloth and is about 6" high; her wares are miniatures of the real thing.

Even though I knew how to spice the squash and knew how to cut it apart, knowing and doing these things turned out to be worlds apart. Faced with the project, I waffled and hesitated, intimidated by a large vegetable. The squash sat on the counter for several days, daring me to cook it before it molded. Then one of the cats toppled it over and rolled it around on the counter, so I moved the squash outside onto the terrace table and gathered my nerve.

On Sunday, I finally decided it was Cook the Squash Day. Mari was due to arrive early on Monday morning and it had to be done before she scolded me for letting it sit for so long. I chose pots, knives, and gathered the rest of the simple ingredients for a mise en place.

The squash with the first section cut out.

Cutting the squash in sections was the only difficult part of preparing it. The shell of the squash is hard. Hard. HARD. I was careful to keep the huge, sharp, carbon steel knife I was using pointed toward the wall, not toward my body. With the force I needed to cut the squash open, one slip of the knife could have meant instant and deep penetration of my innards. I felt really tough, knowing that I'd been able to cut it open with just a big knife and a few pointed words. (That's shorthand for 'I swore at it till the air turned blue above my counter').

The squash, cut into sections and ready for the pot. On the counter behind the squash is a 1930's Mexican covered cazuela (casserole), the top in the form of a turkey.

Once I had the (few pointed words) squash cut open, I scooped out the seeds and goop–many people just cook those along with the squash flesh–and cut it into sections more or less 4" long by 3" wide. I did not remove the hard shell, nor should you.

Piloncillo (raw brown sugar) cones in two sizes. The large one weighs 210 grams; the small one weighs 35 grams. I use the small ones in the recipe below. You'll also find these at your local Latin market.

Meantime, I had prepared the ingredients for the almíbar (thick syrup) that the squash would cook in. Mexican stick cinnamon, granulated sugar, and piloncillo (cones of brown sugar) went into a pot of water. I added a big pinch of salt, tied anise seed and cloves into a square of cheesecloth and tossed the little bundle into the water. The pot needed to simmer for at least three hours, until the syrup was thick and well-flavored.

Clockwise from left: Mexican stick cinnamon, anise seed, piloncillo, and cloves.

Several hours later (after the syrup thickened well), I added the pieces of squash to the pot. Cooking time for this very hard squash was approximately an hour and a half over a low-medium flame.

As the squash cooks in the syrup, it softens and takes on a very appetizing dark brown color. Calabaza en tacha is one of the most typically homey Mexican dishes for desayuno (breakfast) or cena (supper). Well heated and served in a bowl with hot milk and a little of its own syrup, the squash is both nutritious and filling.

Squash for breakfast! On Monday morning, Mexico Cooks! served up a bowl of squash with hot milk, along with a slice of pan relleno con chilacayote (bread filled with sweetened chilacayote squash paste) for Mari. Her first question was,"How did you get that squash cut open?" Mari laughed when I told her about my struggle, and then told me that her husband had cut their squash apart with a machete. Mari thought my squash came out almost–almost–as good as hers.

In the evening, a friend came over to have some of the squash for a late supper. HER first question was, of course, "How did you get that squash cut open?" After I told her, she told me that her mother takes a squash like mine up to the roof of their house and throws it down onto the patio to break it apart!

Calabaza en Tacha estilo Mexico Cooks!

Ingredients
One medium-size hard shell winter squash (about 8" high)
6 cups water
14 small or 2 large cones of dark piloncillo (Mexico's raw brown sugar)
2 cups granulated sugar
4 Mexican cinnamon sticks about 2.5" long
1 Tbsp anise seed
1 tsp cloves

Preparation
Heat the water in a large pot. Add the piloncillo, the granulated sugar, and the cinnamon sticks. Tie the anise seed and the cloves into a cheesecloth square and add it to the pot. Cook over a slow flame until the liquid is thick and syrupy, approximately three hours.

While the syrup is cooking, prepare the squash. Cut it into serving-size pieces as described above. If the squash shell is very hard, take adequate precautions so that you do not hurt yourself as you cut it in sections. You can always throw it from your second-floor window onto the patio!

Add the squash pieces to the thickened syrup and simmer until the squash is soft and takes on a deep brown color. Cool for 15 minutes or so before serving. Re-heat for desayuno (breakfast) or cena (supper). Serve with hot or cold milk poured over it.

Makes about 16 servings.

¡Provecho!

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10 de November de 2018
Day and Night of the Dead in Indigenous Mexico :: Oh Death, Where Is Thy Sting?

Remember me as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you will be,
Prepare for death and follow me.
…from a tombstone

What is death? We know its first symptoms: the heart stops pumping, breath and brain activity stop. We know death's look and feel: a still, cold body from which the spirit has fled. The orphan and widow know death's sorrow, the priest knows the liturgy of the departed and the prayers to assuage the pain of those left to mourn. But in most English-speaking countries, death and the living are not friends. We the living look away from our mortality, we talk of the terminally ill in terms of 'if anything happens', not 'when she dies'. We hang the crepe, we cover the mirrors, we say the beads, and some of us fling ourselves sobbing upon the carefully disguised casket as it is lowered into the Astroturf-lined grave.

Octavio Paz, Mexico City's Nobel Laureate poet and essayist who died in 1998, is famously quoted as saying, "In New York, Paris, and London, the word death is never mentioned, because it burns the lips."

Tzintzuntzan, Michoacán panteón (cemetery), Mexico Cooks! photo. These fellows sing to la Descarnada (the fleshless woman) on November 2, 2009.

In Mexico, on the contrary, every day is a dance with death. Death is a woman who has a numerous affectionate and humorous nicknames: la Huesuda (the bony woman), la Seria (the serious woman), la Novia Fiel (the faithful bride), la Igualadora (the equalizer), la Dientona (the toothy woman), la Pelona (the bald woman), la Patrona (the boss lady), and a hundred more. She's always here, just around the next corner or maybe right over there, behind that pillar. She waits with patience, until later today or until twelve o'clock next Thursday, or until sometime next year–but when it's your time to go, she's right there, ready to dance away with you at her side.

November 2013 altar to La Santa Muerte (Holy Death), Sta. Ana Chapirito (near Pátzcuaro), Michoacán. Devotees of this deathly apparition say that her cult has existed since before the Spanish arrived in Mexico.

In Mexico, death is also in the midst of life. We see our dead, alive as you and me, each November, when we wait at our cemeteries for those who have gone before to come home, if only for a night. That, in a nutshell, is Noche de Muertos: the Night of the Dead.

In the lower center portion of this photograph, you can see the Quiroga, Michoacán, panteón municipal (town cemetery). Late in the afternoon of November 1, 2013, most townspeople had not yet gone to the cemetery with candles and flowers for their loved ones' graves. Click on any photograph for a larger view.

Over the course of the last 35-plus years, Mexico Cooks! has been to countless Noche de Muertos events, but none as mystical, as magical, or as profoundly spiritual as that of 2013. Invited to accompany a very small group on a private tour in Michoacán, I looked forward to spending three days enjoying the company of old and new friends. I did all that, plus I came away with an extraordinarily privileged view of life and death.

A magnificent Purépecha ofrenda (in this case, a home altar) in the village of Santa Fe de la Laguna, Michoacán. This detailed and lovely ofrenda was created to the memory of the family's maiden aunt, who died at 74. Because she had never married, even at her advanced age she was considered to be an angelito (little angel)–like an innocent child–and her spirit was called back home to the family on November 1, the day of the angelitos. Be sure to click on the photo to see the details of the altar. Fruits, breads, incense, salt, flowers, colors, and candles have particular symbolism and are necessary parts of the ofrenda.

Detail of the ofrenda casera (home altar) shown above. Several local people told Mexico Cooks! that the fruit piled on the altar tasted different from fruit from the same source that had not been used for the ofrenda. "Compramos por ejemplo plátanos y pusimos unos en el altar y otros en la cocina para comer. Ya para el día siguiente, los de la cocina tenían sabor normal, pero los del altar no tenían nada de sabor, no supieron a nada," they said. 'We bought bananas, for example, and we put some on the altar and the rest in the kitchen to eat. The next day, the ones in the kitchen were fine, but the ones from the altar had no taste at all.'

Preparing a family member's ofrenda (altar) in the camposanto in the village of Arócutin, Michoacán. The camposanto–literally, holy ground–is a cemetery contained within the walls of a churchyard. The beautiful beeswax candles used in this area of Michoacán are hand made in Ihuatzio and Santa Fé de la Laguna.

Come with me along the unlit road that skirts the Lago de Pátzcuaro: Lake Pátzcuaro. It's chilly and the roadside weeds are damp with rain that fell earlier in the evening, but for the moment the sky has cleared and is filled with stars. Up the hill on the right and down the slope leading left toward the lake are tiny villages, dark but for the glow of tall candles lit one by one in the cemeteries. Tonight is November 1, the night silent souls wend their way home from Mictlán, the land beyond life.

At the grave: candlelight to illuminate the soul's way, cempazúchitl (deeply orange marigolds) for their distinctive fragrance required to open the path back home, smoldering copal (frankincense) to cleanse the earth and air of any remnants of evil, covered baskets of the deceased's favorite foods. And a low painted chair, where the living can rest through the night.

Watching through the night. This tumba (grave) refused to be photographed head-on. From an oblique angle, the tumba allowed its likeness to be made.

"Oh grave, where is thy victory? Oh death, where is thy sting?"

Noche de Muertos is not a costume party, although you may see it portrayed as such in the press. It is not a drunken brawl, although certain towns appear to welcome that sort of blast-of-banda-music reventón (big blow-out). It is not a tourist event, though respectful strangers are certainly welcomed to these cemeteries. Noche de Muertos is a celebration of the spirit's life over the body's death, a festival of remembrance, a solemn passover. Years ago, in an interview published in the New York Times, Mexico Cooks! said, "Noche de Muertos is about mutual nostalgia. The living remember the dead, and the dead remember the taste of home."

One by one, grave by grave, golden cempazúchitles give shape to rock-bound tombs and long candles give light to what was a dark and lonely place, transforming the cemetery into a glowing garden. How could a soul resist this setting in its honor?

"Our hearts remember…" we promise the dead. Church bells toll slowly throughout the night, calling souls home with their distinctive clamor (death knell). Come…come home. Come…come home.

Waiting. Prayers. No se me olvido de tí, mi viejo amado. (I haven't forgotten you, my dear old man.)

Next year, come with me.

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3 de November de 2018
Dancing with Death :: José Guadalupe Posada and the History of the Catrina

José Guadalupe Posada, born in the state of Aguascalientes, Mexico, in early 1852, developed his skill as an artist into a career as the foremost political cartoonist of his era, regularly skewering the high and mighty of late 19th century Mexico with his engravings. His portrait (above), engraved by mid-20th century engraver Leopoldo Méndez, is a classic.

Posada's satirical efforts started when he worked as a teenage apprentice in Aguascalientes. His boss, José Trinidad Pedroza, assigned him the job of creating a finger-pointing cartoon depicting the misdeeds of a local politician. His characterization was so successful that it created a tremendous hullabaloo in Aguascalientes; both Posada and Pedroza had to leave town in a hurry to avoid the politico's wrath. When the tumult calmed down, the two printers returned to their work of exposing nefarious political goings-on.

Posada, photographed around the turn of the 20th century, standing in the doorway of his Mexico City taller de grabado (engraving workshop).

When Pedroza's Aguascalientes workplace was destroyed by a flood in 1888, Posada moved to Mexico City to open his own workshop. After the move to the capital, Posada began publishing and distributing frequent volantes (flyers). He used the medium to continue to puncture the egos and expose the foibles and serious crimes of government and social figures of the day. During a time when many in Mexico were illiterate, the message of political cartoons could be easily understood even without reading the articles. Many credit Posada with raising the political and social consciousness of the peón (common laborer), exposing social injustice at a time when most at that level were blind to it.

Posada's first published fashionably-hatted calavera (skull). The cartoon is titled, "Big Sale of Grinning Skulls". Over the course of the rest of his career, it is estimated that the prolific Posada published as many as 20,000 political volantes, at a penny apiece, including many thousands that were illustrated by calaveras.

What was Posada's purpose in utilizing a skeleton–albeit a well-dressed skeleton–to illustrate his articles? Mexico's president/dictator at the time, Porfirio Díaz, idealized and aped all things French. During his 30-year rule (1876-1910, known as the Porfiriato), Mexican government officials and high society alike dressed in the French mode, expressing what was known then and is known now as malinchismo: over-valuing foreign imports over Mexico's national products. The Frenchified calavera engraved by Posada is offered as a satirical portrait of those Mexican natives who, Posada felt, were aspiring to adopt European aristocratic traditions in Mexico's pre-revolutionary era. The irony of Posada’s drawing—a fabulously over-dressed skeleton—is that no matter what we’re wearing, we all end as bones.

El Jarabe en Ultratumba (Dancing Beyond the Grave).

In Mexico, we play with, make fun of, and party with death. We throw our arms around her in a wickedly sardonic embrace and escape her return embrace with a zippy side-step, a wink, and a joke. Every day is a dance with death. Death is a woman who has a numerous affectionate and humorous nicknames: la Huesuda (the bony woman), la Seria (the serious woman), la Novia Fiel (the faithful bride), la Igualadora (the equalizer), la Dientona (the toothy woman), la Pelona (the bald woman), la Patrona (the boss lady), and a hundred more. She's always here, just around the next corner or right over there, behind that pillar. She waits with patience, until later today or until twelve o'clock next Thursday, or till sometime next year–but when it's time, she's right there to dance away with you at her side.

In the fairly recent past, Posada's pointed and politicized calavera became known as la catrina, a figure now closely related to Mexico's celebration of Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead). Renowned Michoacán-based painter and sculptor Juan Torres Calderón, Mexico Cooks! good friend, was the first to present Posada's catrina vision in clay. In 1982, his wife, Velia Canals, began production of Maestro Torres' three-dimensional catrina designs. Their workshop in Capula, Michoacán, is open for sales to the public.

The Mexican word catrina–the word now used for any representation of Posada's original French-attired calavera–simply means a woman who is dressed to the nines. Her male counterpart is known as a catrín—a handsome man, usually dressed in elegant male attire. Together, the couple are catrines. Even today, if you go out to a formal event, your neighbor (seeing you leave the house) might well say, “Uff, qué catrina!” Unless you’re a man, of course, in which case the neighbor would say, “Qué catrín!”.

These catrines are made of paper maché. On the far right, you see a bride and groom. Mexico Cooks!' kitchen shows off this same artisan's chef figure, in a green chef's jacket and a high white toque. Click on any photo to enlarge it for a better view.

Some of the many Día de los Muertos figures displayed at the fabulous bakery Hornos de Los Ortíz, in Morelia, Michoacán. The owner makes these gorgeous figures out of bread dough! If you happen to be in Morelia in the next few weeks, DO NOT MISS this bakery and its annual display. The owners, in a typical Mexican play on words, call the diorama a pan-teón: bread cemetery.

During the 2015 Noche de los Muertos events in Morelia's historic center, this young woman dressed in a skirt and hat made of totomoxtle (dried corn husks)–the husks normally used for making tamales. Her mother made her outfit and painted her face.

During the last few years, many Mexican children and adults have begun to paint their faces for Día (and Noche) de Muertos. The little girl in the chair lives in Opopeo, Michoacán, a small town not far from Morelia. In the town square's bandstand, young people were designing a special face for each child who wanted one.

Posada's century-old political calavera has evolved into one of Mexico's most beloved icons, the catrina. When your friends ask you about her, be sure that they know the history behind this beautiful creature. She's more than just a pretty face.

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27 de October de 2018
Restaurante La Conspiración de 1809 in Morelia, Michoacán :: Happy First Anniversary!

In English, the name of Restaurante La Conspiración de 1809 is, "The Plot of 1809"–plot as in spying, clandestine whispers, sneaking around, closed-door planning, state secrets, heroes, and Mexico's fight for independence. See the upside-down crown at the base of the restaurant's logo (above)? It's a clear sign that Spanish rule–the rule of the crown–was about to be overturned by the plotters. And why is this important to Morelia, Michoacán? Morelia is where the plotting started–the plot that would eventually bring about Mexico's independence from Spain. Little clues all over the restaurant's interior let the diner in on the plot. If you see something unusual while you're dining, ask what it means! But shhhh… All photos courtesy La Conspiración unless otherwise noted.

Located in the recently renovated Portal Allende, just behind and with a glorious view of Morelia's beautiful cathedral, La Conspiración offers the diner a choice of under-roof outdoor seating or seating in the elegant indoor rooms. The owners closely monitor the entire ambience, ensuring that a client's time at the restaurant is quiet, relaxing, and filled with delight.

In the evening, when you're relaxing at La Conspiración outside under the portales (arches), you can easily see the sky-high towers and the blue dome of the Cathedral–illuminated by soft white lighting, the lovely view will take your breath away. Photo Mexico Cooks!.

Let's talk just a little about the history of Mexico's independence from Spain–then I promise we'll talk about what's on the menu for you at La Conspiración.

Just a few of the most important conspirators in the fight for Mexico's independence. At bottom right, wearing a white headscarf, is José María Morelos y Pavón, one of the first conspirators to join the plot. The city of Morelia, originally named Valladolid, was renamed "Morelia" in 1828, to honor his heroism during the struggle for freedom from the rule of Spain.

In September of 1809, in Valladolid (today known as Morelia), Michoacán, several people, including military man José Mariano Michelena, several other men born in Nueva España of Spanish parents, including a priest and a monk, began a secret movement with the goal of overthrowing the Spanish government of the country we now know as Mexico. Among other plans, they infiltrated a meeting of indigenous people in case it were necessary to take up arms against the Spanish, even though the preference was a peaceful takeover.

The plot was discovered on December 21, 1809 and the members were imprisoned. Nevertheless, their influence had spread roots in the states of Querétaro and Guanajuato. In San Miguel el Grande, Guanajuato, Admiral Ignacio Allende, Father Miguel Hidalgo, and Miguel Domínguez and his wife, Josefa Ortiz de Domínguez, continued to work to plot the fight for independence from Spain. On September 15, 1810, Father Hidalgo gave the cry for independence on the steps of the church of Nuestra Señora de Dolores, in what is today the city called Dolores Hidalgo, in Mexico's state of Guanajuato.

Father Hidalgo with the Estandarte de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, the banner with which he led the insurgents during the fight for independence.

In 1821, Spain and "Nueva España" signed the Treaty of Córdoba, ending Spain's rule over Nueva España (now Mexico).

Expect to see your attentive wait staff in elegant vintage-style uniforms at Restaurante La Conspiración de 1809. No detail has been overlooked: from staff uniforms to bar ware to unique copper bathroom fixtures, you can count on chef Martínez and Sr. González to give you the best.

Restaurante La Conspiración de 1809 opened on October 20, 2017, exactly one year ago today. Cynthia Martínez Becerril, the owner/chef, and her front-of-the-house partner Roberto González, head the restaurant and form an anchor in Portal Allende. The restaurant, open every day from 12:00 noon until midnight, offers cozy, quiet dining in a truly elegant setting, a setting where you can go in casual clothing or your best gala dress, where you can enjoy live music (even on the sidewalk) vetted by the owners, and where the food is traditional, or inventive, or bar-style, but inevitably marvelous. Everything from the courtesy-of-the-house shot glass of spicy, tangy shrimp broth to
the over-the-top desserts will delight your palate.

The beautiful bar, fully stocked with just about anything you might like to drink, welcomes you to La Conspiración.

Planning a private dinner party? Imagine yourself and your guests in this room, surrounded by the luxury of a hand-painted tropical mural.

An appetizer of machitos Michoacán style to share–traditionally made of beef small intestine–served with salsa borracha (literally "drunken" sauce–made with beer) and just-made guacamole.

Sopa Tarasca, a classic soup from Michoacán's kitchen, is based on a recipe from Morelia's longtime chef, Sra. Livier Ruíz. It's topped with drizzles of Mexican table cream, fried tortilla strips, and fried black chiles. This superb version is bean-based, while another equally excellent version is not. Both versions are traditional to Michoacán.

Cream of roasted garlic soup, served with dehydrated jamón de serrano (thinly sliced crisp Spanish-style ham), crunchy tomato, and a delicious crouton of pan de agua.

House-made mole with pasta: chef Cynthia's creation, and one that I thought might be an extremely unlikely combination of two worlds. The truth is, this dish works to satisfy you in a deep way that you'll really love.

Long-cooked chamorro (pork shank), big and meaty and served in a richly spiced sauce. Accompanied by steamed rice and refried black beans.

Ribeye steak, broiled to your taste, with capers and potato wedges, plus a small salad.

Uchepos de nata are Michoacán's fresh corn tamales. These are served with Mexican table cream, queso fresco (a crumbly fresh cheese), and molcajete-made salsa–or if you prefer, a salsa de chile poblano (poblano chile sauce).

For dessert, a basket of house-made peanut marzipan ice cream with fresh seasonal fruits grown in Michoacán, one of Mexico's primary producers of strawberries, blackberries, and red raspberries.

Last but not least, the completely outrageous and exquisitely sinful concha con natas, served with ice cream and English-style custard, and topped with a lacy, decorative, burned tortilla. If you've had a full meal, you might want to consider sharing this extraordinary delicacy with your dinner companion. But order it, you won't regret it. Photo courtesy Mexico Cooks!.

Provecho! (Mexico's bon appetit!)

Chef Cynthia Martínez (front, center) and part of the restaurant staff. Happy anniversary to the whole team at La Conspiración! May you have a joyous day and many more to come.

Restaurante La Conspiración de 1809
Portal Allende 209
Centro Histórico
Morelia, Michoacán 58000
Cell: 014431580443
Landline: 4436906820

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20 de October de 2018
Mexico’s Michelada :: Based on Beer, Flavored to Perfection, and a Sure Cure for your Hangover–Have One for Breakfast
A perfect michelada, rimmed with Tajín and topped with crunchy fresh cucumber. Spicy, salty, beery, umami-rich, and completely refreshing.

Here in Mexico–everywhere in Mexico!–the single most popular beer drink is the michelada. Its ingredients, always based on beer, depend on the bartender, the part of the country one is in, or on one's personal taste. A michelada is an any-time, any-season drink.

We see fútbol (soccer) stadiums full of people slugging down liters of stadium-prepared micheladas, parties at home where no other alcoholic beverage is served, and restaurant tables full of people slurping them down along with their barbacoa, carne asada, or pozole–or accompanying a hamburger and fries, or a salad. The michelada goes with just about any sort of food. Popular wisdom also knows it as a super hangover cure, so hey–beer for breakfast in your hour of need? Join the crowd. Why not, just this once?

The primary ingredient of any michelada is beer. Most people prefer a light-colored lager, but once in a while someone will order a michelada made with dark beer. Corona is just one option; any light-colored lager will do. First and foremost is to use the lager you prefer: Corona, Pacifico, Modelo, or any other. And your beer doesn't even have to be made in Mexico; use what you like. Photo courtesy Corona.

The seasonings in a michelada typically include either Clamato, V8, or plain tomato juice, plus Worcestershire sauce, a very hot bottled salsa like Valentina, Cholula, Yucateca, or any of dozens on the grocer's shelf, salt—lots of salt—powdered chile, the umami-heavy seasoning liquid called Maggi, and freshly-squeezed jugo de limón (the juice of a key lime).

Rim a frosted pint mug or glass with powdered Tajín (a commercial mix of powdered dry chile, limón flavoring, and salt). You can find Tajín in almost any supermarket. There are imitators, but if you can find Tajín, it's the best. Photo courtesy Tajín.

Now add the rest of the ingredients. Here's a recipe to get you started; experiment with micheladas till the flavor blend is exactly the way you like it.

Micheladas a la mexicana
- light-colored lager beer of your choice
- Clamato or V8 or tomato juice
- 3 or 4 splashes hot sauce, more or less to taste. Try Valentina, or Cholula, or use your favorite.
- 2 splashes of Worcestershire sauce
- 2 splashes of Maggi sauce
- Juice of one lime
  Fill the glass about ¼ to ? with the Clamato juice. Add the hot sauce, the lime juice, the Worcestershire sauce, and the soy sauce. If you used Tajín to salt the rim, pour any excess from the plate into the glass. Fill the rest with cold beer and top off your micheladas with sticks of celery or jícama, skewers of shrimp or olives, half-moons of cucumber, freshly-cooked octopus–really, anything within the limits of your imagination. And for good measure, add another splash of Maggi.
Clamato contains water, tomato concentrate, high fructose corn syrup, MSG, salt, citric acid, onion powder, celery seed, garlic powder, dried clam broth, unspecified spices, vinegar, natural flavors, food coloring, and ascorbic acid to maintain color. Photo courtesy Clamato.

V8 juice contains a blend of reconstituted vegetable juices including tomatoes, carrots, celery, beets, parsley, lettuce, watercress, and spinach, plus a tiny percentage of salt, ascorbic acid, citric acid, and natural flavoring. Photo courtesy V8.

Campbell's tomato juice contains tomato juice from concentrate, potassium chloride, ascorbic acid, citric acid, salt, malic acid, and other flavorings. Photo courtesy Campbell's.

In the United States, the ingredients in Lea & Perrins Worcestershire sauce are: distilled white vinegar, molasses, sugar, water, salt, onions, anchovies, garlic, cloves, tamarind extract, natural flavorings, and chili pepper extract. Anchovies–did you know that? Photo courtesy Lee & Perrins.

Valentina is arguably Mexico's best-known bottled salsa. The photo shows the four liter bottle–nearly a gallon! That size should keep you in micheladas for quite a while. If you'd prefer a smaller bottle, you can buy Valentina, either hot or extra-hot, in a 12.5 ounce size. The ingredients are water, chile peppers, vinegar, salt, spices and sodium benzoate (as a preservative). The taste can be described as a citrus flavor, with a nicely spicy aftertaste. Photo courtesy Valentina.

If you're not already using Maggi for cooking, look for it until you find it for your micheladas. Of Swiss origin, Maggi is ubiquitous, literally a global phenomenon, used all over the world to add an extra touch of taste to savory recipes. It's indispensable in a michelada, bringing the utmost in umami to the drink. Your micheladas will be pale in flavor without it. Ingredients vary by country; if you have an MSG sensitivity, be sure to look for it in the ingredients list. Some countries' Maggi have it, some don't. Photo courtesy Maggi.

Finally, the taste of freshly squeezed jugo de limón (juice from the key lime) will brighten up your michelada in a way that regular lime juice won't. You'll find limones in many supermarkets and Latin specialty markets. The juice of one limón per liter of michelada is the ratio you want. Mexico Cooks! photo.

The name michelada is said to be made of three words: 'mi' (my) 'chela' (a popular nickname for any beer) and 'helada' (icy cold). How many micheladas are consumed in Mexico every year? Untold millions! Do your part to keep the numbers up!

Salud! (To your health!)

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13 de October de 2018
GIANT ALEBRIJES In Mexico City’s Streets :: The Stuff of Dreams

This article, originally published in 2011, is well worth repeating today. The 12th annual Desfile de Alebrijes Monumentales (Giant Alebrijes Parade) will take place on October 20, 2018, starting at 12:00 noon. This year's parade expects more than 200 entries; it will kick off at the Zócalo in Mexico City's Centro Histórico and wend its way through downtown until it arrives on Paseo de la Reforma, ending at the Ángel de la Independencia. If you'll be in Mexico City, don't miss it!

Mexico City's iconic Ángel de la Independencia, nearly 43 meters high (that's 140 feet, for you who are metrically-challenged) is known all over the Distrito Federal simply as 'El Ángel'. Need a place to meet your friends to head for the Zona Rosa? "Nos vemos en el Ángel a las once…" ('see you at the Angel at eleven o'clock…'). For a good idea of the size of just the Ángel, look at the man standing near the right-hand corner of the railing–and consider that the platform is very, very high up on the column!

The fifth annual exhibit of alebrijes monumentales (monumentally-sized alebrijes) started just at the Ángel, in October 2011. This one is called Hipnóptera.

Very much in the style of Pedro Linares, this giant and quite happy alebrije exhibited along Paseo de la Reforma is called Pedrito (little Pedro). No fear–in spite of his sharp teeth, he won't bite!

The alebrije, created originally by 20th century Mexico City papel maché (paper maché) artisan don Pedro Linares, has become part of Mexico's mythology. If the creatures appear to be the stuff of nightmares, they in fact are just that: in the mid-1930s, sick and hallucinating with a high fever, Linares dreamed that these fantastical creatures surrounded him and heard them calling out their hitherto nonsense-syllable name: alebrijes, alebrijes, alebrijes. When his health improved, he began making the figures in his media, paper maché and cardboard.

This towering two-headed, four-armed creature with wings is called Pescando Soles. I spoke to the man standing at the right of the photo; he is close to six feet tall. That should give you an idea of the size of this giant.

Artist Mireya Carrera Bolaños smiles for the camera in front of her creation called Pescando Soles, which won an honorable mention in the competition.

Even though Sr. Linares originated the genre of alebrijes based on his fevered dreams, and even though his family continues to produce them in Mexico City, the alebrije name has passed into common usage for any fantastical creature made in the Linares style or a style that is similar. In Mexico City and the surrounding area, most alebrijes are made of paper maché and cardboard; this work is called cartonería. However, in the state of Oaxaca (and most famously by the artisan workshop headed by Jacobo and María Ángeles in the town of San Martín Tilcajete), alebrijes are carved from copal wood and are made in the shape of animals, both realistic and mythical. Each genre is very different from the other.

Ponte Almeja, a horned devil figure, sports a green tail covered with pre-Hispanic symbols.

The alebrijes exhibit started on a Sunday, which is always family day on Paseo de la Reforma. Every Sunday the divided wide boulevard is closed to all motorized traffic and is taken over by throngs of bicycles, tricycles, scooters, runners, walkers, children, and stroller-pushing parents. Vendors–of everything from food, toys, lucha libre masks (Mexican-style wrestling), bubble machines, pink and lavender cotton candy, and other non-essentials–line the sidewalks on both sides of Reforma.

Lucha libre mask vendor. You only wish it were Mexico Cooks! behind that marvelous mask!

This artist crafted a stack of monumentally-sized paper maché books between the feet of his giant alebrije. The title of the blue book in the middle of the stack is "Como Hacer Un Alebrije Monumental en Dos Semanas" ("How to Make a Monumental Alebrije in Two Weeks").

A toothy paper maché smile. This one looks much fiercer than Pedrito!

This wildly colorful dragon called Michtic (Gracioso) has its tail in its mouth, ready to go for a spin.

The head of the Ecofloon–part giraffe, part reindeer, part bird-beak, and 100% alebrije.

P-ezme Pezcadilla. The invented names of the creatures are as fanciful as their paint jobs.

Detail of paper maché bolitas (little balls) and wonderful design.

I've got my eye on you…

The end of the three-block exhibition of alebrijes: the fountain and glorieta (traffic circle) of Diana la Cazadora (Diana the Huntress). Click to enlarge the photo for a better view of her with her bow and arrow. In the background, the Hotel St. Regis.

After the weekend-long alebrijes exhibition along Paseo de la Reforma, the figures were trundled over to Mexico City's Centro Hístorico for a week in the Zócalo (central plaza), a fittingly monumental site for the 2011 crop of monumental alebrijes. We can hardly wait till the 2012 exhibit–come join us!

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6 de October de 2018
Flowers, Food, and Wonderful Signs :: Mexico City’s Mercado de Jamaica

The exterior of Mexico City's Mercado de Jamaica. As is true in most Mexican markets, you'll find everything from fresh figs to duct tape, from a haircut to a great midday meal: in other words, exactly what you're looking for. However, this particular market specializes in wholesale flowers. In addition to its hodgepodge of everything under the sun, the vendors here sell literally millions and millions of flowers every single day. Photo courtesy John Woods.

Nuns buying flowers for their convent. Approximately 80% of the flowers at the market are grown in the State of Mexico, which is separate from but almost completely surrounds Mexico City. In the State of Mexico, flower growing generates a yearly economic bounty of $2,700,000,000 pesos: two billion seven hundred million, folks. It's not a typo.

A few of the literally millions of beautiful blooms available at either wholesale or retail prices at the market.

Freesias, one of my favorite flowers–the scent is irresistible.

Many of Mexico City's markets use this sort of printed sign to advertise the price of what's for sale–in this case, vine-ripened Roma tomatoes–and every sign has a bit of advice to offer about your potential purchase. I've loved these signs since long before moving to Mexico's capital. On this market jaunt, the lightbulb went on: all of you would love these typical and sometimes funny signs, too. This one urges, "Don't think about it too much…take home a little kilo!".

For already-cut-up calabaza de castilla (a hard-shell Mexican squash): 'money well spent'.

For limón criollo (Mexican limes): I'll be right with you!

Limas–and there really is no translation for this uniquely Mexican fruit. They are neither limes nor lemons, nor are they oranges. But as the sign says: it's scrumptious!

Pink-fleshed guavas–take the best! And the orange sign to the left says, "Give Trump a trumpada…" with a papaya! Loosely translated, it means bop him one with a papaya. You can also see plastic cups filled with pomegranate arils, whole pomegranates, bananas, clementines, and cantaloupes.

Chile jalapeño: pretty and cheap, at four pesos the quarter kilo (approximately two cents for a half-pound).

Mexico's papa Alfa–white potatoes for 10 pesos the kilo: smile.

Beautiful crisp cucumbers: ask for more.

In Mexico, if something is super-wonderful, people say "…no tiene madre…" (it has no mother). In this case, the merchant's sign for the apples says, "…de poca mad…", or "…it has only a little mother…", but just barely skirts accepted language boundaries by cutting the …"re…", off the madre, leaving you to think of the word by yourself.

Tomate verde (tomatillo, in English) at six pesos the kilo: 'Don't look any further!'

This merchant is offering his chiles jalapeños at 14 pesos the kilo by poking fun at popular advertising: 'Like you saw on TV'."

Tunas are cactus fruits, and extremely refreshing and delicious. Their texture is like watermelon. In this case, the sign reads, Tunas Chingonas–the best translation I can think up is badass cactus fruit!

Here's a peeled tuna. The fruit is easier to peel than a tangerine; cut off each end, slit the thick skin, and peel it off the fruit.

This sign is my current favorite. "Ni hablar mujer" means 'Lady, don't even talk about it!'. The phrase is also part of a Pedro Infante song.

Next year, plan to come along with us to this marvelous market. Ahorita la atiendo!

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29 de September de 2018
A Classic on the Table in Michoacán :: Sopa Tarasca

North-central Michoacán is frequently and with much reason called paradise on earth. Autumn's wildflowers, ripening corn, green mountains, and a partly cloudy sky combine to give you the sense that 'paradise on earth' just might be exactly where you are: in this case, near Senguio, Michoacán.

The state of Michoacán is well-known both for its lovely scenery and its even more lovely–and delicious–regional cooking. The indigenous Purépecha kitchen, in particular, is Mexico Cooks!' favorite. If you look back at the Mexico Cooks! archives (found listed on the right-hand side of this page), you'll see many, many articles about this marvelous cuisine, which dates back to pre-Hispanic days.

Misnamed "Tarascos" by unknowing 16th century Spanish invaders, the Purépecha have, just within the last 25 to 30 years, largely reclaimed their actual tribal name. Nonetheless, one of the most popular dishes in the Michoacán culinary repertoire bears the name sopa tarasca (Tarascan Soup).

Not precisely traditional, but certainly not modern, this pot of beans is cooking over a wood fire built in a deep tire rim in an open patio in Tzintzuntzan, Michoacán.

You might well ask, "Sopa tarasca must be a pre-Hispanic dish, right?" Or maybe, "Sopa tarasca was first made for her family by a long-ago Purépecha housewife, no?" Over the course of years, most people who have eaten and fallen in love with this remarkably delicious and filling soup have asked me these same questions. Much to their surprise, the answer is always, "No…but let me tell you the story I know."

Once upon a time, long before Mexico Cooks! was born, the small plaza in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán looked like the above photo. Part of the two-story building with the arches, just to the right of the photo's center, became the home of the Hostería de don Felipe, which had a dining room to serve its guests. Later, the Hostería was renamed Gran Hotel. In the 1960's, Rafael García Correa was a young cook in the Gran Hotel kitchen.

When I met Rafael García Correa in 1982, he was the head of the kitchen at the Gran Hotel. The photo above, taken in 2004 by Luis Jiménez of the New York Times during an interview where I was present, is don Rafa (don is an honorific title given to a revered older man) showing us a bowl of sopa tarasca in the foreground, along with a plate of corundas (a kind of Michoacán tamal).

Don Rafa told me that in the mid-1960s, he himself, along with the hotel's then-owner and the owner's American wife, invented a dish that, once offered to the public, became an almost instant classic: sopa tarasca was born, not created in an indigenous kitchen but for a tourist hotel's dining room. Today, we'd call that cocina de autor: the cook's invention.

Sopa tarasca as served at Lu Cocina Michoacana in Morelia. Read more about the restaurant here.

Sopa tarasca as served at the Hotel de la Soledad, Morelia. Some sopa tarasca is based on beans; some, like don Rafa's, is not.

Was don Rafa the inventor? He swore his story is true. He also gave me a hand-written recipe which he promised is the original. Don Rafa passed away a few years ago, and any possible secrets of sopa tarasca's origins were buried with him.

Don Rafa reported that sopa tarasca was served for the first time as part of a Pátzcuaro wedding banquet, on May 8, 1965. Years later, he opened his own restaurant near Plaza Gertrudis Bocanegra (the plaza chica) in Pátzcuaro. If you go to the restaurant, you can still enjoy a bowl of his own sopa tarasca.

Today, sopa tarasca is a Michoacán icon, prepared in almost every restaurant around Lake Pátzcuaro as well as in further-flung establishments. It's one of those you-have-to-try-it local dishes that people who know you've been to Michoacán will ask you about: did you taste it at so-and-so's restaurant? How about at this other place, did you like it there?

Sopa tarasca as served at Pátzcuaro's Mansión Iturbe, a hotel and restaurant. Click on any picture to see a larger view.

Fortunately, sopa tarasca is a relatively easy soup to prepare at home. The ingredients should be readily available, if not in your nearby supermarket then at a Mexican market not far from you. The recipe I offer you here is don Rafa's, but there are others (notably an excellent one from Diana Kennedy) that are available either in books or on the Internet.

Sopa tarasca as served by chef Alma Cervantes Cota at Restaurante Azul y Oro Ingeniería, UNAM, Mexico City.

Sopa Tarasca Don Rafael García

Ingredients

For the roux:
50 grams all-purpose flour
100 grams unsalted butter

For the soup:
500 milligrams tomato purée
4 cups cooked peruano beans–or other beans, if you can't get peruanos. Bayos would be excellent, and you can buy them already cooked, if you like.
2 tortillas
5 corn tortillas, cut into very thin strips and fried until crisp
100 grams chile ancho, cut into thin strips and fried until just crisp. Be very careful not to burn the chiles, they fry quickly and burn in the blink of an eye.
250 grams Mexican table cream
100 grams quesillo (Oaxaca cheese), shredded
1 clove garlic
1 small white onion
10 cups rich chicken stock
Worcestershire sauce to taste
Salt and pepper to taste
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 sprig fresh marjoram or oregano
2 bay leaves

Preparation
In a heavy pot, prepare a roux with the butter and flour, stirring constantly so that no lumps form. Allow to cook until the roux is a deep caramel color.

In a blender, liquify the two tortillas listed, some of the fried chiles, and the onion. Add this mixture to the roux and continue stirring until it is well incorporated. Next, add the tomato purée, the chicken broth, the herbs, and salt and pepper to taste. Add half a teaspoon of Worcestershire sauce and taste; if you think more is needed, add bit by bit. Add the beans to the blender and liquify.

Pour all blended ingredients into a large heavy pot. Allow to simmer for 15 minutes. At the end of that time, if the soup seems too thick, add chicken broth. If it seems too thin, simmer until it reduces a little.

Put equal amounts of the soup into each of 10 bowls. Garnish with fried tortilla strips, fried chile ancho, some Oaxaca cheese, and some cream. You can add some cubed or sliced avocado and a few sprigs of cilantro. Take your cues from the photos I've included in this article.

Sopa tarasca, garnished in this serving with fried shredded tortillas and fried shredded chile pasilla.

Serves 10.

Provecho!

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22 de September de 2018
Viva México! Viva México! Qué Viva! :: Fiestas Patronales, Independence Day Celebrations in Mexico

Street vendors hawk la bandera nacional (the Mexican flag) in dozens of forms for several weeks during August and right up to September 16, Mexico's Independence Day. It's always fun to see what's the latest in patriotic tchotchkes. In this photo, you see a vendor near the zócalo (Plaza de la Constitución) in Mexico City. Photo courtesy Starmedia.

Mexico's official struggle for freedom from Spanish colonization began sometime between midnight and dawn on September 16, 1810, when Father Miguel Hidalgo gave the Grito de Dolores (Cry of Dolores) from the parish bell tower in the town known today as Dolores Hidalgo, Guanajuato. Mexico celebrates its day of Fiestas Patrias (Patriotic Holidays) on September 16 with parades of school children and military batallions, politicians proclaiming speeches, and general festivity.

Another flag vendor, this time in Morelia, Michoacán. All photos copyright Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

Hundreds of books have been written about Mexico's break from Spain, millions of words have been dedicated to exploring the lives of the daring men and women who knew, more than 200 years ago, that the time had come for freedom. You can read some of the history on the Internet. Another excellent source for Mexican history is The Life and Times of Mexico, by Earl Shorris. You'll find that book available to order through Amazon.com, on the left-hand side of this page.

But the best-kept secret in Mexico is the Independence Day party. No, the biggest deal is not on September 16th. Held every year on the night of September 15, the Gran Noche Mexicana (the Great Mexican Night), the real celebration of the revolutionary events in 1810, is a combination of New Year's Eve, your birthday, and your country's independence festivities. Wouldn't you really rather hear about the party? I knew you would!

Jalisco town kiosko (bandstand) decorated for the Fiestas Patrias.

For years I've attended the September 15 celebrations in a variety of towns and cities. In Mexico City, the country's president leads hundreds of thousands of citizens in late-night celebrations in the zócalo, the enormous square surrounded by government buildings and the Metropolitan Cathedral. Every Mexican town big enough to have a mayor holds a reenactment of the Grito de Dolores, Hidalgo's cry for independence. The town square is decorated with flags, bunting, and ribbons. Cohetes (sky rockets) flare and bang. Sometime around eleven o'clock at night, the folks, assembled in the town plaza since nine or so, are restless for the celebration to begin. The mayor's secretary peeks out from the doorway of the government offices, the folkloric dancers file off the stage in the plaza, the band tunes up for the Himno Nacional (the national anthem), the crowd waves its flags and hushes its jostling. The mayor steps out onto the balcony of the government building or onto the stage built just outside the building's front door to lead the singing of the Himno's emotional verses.

The bandera monumental and celebratory fireworks in front of Mexico's Palacio Nacional, the zócalo, Mexico City, September 15, 2015. Photo courtesy press.

Dressed in his finest and backed up by a military or police guard, the mayor clears his throat and loudly begins an Independence Day proclamation. He pulls a heavy rope to ring the Independence bell, then he waves a huge Mexican flag. Back and forth, back and forth! In every Mexican town, the proclamation ends with Hidalgo's 205-year-old exhortations: "Long live religion! Long live Our Lady of Guadalupe! Long live the Americas and death to the corrupt government! Viva México! Qué viva!"

Father Hidalgo's 1810 banner. He carried this banner as his standard as a leader in the fight for Mexico's independence from Spain. Photo courtesy Pinterest.

The mayor and the crowd shout as one voice: "Viva México! Qué viva! Qué viva!" The mayor grins and waves as the fireworks begin, bursting huge green, white, and red chrysanthemums over the heads of the attendees.

Later there will be dancing and more music, and food, including traditional pozole, tostadas, mezcal, tequila and beer, and, in larger towns and cities, all-night revelry in the plaza, in private homes, and in hotels, restaurants, and events halls.

A number of years ago my friend, música ranchera singer Lupita Jiménez from Guadalajara, invited me to a Gran Noche Mexicana where she was performing. The event was scheduled to start at 9:30, but Mexican custom normally dictates late arrival. By ten o'clock I was on my way to the party. At the salón de eventos (events hall), the parking lot was already full, but a man was parking cars on the street just a block away. As I left my car, he said, "Could you pay me now for watching your car? It's 20 pesos. I'll be leaving a little early, probably before the event is over."

"How long will you be here?" I asked, a bit anxious about leaving the car alone on this night of prodigious revelry.

Lupita Jiménez in performance at a Gran Noche Mexicana in Guadalajara.

"Till six o'clock." My jaw dropped and I handed him the 20 pesos. Six in the morning! Surely we wouldn't party quite so long as that!

The sad truth is that I didn't. I couldn't. My stamina flagged at about 3:00 AM, after dinner had been served at 10:30, a city politician had proclaimed the Grito, the Himno Nacional had been sung, and big noisy fireworks had been set off on the indoor stage (I swear to you, indoors) of the salón de eventos. Then the show started, a brief recapitulation in song and dance of Mexican history, starting with concheros (loincloth-and-feather-clad Aztec dancers) whirling around a belching volcano, and ending with the glorious jarabe tapatía–the Guadalajara regional dance that most speakers of English know as the Mexican hat dance.

After innumerable trios, duets, and solo singers, the show paused for intermission at close to two in the morning. Several of my table-mates slipped away, but I thought I could make it to the end. The first half of the Gran Noche Mexicana had been invigorating and exciting and I loved it. During intermission, a wonderful Mexican comedian poked fun at politics, functionaries, and Mexican life in general. We were all roaring with laughter. When the comic left the stage, I realized that I was exhausted and needed to go home to bed. Just as the performers stepped onto the stage to begin the next round of song, I sneaked away.

When I called Lupita the next afternoon to congratulate her on the success of the event, she asked if I'd stayed for the last few costume changes. "Mija, I had to go home early. I lasted till three, but then I just couldn't stay awake. I'm so sorry I missed the end."

Lupita laughed. "I'm glad you lasted that long, but next time you have to stay for the whole night! You missed the best part!"

The Palacio Nacional (national office building, including the president's offices) on the Zócalo (Plaza de la Constitución) in Mexico City, all dressed up for the Fiestas Patrias.

Viva México! Qué viva!

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15 de September de 2018
Frijoles Refritos Estilo Mexico Cooks! :: Refried Beans, Mexico Cooks! Style

Some of the many varieties of beans for sale at the daily indigenous market in San Cristóbal de las Casas, Chiapas. The metal cup measures one kilo (2.2 pounds).

The Spanish word frijol is a bastardization of ancient Spanish frisol, which itself is a rendering of the Catalán word fesol–which comes from the Latin scientific name–are you still with me?–phaseolus vulgaris. Is that more than you wanted to know about bean nomenclature?

Here's yet another little bit of Mexican bean esoterica: in Mexico, when you go to the store or the tianguis (street market) to buy beans, you are buying frijol. When you prepare the frijol at home, the cooked beans become frijoles. That's right: raw dried beans in any quantity: frijol. Cooked beans, frijoles. If you ask a tianguis vendor for a kilo of frijoles, he could rightfully send you to a restaurant to make your purchase.

The simple utensils you need to cook dried beans: an olla de barro (clay pot) and a strainer. You can also use a heavy metal pot, or a pressure cooker, but the clay pot adds special flavor to the cooked beans. These pale yellow, long-oval beans are frijol peruano (Peruvian beans, or phaseolus vulgaris), the most commonly used bean in the Central Highlands of Mexico. A clay bean pot has been fired at a temperature substantially higher than the heat of your stove burner, so there's no need to worry about it breaking when you use it to cook.

Mexico Cooks! loves beans. In our kitchen, we prepare about a pound of dried beans at a time. After cooking, this is enough frijoles de la olla (cooked-in-the-pot beans) to serve, freshly cooked, for a meal or two, with plenty left over to freeze. We freeze the rest of the cooked beans in five or six two-portion size plastic sandwich bags. Cooked beans and their pot liquor freeze very well.

I found this little batch of rocks, discolored or very wrinkled beans, and other garbage in the half-kilo of frijol that I cooked yesterday.

Beans are very easy to cook. First, pick carefully through your beans. Even if you buy bulk beans or commercially packaged dry beans at a modern supermarket, be certain to pick through them and discard any beans that look badly broken, discolored, or wizened, as well as any small rocks. You may also find pieces of straw, pieces of paper, and other detritus in any purchase of beans. Put the cleaned beans in a strainer and wash well under running water.

To soak, or not to soak? Some folks recommend soaking beans for up to 24 hours to shorten their cooking time, but Mexico Cooks! has tried both soaking and not soaking and has noticed that the cooking time is about the same either way. We never soak. You try it both ways, too, and report back with your findings.

Epazote (wormweed) grown in a maceta (flower pot) on my terrace. Just before turning on the fire to cook the beans, Mexico Cooks! adds two sprigs of epazote, just about this size, to the pot of beans and water. The strong, resinous odor of the herb absorbs almost entirely into the beans, giving them a mild flavor punch and, some say, diminishing flatulence.

My olla de barrlo (clay bean pot) holds about a half kilo of frijol plus enough water to cook them. You can see the light glinting off the water line, just below the top part of the handle. If you don't have an olla de barro, a heavy metal soup pot will do almost as well. The clay does impart a subtle, earthy flavor to beans as they cook.

Over a high flame, bring the pot of beans to a full, rolling boil. Turn the flame to a medium simmer and cover the pot. Allow the beans to cook for about an hour. At the end of an hour, check the water level. If you need to add more water, be sure that it is boiling before you pour it into the bean pot; adding cold water lowers the cooking temperature and can cause the beans to toughen. Continue to cook the beans at a medium simmer until, when you bite into one, it is soft and creamy. The pot liquor will thicken slightly.

Now's the time to salt your beans–after cooking, not before and not during. We use Espuma del Mar (Mexican sea salt from the state of Colima) for its wonderful sweetly salty flavor, but any salt will do. Add a little less salt than you think is correct–you can always add more later, and you don't want to oversalt your beans.

If you live in the United States or Canada, you'll want to order the fabulous heritage dried beans sold by Rancho Gordo. Rancho Gordo's owner, my friend Steve Sando, has nearly single-handedly brought delicious old-style beans to new popularity in home and restaurant kitchens. If you've tasted ordinary beans and said, "So what?", try Rancho Gordo beans for a huge WOW! of an eye opener.

Mexico Cooks! likes frijoles de la olla (freshly cooked beans, straight from the pot) with a big spoonful of salsa fresca (chopped tomato, minced onion, minced chile serrano, salt, and roughly chopped cilantro). Sometimes we steam white rice, fill a bowl with it, add frijoles de la olla and salsa fresca, and call it comida (main meal of the day).

Chiles serranos and manteca (lard)for frijoles refritos estilo Mexico Cooks!.

For breakfast, Mexico Cooks! prepares frijoles refritos (refried beans). Served with scrambled eggs, some sliced avocado, and a stack of hot tortillas, they're a great way to start the morning. A dear friend from Michoacán taught me her way of preparing refried beans and I have never changed it; people who say they don't care for refried beans eat a bite, finish their portion, and ask for seconds. They're that good.

Here's some more bean trivia: frijoles refritos doesn't really mean 'refried' beans. Mexican Spanish often uses the prefix 're-' to describe something exceptional. 'Rebueno' means 'really, really good'. 'Refrito' means–you guessed it–well-fried.

Melt about a tablespoon of manteca (lard) in an 8" frying pan. Split the chiles from the tip almost to the stem end. Fry the chiles until they are blistered and dark brown, almost blackened. To prevent a million splatters, allow to cool a bit before you add the beans to the pan.

Frijoles Refritos Estilo Mexico Cooks! (Refried Beans, Mexico Cooks! Style)
Serves six as a side dish

3 cups recently-cooked frijoles peruanos
1 or 2 chiles serrano, depending on your heat tolerance
1 or 2 Tbsp lard or vegetable oil—preferably lard and definitely NOT olive oil
Bean cooking liquid
Sea salt to taste

Melt the lard in an 8-inch skillet. Split the chile(s) from the tip almost to the stem end and add to the melted lard. Sauté over a medium flame until the chile is dark brown, almost black.

Lower the flame and add the beans and a little bean liquid. When the beans begin to simmer, mash them and the chile with a potato or bean masher until they are smooth. Add more liquid if necessary to give the beans the consistency you prefer. Add sea salt to taste and stir well.

Leave the melted lard and the chiles in the frying pan and add the beans and some pot liquor. Bring to a simmer over low heat. When the beans are hot, start mashing them with a potato or bean masher. Mash the chiles, too.

These beans are about half mashed.

Mexico Cooks! prefers that frijoles refritos have a little texture. These are just right for us, but you might prefer yours perfectly smooth. If you like them smoother, keep mashing! Either way, the beans should be thickly liquid. If the consistency is too thick, add more pot liquor. If the beans are too thin, add a few more whole beans to mash.

For a wonderful breakfast or supper treat, try making molletes estilo Mexico Cooks!. This is real Mexican home cooking; Mexico Cooks! has never seen this style molletes served in a restaurant. A wonderful Michoacán cook taught me how to prepare this easy meal.

Start with fresh pan bolillo (individual-size loaf of dense white bread), split in half lengthwise. Butter the cut bolillo halves and grill them on a comal (griddle) or hot skillet till they're golden brown. If you aren't able to buy bolillos where you live, use a dense French-style bread instead.

Spread each half bolillo with a thick coat–two tablespoons or more–of frijoles refritos.

Top the beans with a freshly fried egg and your favorite bottled or home-made salsa.

Salsa cruda (also known as pico de gallo) is the home-made salsa that I prefer with molletes. Use finely diced perfectly ripe tomatoes, just a bit of minced white onion, as much minced chile serrano as you prefer, a lot of coarsely chopped cilantro, and salt to taste: voilà! Photo courtesy A Bit of Saffron.

Breakfast, estilo Mexico Cooks!, will keep you going strong till time for comida. You're going to love these beans!

¡Provecho!

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8 de September de 2018