Author: typepadtowordpress

What’ll You Have? Mexico’s Most Popular Drink :: The Michelada
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? 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 whatever country's beer you like best. 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!)

Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours.
25 de November de 2017
Delicious Winter Squash, Mexican Style, for Your Thanksgiving Table :: Calabaza en Tacha

Looking for something different to serve for Thanksgiving? How about calabaza en tacha–winter squash cooked in a deliciously sweet syrup? As a side dish instead of sweet potatoes–or in addition to sweet potatoes!–this Mexican-style squash is sure to be a hit with your family and guests.

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 and one for me. The 8" diameter squash wasn't very big, as 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?)

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 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 knife 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. Later that night, my friend Araceli told us that her mother usually breaks a squash apart by throwing it from her home's second floor balcony onto the concrete patio! The next morning, Mari told us that her husband had cut their squash apart with a machete. 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 '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 and cut it into sections more or less 4" long by 3" wide. I did not remove the hard shell, nor should you.

Piloncillo 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.

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). Mari thought my squash was almost–almost–as good as hers.

Calabaza en Tacha estilo Mexico Cooks!

Ingredients
One medium-size hard shell winter squash (about 8" high)
6 cups water
14 small cones of dark piloncillo (coarse 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 milk poured over it.

Makes about 16 servings.

¡Provecho!

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18 de November de 2017
Corn Travels In Baja California :: From Tijuana to Tecate, From Ensenada to Valle de Guadalupe and More!

Tijuana boasts an extraordinary school of culinary arts. We were privileged to be invited to present Mexico's maíces nativos (native corns) to a full auditorium of faculty, students, and the interested public. After the presentation, it was enormously gratifying to hear so many questions: "How and where do we start to promote and preserve this ancient corn?" "What can we do here in Baja California?" "How do we get seeds and how do we plant them here?" The audience truly understood and shared our preoccupation for these grains.

Left to right in the front row: W. Scott Koenig of A Gringo in Mexico, friend of maíces nativos Kalisa Wells, freelance writer Jackie Bryant, who spent the day with us, and Jennifer Kramer/Chris Mejia of Baja Test Kitchen, all of whom supported the corn project in Baja California. Seated above Scott at the far left of the photograph is Javier González Vizcaino, the director of Tijuana's Culinary Arts School, who was responsible for our invitation to speak there. The very fine culinary school recently celebrated its fourteenth anniversary.

Director Javier Gónzalez, head of the Culinary Arts School, makes a comment about a question asked after the presentation. Meeting Sr. González was a tremendous privilege for all of us involved with the Baja California corn project. We so appreciate his cheerleading!

The quintessential Baja California fish taco, delicious and endemic to the region. Think 'good-sized piece of battered and deep-fried fresh fish–often cazón–topped with salsa cruda (raw sauce–often erroneously called pico de gallo), finely shredded raw cabbage, drizzled with Mexican table cream and sprinkled with fresh cilantro. The outdoor stand offers other salsas as well, which we also slathered on our tacos. Our Baja Test Kitchen guides recommended this particular spot in the small town of Valle de Guadalupe; I'm not going to give away their secrets, but it's one of the many wonderful places they know in the in that part of the world. They'd be happy to schedule a trip for you.

This tejuino stand was one of my favorite stops. Rafael Mier's smile should tell you the story: so refreshing, so cold on a hot day–I could have drunk at least two cups, but we were on our way to eat elsewhere and tejuino is quite filling. The drink is a mixture of fresh masa (corn dough), piloncillo (Mexico's raw brown sugar), water, lemon juice, salt to taste, and ice. Everything but the ice is allowed to ferment for two or three days prior to chilling and serving. Many times your glass of tejuino will come topped with a small scoop of nieve de limón (lemon ice). The recipe comes from the state of Jalisco and the drink is served from carts all over the city of Guadalajara. I asked the man who served us our tejuino in Valle de Guadalupe where he was from–Guadalajara, of course!

We thought we'd just stop by to say hello to doña Sabina Bandera (La Guerrerense) at her carreta (street stand), but of course we stayed for some of her famous seafood tostadas. Since she was a newlywed in 1961, doña Sabina has been selling her incredibly fresh seafood preparations from a cart at the corner of Av. López Mateos and Calle Alvarado in downtown Ensenada. In addition, she recently opened a sit-down restaurant just across the street. Ensenada has always known and loved her and her wonderful seafood, but in 2012 Anthony Bourdain featured her on his show "No Reservations" and La Guerrerense became a legend and a Baja California food destination. In the coming year, La Guerrerense's seafood tostadas and jars of her dozen-plus different salsas will be available at Bourdain's new market in New York–and in another world-class city that I'm not quite allowed to mention yet. You'll read it here on Mexico Cooks! just as soon as my friend doña Sabina gives me the go-ahead.

Maíces nativos meet tostadas La Guerrerense! The tostada on the left is pulpo (octopus); the one on the right is caracol del mar (sea snail). Both are lip-smackingly good. Doña Sabina, the Guerrero-born daughter of campesinos (farmers), had a lot to talk about with Rafael Mier. He was thrilled to find out that she is 100% supportive of the work being done by the non-profit foundation Tortilla de Maíz Mexicana, and of course he is now one of her big supporters.

The serve-yourself array of salsas at doña Sabina's new cafeteria-style sit-down restaurant across from her street cart. The restaurant, simplicity itself and filled with the joy of good eating, shows the world just who doña Sabina is: no pretensions, straightforward this is who I am. You can't help but love her and the food she prepares. I certainly do.

Meet chef Omar Armas of Restaurante Mantou, Ensenada. The maíces nativos group presented these native corns to the restaurant cooks and wait staff while we were in Ensenada. The restaurant closed permanently on September 3, 2017, but chef Omar is keeping on with his culinary projects and plans to keep his career close to home. Our time at Mantou was so productive–not to mention so tasty–that it seems wise to put the news out that his culinary skills will continue to be available.

Rafael Mier talked about ancient and modern corn to the entire kitchen and front-of-the-house crew; more than triple this number was in attendance. Few had ever seen the variety of Mexico's native corns, and until hearing the talk, few understood the reasons for preserving these national treasures. Seated opposite Rafael, chef Omar listened deeply to the themes of the presentation. Above the heads of the group, you can see the final image of the Tortilla de Maíz Mexicana's slide show. The caption says, "El destino del maíz está en tus manos." 'Corn's destiny is in your hands.'

After the presentation, Restaurante Mantou hosted a dinner for us, at which we drank Henri Lurton wines. At the head of the table, Lourdes Martínez Ojeda, the head winemaker at Henri Lurton's winery (with a branch settled just over a year ago in Valle de Guadalupe) talks with everyone about why and how Henri Lurton, owner of the Château Brane-Cantenac winery in Margaux, Bordeaux, France and current head of the Lurton wine dynasties, chose Baja California for a second outpost. In addition to her work as the winemaker at Henri Lurton Baja California, Lourdes is also chef Omar's wife.

The menu we oohed and aahed over at Mantou was almost entirely vegetarian. This extraordinary salad consisted of sautéed shiitake mushrooms, verdolagas (purslane), locally made Parmesan cheese, and raspberry vinegar which had been fermented for six months. With the salad, we drank Henri Lurton Chenin Blanc Centenario. The pairing was perfect.

Pasta al dente with a sauce of calabacitas, a small squash similar to zucchini, with cherry tomatoes and gorgonzola cheese. The restaurant paired the pasta course with Henri Lurton Nebbiolo.

If you're in the Ensenada area, look for any events featuring chef Omar Armas. You won't be disappointed.

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11 de November de 2017
Noche de Muertos (Night of the Dead) in Michoacán :: Mutual Nostalgia

Mexico Cooks!' full body bone scan, 2009.

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 right over there, behind that pillar. She waits with patience, until later today or until twelve o'clock next Thursday, or sometime next year–but when it's time, she's right there to dance away with you at her side.

November 2013 altar to La Santa Muerte (Holy Death), 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 panteón municipal (town cemetery) in this small town. 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 30-plus years, Mexico Cooks! has been to countless Noche de Muertos events, but none as mystical, as spiritual, or as profoundly magical as in 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 one of Michoacán's villages. 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 del altar perdieron su sabor, no sabían 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 another village's cemetery in Michoacán. The camposanto–literally, holy ground–is a cemetery contained within the walls of a churchyard. The candles used in this area of Michoacán are hand made in artisans' homes.

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 earlier rain, but for the moment the sky has cleared and 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.

Waiting 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 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 cempazútchiles 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.

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

Next year, come with me.

Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours

28 de October de 2017
Vena Cava Winery, Restaurante Fuego, and Restaurante Corazón de Tierra ALL IN ONE DAY :: Valle de Guadalupe Beginnings

At Restaurante Corazón de Tierra, Valle de Guadalupe, Baja California. Headed up by renowned chef Diego Hernández Baquedano, Corazón de Tierra was named number 39 out of 50 on the San Pellegrino 50 Best Latin American restaurants list for 2016. Rafael Mier gave a presentation about Mexico's native corns to chef Diego and the restaurant's entire kitchen crew and wait staff. Chef Diego closed the restaurant for two prime evening hours so that he and his staff could take part in the class; we felt very honored. Left to right: Rafael Mier, founder of the non-profit foundation Tortilla de Maíz Mexicana, Mexico Cooks!, and extraordinary chef Diego Hernández.

Unlike the lush central and southern areas of Mexico, Baja California grows almost no corn. Most of Baja California is arid, the mountains are rugged and barren, and the temperatures are extreme–the state capital, Mexicali, can have mid-summer temperatures as high as 110ºF and winter lows in the low 40ºs. Because there is little to no rainfall over much of the state, many of its successful crops (wheat, red tomatoes, and onions are the principal products, followed by strawberries and cotton) are grown using irrigation. Very few farmers grow native corns, and very few people in cities such as Mexicali, Tijuana, and Ensenada are familiar with them. It was particularly thrilling to see Baja California's younger cooks and and restaurant staffs light up when they learned first-hand about their corn heritage.

Not everybody listened all the way through the corn presentations, but everybody loved the corn! This little black cat at the Corazón de Tierra gardens pooped out about halfway through a talk and made himself comfortable for a snooze.

Vena Cava and Corazón de Tierra co-owner Eileen Gregory joined us for the corn presentation given to the gardening team.

Master Gardener Claire Acosta showed us around the gardens. Here, a long row of organic acelgas (swiss chard). All of the produce from the garden is destined for the restaurant tables. Ms. Acosta tells chef Diego what the gardeners can pick today and he plans his menu around those vegetables.

Late in the morning, we went to Vena Cava (Phil and Eileen Gregory's beautiful winery) for one of Phil's delightful wine tastings and many stories about the Gregorys' arrival in Valle de Guadalupe. Here, native corn meets Baja wine!

Would you believe this trip was called "work"? Nah, me either! Our next stop was at Restaurante Fuego Cocina del Valle, a short distance from the Vena Cava winery. Headed by executive chef Mario Peralta, Fuego is part of Hotel Boutique, in the heart of Baja California's wine country. Chef Mario, a contender on the 2016 season of Top Chef Mexico, is part of the new generation of cooks who carry the banner of Baja California-style cuisine, which is best known for making use of the region's seasonal ingredients.

Chef Mario's chileagua, plated in a clam shell on a bed of coarse sea salt. The dish is based on the almeja reina (queen clam), which is joined by pear tomatoes, red zebra tomatoes, avocado, cucumber, chile serrano, cilantro flowers, and cempasúchil (marigold) flowers. On this hot, dry winter day, we couldn't have eaten anything more refreshing. Four or five small courses followed this appetizer, but this chileagua was my favorite.

Our final corn stop of the day was back at Corazón de Tierra, for the maíces nativos presentation and then dinner at the restaurant. Here, master gardener Claire Acosta and chef Diego Hernández enjoy looking at the two baskets of native corns.

The menu for dinner at Corazón de Tierra consisted of eight courses, the last of which was a series of three desserts. Fortunately (or not) the portions were served to be shared per three diners. The three tiny kumamoto oysters in the photo above, each as big as the end of my thumb, were meant to be one per person. They were so intensely delicious I would have eaten not only these three, but the three meant for the three people sitting next to me. Everything was delicious, but these oysters in hazelnut butter were my favorite course.

Our Corazón de Tierra courses:
Smoked fish tostada
Kumamoto oysters in hazelnut butter
Salad of tomatoes and tomato water, all from the restaurant's organic garden
Roast beets with two types of smoked garlic, borage, and aged cheese
Lamb taco with stewed swiss chard stems, black radish, and blue corn tortilla
Sea bass with dashi and zucchini-type squash
Potatoes from the organic gardens with chile padrón and 5-year-aged salsa madre

Desserts:
Nopal ice cream with a ginger cookie
Sesame seed ice cream with cilantro cream
Mix of truffles and panacotta

Chef Diego's lovely and refreshing tomato salad, topped with edible flower petals. The dining room at Corazón de Tierra was quite dark, giving a dark, dream-like quality to the dishes we ate–and to the photos I took.

Tiny potatoes, deeply flavorful, coupled with mildly spicy chiles padrón, and tender leaves of various colors, all served with deliberately aged five-year-old salad dressing.

The presentation of sesame seed ice cream with cilantro cream, served on a bed of crunchy, sweet crumble was perfectly beautiful, but was my least favorite item on the menu. Others raved about it.

This fantastic dinner at Corazón de Tierra ended as the moon rose over the restaurant in Valle de Guadalupe. The trek back to our Rosarito condo was quiet and reflexive after our long and wonderful day.

Special thanks to Cintia Soto for taking menu notes in the dark!

Next week: we'll take a short break from Baja California for a special trip to Michoacán, for Noche de Muertos (Night of the Dead). On November 4, we'll go to Ensenada for Baja California street food, and a surprise! Don't miss either one.

Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours.

21 de October de 2017
La Cocina de Doña Esthela :: Doña Esthela’s Kitchen, Valle de Guadalupe, Baja California

Señora Blanca Estela Martínez Bueno–known to the world as doña Esthela–along with her husband, don José, in the white hat–converse with Rafael Mier about some of Mexico's native corns.

Doña Esthela and her husband, both of whom were born and raised in farming families from the state of Sinaloa, Mexico, know corn inside and out. They had a lot to talk about with Rafael Mier and were thrilled that he'd brought the mazorcas (dried ears of corn) with him to the restaurant. The visit we made to their Valle de Guadalupe restaurant, La Cocina de Doña Esthela, was exciting for all of us. Watching the way these three people enjoyed touching these old-time ears of corn, listening to the stories they swapped about planting, raising, harvesting, storing, and cooking with the grains, inspired me deeply.

Doña Esthela and don José (doña and don are honorifics in Mexico, prefixes to a respected woman or man's first name) moved from Sinaloa to Baja California over 20 years ago. To do her part to support their family, doña Esthela took in washing and ironing. Shortly after, she began selling home-baked cookies–and not just any cookies: she was making and selling coricos from the state of Sinaloa, the curled-up cookies on the right in the photo. Coricos are made with lard, corn masa (dough), a little sugar, and some baking powder: simple ingredients with fabulous flavor.

Pretty soon her coricos, burritos, and whatever else she could prepare to sell outside the employee entrances to maquiladores (trans-border factories) and outside local schools was in hot demand among the workers and students in her Mexican neighborhood, and before much longer, other people got wind of the fact that she was a terrific cook. Soon after that, the actors and crew from a popular Mexican telenovela (soap opera), filming in the area, showed up asking to be fed, and the rest is history. She started restaurant life in her home kitchen, with one table, cooking whatever ingredients she could afford to purchase. Over the years, she and her family have expanded the restaurant over and over again–today, La Cocina de Doña Esthela can seat up to 160 diners at a time.

A simple sign, nothing fancy–but on weekends, the wait to be seated can be as much as three hours. If you're in Baja California and want to have breakfast at Doña Esthela's on Saturday or Sunday–or during a puente (holiday weekend)–a word to the wise: the restaurant opens at 8:30 AM. Be there early so you don't have to stand in line forever. On the other hand, if there is a line ahead of you, wait. Breakfast is worth it and you'll thank me.

Let's get to the point: what did we eat?

The star of the restaurant is the barbacoa de borrego tatemado (pit-cooked mutton). Doña Esthela gets up long before dawn to put the mutton and its seasonings into the underground cooking pit–it has to be ready when she opens the doors to customers at 8:30AM. Fall off the bone tender, the meat is served with a bowl of consomé, the liquid in which the meat was cooked. I've eaten delicious barbacoa in a lot of places, and I swear to you that this is the best I've ever tried. Anywhere. Ever.

Big platters started coming quickly out of the kitchen. These are gorditas, thick corn tortillas, split in half and stuffed with spinach, with machaca, with nopales, or with chicharrón, all served with frijoles refritos, Sinaloa style.

Machaca (shredded, seasoned dried beef), scrambled into eggs. Doña Esthela prepares everything herself, with some other staff in the kitchen to help.

I put a spoonful of the machaca into one of her house-made corn tortillas and bit into it, and I think my eyeballs rolled back in my head with joy. If you don't eat anything else at La Cocina de Doña Esthela, you must have the machaca. In 2015, the British food website Foodie Hub named Doña Esthela's breakfasts–with special attention given to the machaca–the tastiest in the world. It's certainly far and away the best machaca Mexico Cooks! has ever tasted.

To the right in the photo is the completely merited Foodie Hub trophy, awarded to Doña Esthela for her breakfasts. In the middle, one of the reed baskets filled with Mexico's colorful native corn. To the left, the clay bowl holds little balls of what I know as azafrán de bolita (little saffron balls). I was so surprised to see them in Baja California; a friend from the state of Jalisco gave me some several years ago and told me that they were only known in that state. His grandmother used them for giving a deep saffron yellow-orange color to a recipe that she made for potatoes and onions.

Here is some of the azafrán de bolita that my Jalisco friend gave me, in a dish that measures about two and a half inches in diameter. The little balls are about the same size as whole allspice. I split a couple open so that you could see their interior color.

Doña Esthela's hot-off-the-comal (griddle) corn tortillas. The incredibly rich flavors of every dish on the table were only enhanced by the pure, delicious taste of home-nixtamal-ized corn masa, pressed into tortillas and toasted on the comal until just right. The tortillas just kept coming–and not only these marvelous corn tortillas, but also doña Esthela's addictive flour tortillas! Which to choose! Easy–have both!

Just when we thought we were finished with breakfast (i.e., ready to burst from having eaten our weight in everything but the actual clay plates, which we politely refrained from licking), doña Esthela brought us a couple of platters of her corn hotcakes and maple syrup. Somehow these, too, disappeared. Our 9-year-old companion, Wolf Koenig, said these were the best pancakes he'd ever tasted. Seems like there's a "best" theme happening here–and honestly, everything we ate WAS the best of whatever it was.

Wolf's dad, W. Scott Koenig, snarfing down a flour tortilla filled with frijolitos refritos (refried beans). The plate at the bottom of the photo holds what's left of just one of the platters of those beans.

Our group, just barely willing to turn away from their plates to look at me as I took the picture. The shutter clicked and we all went right back to mmm-ing and oooh-ing and chewing and enjoying the best (there it is again!) breakfast ever. Clockwise from the left side of the photo: Chris Mejia of Baja Test Kitchen, W. Scott Koenig of A Gringo in Mexico, Wolf Koenig of corn hotcake fame, Ursula Koenig, Jennifer Kramer of Baja Test Kitchen, and just a sliver of Rafael Mier of the Facebook group Tortilla de Maíz Mexicana–which if you haven't yet joined, you definitely should.

One last shot of our crew, with its stars of the day: the maíces mexicanos nativos that were the reason for our trip to Baja California, and to the far right, our incredible breakfast hosts, don José and doña Esthela. From left to right, the rest of us: Mexico Cooks!, Jennifer Kramer, Rafael Mier, and Chris Mejia.

The best way to rescue Mexico's at-risk native corns is by eating them, as we did and you will at La Cocina de Doña Esthela. It's urgent that we promote Mexico's high-quality native corns and at the same time, Mexican farming.

Mexico's two most precious resources: the campesino and the native corn.

If you are ever in the vicinity of Valle de Guadalupe, Baja California, do not miss breakfast with doña Esthela. Go early, but if there's a line, don't be discouraged. Breakfast is so worth the wait.

La Cocina de Doña Esthela
Highway from El Tigre to Guadalupe S/N
Valle de Guadalupe, Baja California
Open daily from 8:30 AM
Telephone: 01-646-156-8453

Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours.

14 de October de 2017
Native Corns in Valle de Guadalupe, Baja California, Mexico :: The Delights of Lechuza Vineyards and Viñas Pijoan

Here we go! These two shallow baskets, packed into the trunk of our vehicle, are overflowing with 50 or more different regional varieties of maíces mexicanos nativos (native Mexican corns), ready to head out for wine country: Valle de Guadalupe, Baja California. In the center of the basket on the right, you can see what looks almost like a hot dog. It's actually a mazorca (dried ear of corn): white corn with a few rows of dried kernels removed to expose its red cob! All photos copyright Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise credited.

You might well ask about the point, the vision, the purpose of this corn journey. You can read here Corn: Mexico's Gift to the World, for a quickie refresher about the thousands of years of history of the corn we know today, corn domesticated in what is now Mexico. That long heritage of Mexico's corn is in jeopardy today; Rafael Mier and I were invited to take corn and its crucial importance to the chefs and cooks in Baja California, where little corn is grown and few ancient corns are known.

The Pacific coast, from an overlook near Ensenada, Baja California. Those rings in the water to the far right in the photo? Tuna farms; this offshore area is dotted with them. All photos copyright Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

During the last 20 or so years, Valle de Guadalupe and the Ensenada area of Baja California have become a Mexican wine and culinary destination, recognized world-wide. With over 100 commercial vineyards, an extraordinary number of high-end restaurants, and the nearby Pacific Ocean, tourism in this part of Baja California is booming. We travelled to this part of Mexico in the interest of educating area chefs, kitchen staffs, and the students at Tijuana's excellent Culinary Arts School about Mexico's ancient history of corn as well as the need to preserve and protect our native grain.

The backstory is that about six months ago, Chris Mejia and Jennifer Kramer of Baja Test Kitchen visited me in Mexico City, saying that they were neophytes to the world of corn and asking for specific information about Mexico's original corns. I gave them a teaching tour through the temporary exhibit called La Milpa at the Museo Nacional de Culturas Populares in Coyoacán, in the southern part of Mexico City (on view until November 5, 2017). I also arranged for Chris, Jen, and me to have comida (Mexico's main meal of the day) with my good friend, colleague, and extraordinary corn expert, Rafael Mier. The four of us talked for several hours over comida about Mexico's native corn, about the urgent need to expose the person on the street, the chef in his or her kitchen, and the world in general to the distinct possibility that native corns, first domesticated thousands of years ago in what is now Mexico, are in danger of extinction. Chris and Jen, who live in both Baja California and in San Diego, were truly fascinated with corn's ancient history, with its current danger from hybrids and genetically modified corns, and with the possibility of taking the corn show on the road, as it were, to inform Baja California–where corn has been cultivated very little–about the prospect of losing Mexico's original corns. Within a short time after his and Jen's return to the West Coast, Chris called me to get the ball rolling: "Set some dates when you can come, we're ready to invite restaurant owners, chefs, students, and anyone interested in heirloom corn to meet with Rafa and you in Baja." We arrived in Tijuana on July 22, 2017, knowing that Chris, Jen, and our friend W. Scott Koenig, who was helping them with the planning, had a packed 10-day agenda for us to follow. Ten days, many of them sixteen hours long! At the end, were thrilled, inspired, and exhausted.

First stop, Lechuza Vineyard, Valle de Guadalupe.

Founded in 2003 by Ray and Patty Magnussen, Lechuza’s origin stems from the Valle’s verdant fields, fertile soil, and culture. The desire to share the Valle’s remarkable abundance and warmth is the driving principle behind Lechuza’s winemaking philosophy: to consistently produce top tier wines while promoting sustainability and regional stewardship. Lechuza’s wines strive to reveal the story of its grapes, under the meticulous care of the Magnussen family. Mexico Cooks! met the Magnussen family at Lechuza (the name is that of a local burrowing owl) in February 2017 and felt a strong connection to them and to their work. In mid-March, Ray's family and friends were saddened to our core by the news of his sudden and unexpected death. Ray's daughter, Kris Magnussen, will continue her father's work; the family, the winery, the entire Valle de Guadalupe, and Lechuza's many fans are heartened that she's taking charge.

Grapes at Lechuza Vineyard were just beginning to take on color when we were there near the end of July.

Rafa explains the origin of Mexican regional corns as well as their historic and culinary importance to Ray's wife, Angela (Paty) Magnussen and a number of the staff at Lechuza.

After a few very emotional hours at Lechuza, we once again packed up the corn (you're going to see that phrase a lot during the next month or so) and traveled a short distance to our next stop, Viñas Pijoan.

In the cava at Viñas Pijoan.

Viñas Pijoan is a family-run business, founded in 1999. In that year, Pau Pijoan, a long-time veterinarian, took a course in winemaking that changed not only his life but the lives of his family members. What might simply have been a hobby became a passion, and in 2001, Pijoan's Leonora red placed fifth in a Mexican national wine competition. From then until now, the winery–although still small compared to many in the area–has continued to produce ever-increasing amounts of wine. The number of barrels produced rose 600% between 2005 and 2011!

Maíces nativos mexicanos (Mexico's native corn) on the sun-dappled terrace at Viñas Pijoan.

We and the Pijoan family were enormously excited by our time spent together. Paula Pijoan, Sr. Pijoan's daughter, who heads up the family vineyard's gardening and other botanical needs and is an active plant preservationist, was thrilled to have the native corns visit the winery. I'm sure the corns were as happy as we were to be there!

Corn, the star of the show! Left to right around the table: Paula Pijoan, Mexico Cooks!, Jennifer Kramer, chef Diana Kusters, Chris Mejia, the lovely and laughing Leonora Pijoan, Pau Pijoan, Rafael Mier and at the far right…oh no! I've forgotten his name. I'm sorry!

Diana Kusters, chef at Salvia at Viñas Pijoan, with Mexico Cooks!.

During the course of a long, leisurely afternoon, of course there was food. Viñas Pijoan is the site of Salvia, a charming outdoor restaurant, named for a Baja California variety of sage. Chef Diana Kusters is in charge of the kitchen.

Heavenly bruschetta, with crusty, dense bread, Baja California grown and pressed olive oil and tomatoes grown in the Viñas Pijoan garden.

Tostada de atún (fresh Baja California tuna) with chile serrano, broccoli sprouts, and chile de árbol. Really spectacular!

Salmas (see recommendation below) with fresh Baja California tuna and sprouts.

If you haven't yet tried Salmas, oven-baked corn crackers topped with a sprinkle of sea salt, look for them in your local supermarket. They're better-tasting and healthier than any corn chip you've ever eaten. (This is not a paid advertisement–Mexico Cooks! does not accept advertising. This is just my personal recommendation, I've been eating Salmas for years.)

Portobello mushroom ceviche with avocados, sprouts, thinly sliced radishes, and calabacitas (squash similar to zucchini).

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RteZiJ8bjgk&w=350&h=215]
Enjoy this short interview with Pau Pijoan as he talks about Baja California, his wines, and his winery. Video courtesy Grape Collective.

Next week, we return to Valley de Guadalupe to have breakfast at La Cocina de Doña Esthela. Doña Esthela is legendary–you'll love meeting her and seeing the photos of the incredible breakfast we ate. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water!

Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours.

7 de October de 2017
Mexico City Earthquake :: We Interrupt Our Regular Programing…

Beautiful Plaza Río de Janeiro, Colonia Roma Norte, Mexico City. The tall pink building on the right-hand side of the photo is (was, I suppose) the home of a friend. It was seriously damaged in the quake and all residents were evacuated. Photo courtesy Capt. Ricardo Gómez Garrido and Pinterest.

At 11:00AM on September 19, 2017, the 32nd anniversary of the 1985 Mexico City earthquake, the nation as a whole took a few moments to sound its earthquake alarms as a test run for city residents to practice precautions, and as a memorial to the many, many thousands of people who lost their lives in Mexico City that day so long ago. The earthquake alarm is arguably the most shocking sound in this city where I live. There are 8000 alarm speakers set up, one or more in every neighborhood; one of them is just on the corner, only one door from my apartment building. The horrible and unmistakeable sound–alerta sísmica alerta sísmica alerta sísmica, accompanied by unspeakable sirens–comes directly into my home office window. As 11:00AM approached, I steeled myself and warned the cats; the alarm went off as scheduled, stopped within a minute or so, and we all breathed a sigh of relief.

Two hours and fourteen minutes later, all hell broke loose. A massive earthquake, 7.1 on the Richter scale, shallow and with a nearby epicenter, crashed into Mexico City with no warning. Due to its proximity, there was no time to sound the alarm until the quake had already started. As is usually the case, the neighborhood where I live and the neighborhood nearest me were hardest hit. There are geological reasons for that, but no need to elaborate on those now. Parts of the whole city sustained serious damage; at last count, about 50 buildings collapsed, thousands more are in danger of collapsing, more than 400 people lost their lives, and thousands more are seriously injured.

This building collapsed in my neighborhood. Photo courtesy El País.

On September 24, a young Mexico City woman whom I do not know used social media to express her thoughts, feelings, and experiences as she volunteered that day with an earthquake relief effort. I contacted her and asked her permission to translate her writing into English and publish it here. She calls herself "Al" and she asked that I not publish a photograph of her. She says she's not a writer, although in my opinion she most definitely is.
___________________________________________________________

"Yesterday I spent six hours helping at Ground Zero on Calle Escocia, in the Del Valle neighborhood of Mexico City. I had stayed overnight at my parents’ home, and got up at 6:30AM. My mother made breakfast for me while I was getting ready, and then I lined up to go to the place where volunteers were to gather.

"Al" wrote about the wreckage and rescue efforts at this building. Photo courtesy El Universal.

Those in charge explained to us that we women were to pass empty buckets to the Mexican army, who were going to fill them with rubble and then pass them to two lines of men who were behind us, pressed up against the walls. The army was to move any metal, glass, furniture, and other more dangerous objects. They knew how inexperienced most of us volunteers were and they didn’t want us to run any risks.

In order for us to go in, they gave us equipment—helmet, gloves, vest, and face masks. They used permanent markers to write our name, a contact number, and blood type on our arms. They vaccinated us against tetanus.

And then we went into Ground Zero in silence, our cellular phones turned off. Right after a 45 minute delay due to the scare of the second earthquake [Saturday 23 September, a 6.2 aftershock from the earthquake on September 7, 2017], the army immediately put us to work. We had to wait while Civil Defense made sure that it was safe to go into the building.

My eyes could not believe what they were seeing: I had never seen a collapsed building, never thought how a structure so strong and solid could become a mountain of rubble and memories. The “line of life”, as we called it, began its work, and we put thinking aside in order to be able do our job.

The 'line of life'. Photo courtesy Daniel Águilar and El Universal.

While we were actively working, other volunteers continuously offered us donated water, electrolytes, candies, tamales, and hard-boiled eggs. We volunteers preferred not to eat; we just took candies and left the food for the army and the engineers. Doctors came through continuously, asking if we were feeling all right, putting drops in our eyes, and helping people out of the building if they looked over-tired.

Passing buckets, even the big paint-bucket size ones we had, seems simple, but after an hour I felt blisters on my hands and cramps in my shoulders. I knew I was not the only one tired when buckets began to drop from the hands of other volunteers. Some shouted, “Be careful! Those could break!” The men tried to make us feel better, saying we were doing great work.

Meanwhile, we tried to concentrate so as not to delay the work as we watched pieces of other people’s lives go by: shoes, photographs, chairs, clothing, blankets, pictures from their walls. Objects that they surely obtained from their own efforts and dedication, and now they are nothing. A wheelbarrow, thrown aside by the masonry workers who were removing bigger pieces of the wreckage, grabbed my attention
. In the wheelbarrow was a set of brand new drinking glasses, still in their wrapped box.

As the women at the head of the ‘line of life’ withdrew, those behind them advanced. I came closer to the head of the line, and suddenly I saw a car among the ruin of the building’s parking garage: a bright-red Nissan Sentra, undamaged. Nevertheless, the garage entrance is blocked, so the car will never get out unharmed.

Memories among the wreckage. Photo courtesy La Jornada.

Nobody is taking selfies, nobody is playing music, no one talks, no one makes jokes or acts lazy. Respect is tangible. The entire area is filled with mourning. Yesterday, workers here rescued a pug dog and a cat, which tells us that there is still the possibility of life among the rubble. If we do our work efficiently, it could make the difference between life and death for someone else.

The Army, the Navy, and the engineers work tirelessly. We have a crane that operates with millimeter-sharp precision, moving walls as the driver is instructed so that the search for life can continue; when the crane is working, there is absolute silence. The Mexican flag waves on the tip of the crane as it maneuvers, and my heart expands. The military men stand shoulder to shoulder in front of us volunteers to protect us from the massive cement walls that the crane manipulates.

Once a wall is on the ground, the men take up their pickaxes and in minutes turn the wall into pieces. Our work starts again: pass the buckets as fast as possible to get the hunks of cement out fast, as fast as possible. The buckets come back with the men, the wheelbarrows come and go, the army takes the riskiest material away. My throat aches, my heart hurts even worse, my soul grows larger as I see the massive and selfless effort put forth to help others.

Photo courtesy Daniel Águilar and El Universal.

The rescue team from Chile arrives to help; they climb up to evaluate the ruins. Our activity continues hour after hour. I get used to my companions; I know that the one on the left is quick, but the one on the right is scatterbrained. I keep helping her so we don’t get behind. Because of her helmet and her face mask, it’s hard to tell how old she is, but many are much younger than I—the majority of the volunteers are younger.

After a while, one of the engineers asks what time we started work. 8:30AM. He says we need to leave, but my companion on the left and I say that we can keep working for a couple of hours longer. He says it’s almost three o’clock—I can scarcely believe it!—and that we need to stop now so that our exhaustion doesn’t cause an accident. They stop the ‘line of life’ and announce that a convoy will leave with fifteen women. We leave our buckets and head out toward Calle Escocia, in the direction of Calle Eugenia. While we are leaving, people drop what they have in their hands, take off their gloves, and start applauding us: the volunteers, the paramedics, the engineers, the masonry workers. Someone from the army shouts: “Long live our brave Mexican women!”

Among applause and cheering, with my eyes on the ground and holding back tears, I leave Ground Zero. Our group turns toward Calle Eugenia, I turn in my equipment, and people offer me fruit, food, and water as they congratulate me. With many thank yous, I continue on my way out. As I walk, I realize that I am alone: I don’t know where my companions are, but I would have liked to say goodbye to them.

Rescue dogs have been critical to the relief effort. Photo courtesy Daniel Águilar and El Universal.

Everything hurts, I’m so hungry, my face is burning and I feel dizzy. A volunteer notices and she stops me and takes me to a control booth, where they give me a banana and a soft drink. I wait a few minutes and go out through the cordoned-off area, where the volunteers who will relieve us and the police applaud me again. I’ve never gotten so much attention, and I only smile. Fame is not my thing. I take a grateful breath, I comb my dust-stiffened hair, shake off my pants a little, and keep walking toward Calle Gabriel Mancera. I think about what I have lived through, proud of my work and above all, that I didn’t cry in front of the others. This ends when I see my mother waiting for me at the first checkpoint, among the dump trucks waiting to take away more rubble.

We are so fortunate to have all that we do. The least we can do is help those who are going through such difficult times. A friend took a picture of me as I arrived at her house, so that I would never forget what I learned and felt that day. And I won’t."
__________________________________________________________________

None of us will forget, Al. Thank you and God bless you.

30 de September de 2017
Mexico’s Native Corns, On Tour in Baja California :: Maíces Nativos de México, de Gira en Baja California, México

When Chris Mejia and Jennifer Kramer (founders of Baja California specialist tour company Baja Test Kitchen) invited us to take Mexico's native corns on the road, Tortilla de Maíz Mexicana's founder Rafael Mier and Mexico Cooks! were thrilled. You think taking a suitcase loaded with mazorcas (ears of dried corn) from Mexico City to Baja California is easy? Each ear required the protection of bubble wrap and plenty of coddling. We could easily have filled this steamer trunk to the brim, but we made do with an extra-large suitcase to get the beautiful ears safely to their (and our) destination. Photo courtesy Pinterest.

In the photo, you see just a few of the many colorful mazorcas we carried to Tijuana–and beyond. Photo courtesy Josué Castro, friend of Mexico's maíces nativos (native corns) and a tremendous support to all of us in the project.

From the plane, July 22, 2017: over the mainland with a view of el Golfo de California (the Sea of Cortez). Very shortly after I took this picture, we and our personal luggage, plus the big suitcase full of corn, arrived in Tijuana, where Chris and Jen met us at the airport.

First stop? We were ravenous, as if we'd flapped our wings ourselves to fly us to Tijuana! We swooped from the airport directly into Tacos El Franc, one of Tijuana's large number of fantastic taquerías (places to eat tacos). From the time I first lived in Tijuana, in the early 1980s, my opinion has been that Tijuana is Mexico's taco central. The delicious tacos at Tacos El Franc truly confirmed that for me.

Dos de pastor, por favor, con todo…two tacos al pastor, please, with everything. "Everything" includes minced onion, chopped cilantro, freshly made guacamole, and as much house-made salsa as you want. Word to the wise: green salsa is almost always spicier than red.

So what does 'al pastor' mean? Allegedly invented in Mexico City and based on Middle Eastern shawarma, tacos al pastor are now hugely popular all over Mexico. Al pastor simply means 'shepherd style', grilled on a trompo (vertical spit). The metal contraption behind the trompo is the vertical gas grill. The trompo, loaded with thinly sliced marinated pork, turns to grill the outside of the meat–roasted through and crisped on the outside at the moment you order your tacos. The slightly charred edge bits, combined with the tender meat just underneath the surface, combine to make your taco dreams come true.

Two tacos are never enough. My next order was uno de asada, porfas…(one of thinly sliced grilled beef, please). The toppings for this one are minced onion, chopped cilantro, frijoles de la olla (freshly cooked beans direct from the pot), and guacamole–plus as much of your favorite salsa as you like. Is your mouth watering yet? Mine is!

Freshly-toasted house-made tortillas heat on a slightly greased flat top griddle (rear) while roasted chiles güero ('blond' chiles) wait for you to eat: ask for one or simply take one by the stem. This chile, about two to three inches long, broad at the stem end and pointed at the tip, can range in spiciness from mild to yikes, and you can't tell which it's going to be until you bite into it. Some (including me) like it on the yikes side of hot.

Last taco for today: suadero, a very thin cut of beef from just under the skin, cut from the section between the belly and the leg of the animal. Again, I topped this taco with onion and cilantro, plus guacamole and green salsa, which is almost always what I prefer.

Raw suadero looks like the meat in the photo above. You'll probably be able to find the cut at a Mexican butcher shop, if there is one near you. Photo courtesy Chedraui.

In Mexico, there's a saying: panza llena, corazón contento (full stomach, happy heart). Here we all are, full of tacos and the living examples of that saying. From the left: Jennifer Kramer, Mexico Cooks!, Rafael Mier, and Chris Mejia.

Just in time for our first Pacific Coast sunset, Chris and Jen took us to the Rosarito condo where we would spend the next 10 nights. Tacos El Franc and a view like this from the balcony? Who needs anything more!

Grateful for the generosity of our hosts, we went happily to our comfortable rooms and dreamed of the next morning, when we would take the corn for the first time to Valle de Guadalupe, the wine country of Baja California.

Next week: A day with the corn at two spectacular wineries. Don't miss a minute of this marvelous tour.

Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours.

23 de September de 2017
A Month of Fiestas Patrias :: Mexico’s Celebrations of Independence

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. 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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16 de September de 2017