Author: typepadtowordpress

Bread, the Staff of Life: Pan Dulce (Sweet Bread) in Mexico

Here's a steaming hot glass of café con leche (expresso with lots of milk), served with a basket of Mexico's pan dulce (sweet bread).

When my mother, may she rest in peace, visited me here in Mexico, one of her dearest wishes was to visit a Mexican bakery. For more than 40 years, Mother baked every crumb of bread that she consumed: white, rye, whole wheat, pumpernickel, sourdough, French baguette, and esoteric ethnic loaves that she just had to try. Mother wanted to see how it was done in Mexico. She even arrived with her baking apron, hoping to push her hands deep into some yeasty dough.

In those years, there was a tiny bakery just a block from my house. Shortly after Mom's arrival, I took her to meet Don Pedro, the master baker, and his helpers. For two hours, Don Pedro and my mother swapped bread stories—conversation about oven temperatures, yeast, flour densities, and tales of experiments, successes and failures.

Don Pedro spoke no English and my mother spoke no Spanish, but I interpreted between them and they discovered that they were soul mates. The day before Mother was to leave for home, she went to say goodbye to Don Pedro. They both cried and insisted that pictures be taken before they exchanged farewell hugs. Such is the bond of bread.

Bread fresh from the oven: the evocative aroma brings back timeworn memories of Mom's kitchen, filled with the yeasty perfume of twice-raised, golden-crusted hot bread. Here in Mexico, that redolent scent wafts through the air from bakeries scattered like hidden treasures through many neighborhoods. At certain hours of the early morning and mid-afternoon, barrio ovens disgorge mountains of pan dulce (sweet bread) destined for tiny corner mom-n-pop stores or for sale to individuals.

For a few pesos, an early breakfast of bread served with milk, juice, hot chocolate, or coffee gets Mexico up and off to work or school. For a few pesos more, the same sort of late supper rocks Mexico to sleep.

In the history of the world, bread has its own record and development. The making of wheat bread has evolved with the progress of world civilization. Particularly in gastronomic Mexico, bread has deep roots in the evolution of the República. The Spanish brought wheat, along with the flavors and recipes of all Europe with them to the New World. The 1860s era of Emperor Maximilian and his French wife, Charlotte, imposed a giddy 19th Century French influence—with puff pastries, whipped cream fillings, and sticky glazes—on the already extensive assortment of Mexican breads.

Tasty sugar-swirled conchas are ubiquitous throughout Mexico.

During the Mexican Revolution, soldiers from every region of Mexico came to know the foods of states far from their homes. When they returned to their own areas after the fighting, they took the recipes and flavors of other regions home with them. The south of Mexico incorporated northern bread recipes into its repertoire, the west took from the east, the north from the south.

Today, most panaderías (bakeries) in Mexico prepare similar assortments of pan dulce, along with a sampling of their own regional specialties.

Puerquitos (little pigs, on the right) taste very much like gingerbread.

It's been said that Mexico, of all the countries in the world, has the broadest and most delicious selection of breads. As a result of the mixture of cultures and regional flavors, today in Mexico you will find more than 2000 varieties of breads, and all will tempt your palate.

Pan dulce is just one variety, but there are hundreds upon hundreds of different sub-varieties. The great mosaic of Mexican bread making, inventiveness, and creativity is such that every variety of pan dulce has a name, usually associated with its appearance. That's why you'll see names of animals, objects, and even people gracing the breads on bakery shelves. Puerquitos (little pigs), moños (bowties or neckties), ojo de buey (ox eye), canastas (baskets), conchas (seashells), cuernos (horns),
chinos (Chinese), polvorones (shortbread), hojaldres (puffpaste),
empanadas (turn-overs), and espejos (mirrors): all are names of specific and very different sweet breads. My current favorite name for a pan dulce is niño envuelto (it means wrapped-up baby and it looks for all the world like a slice of jellyroll).

If you've never visited a Mexican bakery—a bakery where the breads are baked right on the premises—you have a real treat in store. One of my favorite bakeries is owned by the Rojas family. When the bolillos (crusty white rolls) come out of the oven in the early mornings and again when the roles (cinnamon rolls—they're addictive) are ready at about 12:30 PM, you'll find lines of locals waiting to carry home a bag of hot, fresh goodies.

At the Rojas bakery, the bakers will help you select the breads you want. There are no bakers' shelves at Rojas, and the selection of items is usually small. Most of the breads are delivered to shops and stores shortly after they're taken from the ovens. Larger Mexican bakeries can be a little intimidating when you first push that front door open and enter a warm, fragrant world of unfamiliar sights and smells.

Unsweetened biscochos are very similar to biscuits.

My most recent bakery excursion was to Panadería Pan Bueno, located at Avenida Vallarta #5295 in Guadalajara. The owner, Sr. Roberto Cárdenas González, graciously allowed me to take photographs with the assistance of his employee, Edith Hernández González.

When you go inside Pan Bueno–or for that matter, any Mexican bakery–take a minute to look around first to orient yourself. Right there by the door are the big metal trays and the tongs you need to gather up the breads you want to buy.

Edith shows off a huge rosca de reyes, a specialty bread for Día de los Reyes (Three Kings Day, January 6).

Flaky rings of sweet bread filled with figs.

As Edith and I made the rounds of the bakery, I asked her if she knew the origin of any of the names for pan dulce. With a charming smile, she admitted that they were just traditional inventos—made up titles. When I asked her if she ever got tired of eating the sweet breads, she shook her head emphatically. "Oh no, señora, we always love the pan."

You will always love the pan as well. And now, if you'll excuse me, a slice of niño envuelto is calling to me from my kitchen. How could I have resisted buying a pan dulce or two as I made the bakery tour? All right, it was four—but who's counting?

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

25 de October de 2014
Mercado Libertad, Guadalajara: Enormous, Exciting, and Enticing

In the history and urban development of Guadalajara, the church and neighborhood named San Juan de Dios are the incandescent center. Just to the east of the Historic Center of Guadalajara in the heart of the San Juan de Dios neighborhood is the intersection of Calzada Independencia and Calle Juárez.

Since the founding of the city on this very spot, a river (in truth little more than a stream) called San Juan de Dios has run under the intersection, which for hundreds of years has been a place of meeting, work, and relaxation.

The first church consecrated in then-newborn Guadalajara was the Chapel of the True Holy Cross, built on the spot where today we find the church of San Juan de Dios. At one time a hospital bearing the same name also functioned at the same location.

Around 1885, Jalisco Governor Francisco Tolentino began public works projects in the San Juan de Dios neighborhood. These projects included building potable water and sanitation systems, the first in Mexico to be made of fortified concrete. The concrete tube was 12 feet in diameter—so enormous that the street above it was built as a beautiful promenade. To complete the roadway project, a median walkway was added, with flying buttresses used to strengthen the structure. Stunning benches, great monuments, and leafy trees completed the lovely Calzada Independencia project.

Under the auspices of Tolentino's successor, Governor José Guadalupe Zuno Hernández, a small marketplace—then known as San Juan de Dios—was added.

Fast forward 50 years—to 1955. The neighborhood surrounding the church of San Juan de Dios had changed from a verdant, relaxing walkway to the dirty backyard of Guadalajara, swarming with traffic jams, dive bars, hustlers, prostitutes, and including a huge, permanent, and partially covered tianguis (street market) on its outskirts. In addition, every day enough garbage was generated in the area that the neighborhood was always filthy and reeked of vegetable, animal, and human waste. San Juan de Dios had become the most visible stain on the beautifully burgeoning young metropolis.

By luck (good as well as bad), a raging fire destroyed the majority of that old market. Jalisco Governor Agustín Yañez authorized construction of a new and permanent covered market, the enormous building we know today as the Mercado San Juan de Dios, or Mercado Libertad.

Last remodeled in 1981, the Mercado has a surface area of nearly 500,000 square feet, or slightly less than the entire area of the old Green Bay Packers football stadium in Wisconsin, including its shops and administrative offices.

It's big. Really big. Housed on three floors, it has 70 entrances and is open 365 days a year from 7 AM till 9 PM. Its enormity houses approximately 3,000 vendors. It is the largest enclosed market in Latin America and the largest of its type (housing multiple-product vendors) in the world.

Don Silverio, the market's administrator with whom I talked, said that there are larger markets in Asia and other parts of the world, but that those larger markets sell only fish, flowers, meats, or some other single item—while the Mercado Libertad sells untold thousands of different categories of merchandise.

The Mercado Libertad has been the silent witness to urban and commercial development in Guadalajara. The old Plaza de Toros (bull ring) came down to make room for Guadalajara's beautiful downtown walking area, the Plaza Tapatía; Line Two of the Metro has been installed; the central bus station was moved—and still the market looms along the skyline.

The giant market continues to be the favorite shopping place for many tapatíos (residents of Guadalajara) as well as the people from outlying towns who fill thousands of buses streaming daily into the city. In spite of the opening of Guadalajara's numerous modern malls and supermarkets, the Mercado Libertad remains a center of commerce.

The Mercado Libertad has preserved for its vendors and its shoppers some of Mexico's best traditions even as it has followed the advances in world commerce. Guadalajara's identity is tied to this market, just as the market's identity is tied to Guadalajara.

If you're visiting Guadalajara and would like to spend a fascinating day investigating all the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of the market, wear comfortable shoes and plan to spend several hours taking in as much of it as possible. The best option? Tour the market with Mexico Cooks!.

When you finally find yourself in 'overwhelm' mode, enjoy a shrimp cocktail, a taco or two, or just a soft drink at one of the many restaurants on the second floor. Rest your weary feet and refresh yourself until you're ready to head back to your hotel.

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

18 de October de 2014
Palm Sunday Food Fair in Uruapan, Michoacán

The Purépecha woman in the foreground pats out tortillas while her companion sorts through a plate of golden, freshly cut flor de calabaza (squash blossoms).

The first two mornings of the huge annual Domingo de Ramos Tianguis de Artesanía (Palm Sunday artisans' crafts) fair in Uruapan, Michoacán begin with a food fair: a muestra de gastronomía. Fifteen or so outdoor kitchens, set up around the charming Plaza de las Ranitas just a block from the crafts booths, offer cooking demonstrations and inexpensive meals of representative Purépecha dishes. The food, rustic and rarely seen outside a Purépecha home kitchen, is, in a word, heavenly. The Mexico Cooks! tour group trooped into the food fair just in time for Saturday breakfast. They could have known who we were by the way our mouths were watering with anticipation.

Corn is the basis for the indigenous Mexican kitchen, and masa (corn dough) is the lowest common denominator. On the table in front of this woman, you can see the metate (three-legged rectangular grinding stone) and the mano (similar to a rolling pin) resting on it, along with the prepared masa from which tortillas are made. Both the metate and the mano are hand-carved from volcanic rock.

To your left of the table is the clay comal (similar to a griddle) that in this instance rests loosely on top of a metal drum in which the wood cook fire is built. Prior to use, the comal is cured with cal (builders' lime). The cal serves two purposes: it gives the comal a non-stick surface and it adds nutrients to the masa as it toasts.

In the past, all of Mexico's women prepared dried corn for masa by soaking and simmering it in a solution of water and cal. The name of the prepared corn is nixtamal. Once it's processed, it's ready to be ground into masa for tortillas, tamales, and other corn-dough preparations. Some rural women still grind nixtamal-ized corn by hand using the metate and mano. Some take the prepared corn to their neighborhood tortillería (tortilla vendor's shop) for grinding, and some prepare their masa using commercial dried corn flour. In urban areas, the majority of Mexican families buy tortillas hot off the tortilla baker at the tortillería and carry them home, wrapped in a special towel, just in time for a meal.

This woman prepares her stove, made of part of a metal drum with an opening cut away for firewood. She's spreading a paste made of wood ash and cal on and around the top of the the drum to hold the comal in place. The white streaks on the red clay comal are cal. The volcanic rock metate and mano are on the bench in the background. Her well-used clay cooking pot is visible to your left.

This joyous woman is patting out blue corn tortillas. The masa and mano are on the metate in front of her. She's toasting the tortillas and roasting tomatoes and chiles on her clay comal. The comal is set into a clay stove fired by wood. The haze that you see is woodsmoke.

The Purépecha kitchen repertoire includes numerous atápakuas (literally, a type of thick, soup-like salsa served plentifully over prepared food). The Purépecha word atápakua has meaning deeper than its simple definition. Its connotation is food that is picante (spicy), nutritious, and life-sustaining in a spiritual sense. Mexican culinary historians agree that the preparation of atápakuas dates from as long as 400 years before the Spanish Conquest, around 1100 AD, when the Purépecha were strong rulers in the area of Mexico that is now Michoacán.

An atápakua can be made from the ingredients that are easily found in the region. The specialty of one tiny village of the Meseta Purépecha is atápakua del talpanal (wasp larvae). Another town's specialty is xururi atápakua, the principal ingredient of which is cotton seeds. More commonly, indigenous cooks prepare their atápakuas of seasonal and readily available vegetables along with a bit of meat, poultry, or fish.

We of Mexico Cooks! didn't eat wasp larvae or cotton seeds. We inhaled bowls of atápakua de flor de calabaza (thick, soupy salsa served over squash flowers, fresh corn kernels, and chunks of corundas de ceniza (unfilled pyramid-shaped tamales made with masa and wood ash).

In the closeup of the atápakua you can clearly see the corn kernels (closest to the bowl of the spoon), small pieces of calabacita (similar to zucchini), orange squash flowers, and a piece of white corunda. For flavor and color, chiles serrano and cilantro are blended into the cooking liquid. The thin, soupy salsa is then thickened by blending a small ball of masa into the hot liquid. This atápakua is deliciously spicy and tastes as fresh as the garden. I finished my portion and wanted another bowl.

And here's part of the Mexico Cooks! breakfast crew. We had already gobbled our atápakua (witness the empty bowls) and had moved on to snarfing down the jahuácatas we're holding. Jahuácatas are similar to gorditas. Purépecha women prepare the jahuácatas by folding freshly patted tortillas and refried beans into multiple thin layers, then toasting the finished product on the comal.

A close-up of a jahuácata. You can see the layers of masa, alternating with layers of frijolitos refritos.

Late in the afternoon, after we'd investigated as many of the crafts booths as we could, we were all in need of something very light and fresh for our comida (middday meal). We ordered a fruit plate and a plate of guacamole with totopos (triangular fried tortilla chips) at a local restaurant.

For dessert, we found limones. The pulp is scraped away, then the skin of each limón is crystallized and stuffed with cocada (coconut candy). Half of one of these is plenty!

This was such a sweet finish to a fascinating day in Michoacán. If you'd like to travel to this event scheduled to begin on March 28, 2015, be sure to email Mexico Cooks! in time to save your place for adventure.

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

11 de October de 2014
Antojitos Mexicanos: “Little Whims” to Whet Your Appetite
Taquitos dorados (left) and sopes (center) are typical antojitos mexicanos. Antojo, a word that means whim, becomes antojito (little whim) when it refers to these corn-based fried treats that are eaten as street food everywhere in Mexico.

From Baja California and Nuevo León on the northern border to Oaxaca and Chiapas in the south, from Veracruz on the east coast to Nayarit on the west, Mexico loves to eat. Here in Mexico, there's nothing more common on any menu than antojitos mexicanos: literally, "little Mexican whims."

Mexicans get hungry at all hours, and it's not entirely about physical need. Seductive aromas, exciting presentations on the plate and the crunchy sounds of chewing entice them to the 'little whims'. From the hand-lettered banner at the smallest street stand to the menu of the most elegant of restaurants, antojitos mexicanos are a staple on almost any Mexican bill of fare.

Taquitos dorados. When you see tacos made in this way, they are always called by this name that means "little golden tacos".

Most Mexican restaurants in the United States specialize in only one aspect of Mexican cooking—antojitos mexicanos. These are the corn and tortilla-based specialties that include the enchiladas, taquitos dorados, tamales, quesadillas, and tostadas that all evolved directly from original indigenous cooking. In Mexico today, these corn-based antojitos mexicanos are popular with rich and poor alike.

Antojitos can include almost any traditional Mexican foods, but the term always refers to the corn kitchen. The gamut runs from budín azteca (a cream, cheese, chile and tortilla pie) to the numerous kinds of pozole (a hearty soup made with pork or chicken and fresh hominy) right through the alphabet to xolostle (a soup of chicken, corn and various spices).

Some of the most popular antojitos at restaurants and street stands are tacos, tostadas, sopes, gorditas, empanadas, enchiladas, and quesadillas. If you're North of the Border, most of those antojitos are not only easy to find in restaurants, but they're easy to prepare at home. Each is based on the same corn masa (dough).

The blue-gray oval antojitos are tlacoyos, a Mexico City specialty. They are ordinarly stuffed with either frijolitos refritos or requesón (a cheese similar to ricotta), toasted on a comal (griddle), and topped with red or green salsa, lettuce, cheese, and crema (Mexican table cream). The beige ovals to the left on the comal are for making quesadillas.

In some cities North of the Border, you can buy prepared masa at a tortillería (tortilla making shop). Even if you don't live next door to a tortillería (tortilla-making shop), masa harina (corn flour for dough) is available at supermarkets and Latin specialty shops all over the USA and Canada. You're sure to find common brands such as Quaker or Maseca. A word to the wise: don't try to use standard cornmeal to make masa. Masa harina and cornmeal are very different products. An antojito made from masa harina will not have the same texture and flavor as one prepared from a tortillería's fresh masa, but it will do in a pinch.

Once you've prepared a batch of masa, you're well on the way to a Mexican feast. Today, let's make gorditas. You'll need basic utensils:
- Large, deep frying pan or wok
- Flat strainer with long handle
- A comal or heavy griddle
These basic ingredients will be used for the two antojitos:
- Prepared corn masa
- Large quantity of oil or lard for frying
- You'll also need frijoles refritos (well-fried beans) for both the sopes and the gorditas. You can buy them in cans if you'd rather take a shortcut to preparation, but traditionally you would prepare dried beans at home.
The Michoacán gorditas in the photo are made of blue corn masa and stuffed with frijolitos refritos.

Gorditas
To prepare serving plates of the gorditas de frijoles, you'll need the following ingredients:
- Thinly shredded cabbage or lettuce
- Salsa verde or roja
- Crumbled queso Cotija or queso fresco
- Chopped fresh cilantro
- Small-diced, fresh white onion
Make a ball of masa a little larger than a tennis ball. Flatten it to about a five-inch round. On half of the round, heap a large spoonful of frijoles refritos and a small spoonful of cheese. Fold the filled masa in half and shape into a thick, flat disk approximately three inches in diameter. Fill and shape as many as you will need.

Heat enough lard or oil in the wok or large, deep frying pan to fry two or three gorditas at a time. Slide the gorditas into the fat and allow them to fry until deep golden brown. Remove the gorditas from the fat with the strainer and then keep them hot on the comal or griddle. Drain on paper towels if needed.

To serve, split each gordita in half approximately one-third of the way from one edge of the disk. Open a flap of the gordita and place on a plate. Top with either salsa verde or salsa roja, shredded cabbage or lettuce, the cilantro, the diced onion, and crumbled cheese.

These delicious antojitos mexicanos will give you a real sense of being right here in the heart of Mexico. Put a mariachi CD in the player and get the whole family to help you with the preparations for your meal. All of you will enjoy the fun of preparing these typical and simple dishes from South of the Border.

Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours.
4 de October de 2014
Cold Drinks, Mexican Style: Tuba, Tepache, Tejate, and More!

If you've shopped at any of Mexico's thousands of tianguis (street markets), you may have wondered what certain vendors were ladling out of their frosty glass jugs. Those are aguas frescas, made in every fresh fruit flavor you can imagine. In general, these aguas are made from purified water and are safe to drink.

In addition to aguas frescas, there are numerous fresh or fermented drinks along Mexico's way. At various hole-in-the-wall supper restaurants, pineapple tepache is the order of the day, served fizzing with a pinch of bicarbonate of soda. And on the outskirts of one small town as you drive toward Guadalajara, a sign hangs from a guamúchil tree. It reads "Aquí Se Vende Pajarete" (Pajarete Sold Here) and advertises yet another unusual beverage.

Along many highways and byways, you'll regularly see someone selling aguamiel and pulque, the ancient drink of the Aztecs, from large jars positioned on a tiny table. By the same token, pulque, both unflavored and curado (flavored with fruit, vegetables, or nuts) is a favorite in bars called pulquerías.

Tuba

Tuba vendor, Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco.

If you've wandered along the magical beaches bordering Mexico's western coastlines, you may have noticed a man with a yoke-like pole across his shoulders, a red painted gourd suspended from the pole by a rope. His cry is "Tuba! Tubaaaaaaaaaaa!" and his hands are full of plastic cups.

In Mexico, tuba is primarily a coastal drink. Several years ago I was surprised to see a tuba vendor at a tianguis in Guadalajara. Now I've been seeing the same man selling tuba in Tlaquepaque and at the Thursday and Sunday artisans' tianguis in Tonalá. If you happen to be in the area, look for him—he's easy to spot, with his bright-red gourd of tuba suspended from a pole across his shoulders.

A glassful of tuba, served with freshly chopped apple, salted peanuts, and ice.

Coconut palm sap is fermented to make the clear, white, sweet wine called tuba. To collect the sap, workers climb the palm tree in the morning and evening and bruise the coconut flower stalk until it starts to ooze its liquid. The stalk is tied with bamboo strips into a special bamboo container to catch the sap. Crushed tanbark from the mangrove tree is dropped into the container to give the sap a reddish color and to hasten its fermentation. As many as three flowers from one coconut tree can be made to yield sap. Each flower produces tuba for two months, after which it dries out and is cut from the tree.

The liquid actually begins to ferment while still in the bamboo container on the tree, but the alcohol content increases considerably with longer fermentation. Tuba quenches the thirst, is good for indigestion, and makes conversation flow easily.

I don't expect you to whip up most of these six popular drinks in your home kitchen, but I thought you'd love knowing about some of Mexico's really unusual cold drinks.

Tejuino

Since long-ago times, cooling tejuino has refreshed Mexico. It's made from the same corn masa (dough) that's used for tortillas and tamales. The prepared masa is mixed with water and piloncillo (cone-shaped Mexican brown sugar) and boiled until the liquid is quite thick. It's then allowed to ferment slightly—but just slightly. I've never known anyone to get so much as a buzz from sipping a cupful of cold tejuino.

Tejuino vendor, Tlaquepaque, Jalisco.

Once the tejuino is thickened and fermented, it's mixed as needed with freshly squeezed jugo de limón (key lime juice), a pinch of salt, water, ice, and a big scoop of lemon sherbet. Just about everywhere in Mexico, it's sold in plastic glasses—small, medium, and large—or in a plastic bag with the top knotted around a drinking straw.

Some people say that tejuino is an acquired taste. I acquired the taste for it the very first time I tried it and often crave it on hot afternoons. There is nothing more refreshing. Fortunately, there was a tejuino vendor just a block from my house in Guadalajara, so I could buy a glassful when the spirit moved me. Cup after cup of freshly prepared tejuino is ladled out to customers every day. Although tejuino is only a slightly sweet drink, the masa base makes tejuino very filling. A small glass is usually very satisfying.

Tejate

Tejate, a cold and foamy nixtamal-ized corn and chocolate drink, is particular to Oaxaca, especially found in the city's markets and in the small towns all around the area. Tejate is very refreshing on a hot day at the market–in this case, at the weekly market in Zaachila, Oaxaca. Compare the size of the jícara (the red enameled bowl afloat in the tejate) to the size of this very large clay vessel.

Tepache

I've found tepache in several cenadurías (restaurants open for supper only, usually from 7:30 PM until midnight) in Mexico, as well as at street stands and, occasionally, market stands. Tepache is simple to make and the ingredients are readily available whether you live North or South of the Border. You might like to try this at home.

Tepache (teh-PAH-cheh)
1 whole pineapple (about 3 pounds)
3 quarts water
1 pound piloncillo or brown sugar
1 cinnamon stick, approximately 3" long
3 cloves

Wash the skin of the pineapple well. Cut off the stem end and discard. Leave the skin on the pineapple and cut the entire fruit into large pieces.

Place the pieces of pineapple in a large container and add two quarts of water, the piloncillo or brown sugar, the cinnamon, and the cloves. Cover and allow to rest in a warm place for approximately 48 hours. The longer you allow the liquid and fruit to rest, the more it will ferment. If you let it sit for longer than 48 hours, taste it periodically to make sure it is not overly fermented, as it will go bad.

Strain the liquid—the tepache—and add the last quart of water.

If you prefer, do not add the last quart of water. Instead, add one cup of beer and allow to rest for another 12 hours.

Strain again and, if you have used the beer, add three cups of water.

Serve cold with ice cubes.

Tepache vendor, Zihuatanejo.

At any cenaduría, you can ask for your tepache with a pinch of bicarbonate of soda. You can also add it at home, just before you're ready to drink a glassful. The addition makes the tepache fizz and bubble, and it's said to be extremely good for the digestion. An elderly neighbor of mine swears by it as a heartburn remedy.

Pajarete

In the Mexican countryside, tequila drinking starts as soon as the sun comes up. If you drive Mexican highways early any morning—early, please, when the air is still chilly and cool gray bruma (light fog) clings to the flanks of the mountains of the Central Highlands—look for a small hand painted sign. "Aquí Se Vende Pajarete" (pah-hah-REH-teh) is all it says. The sign may hang from a tree, it may be tacked to a fencepost, and you won't see any indication of a cart or stand.

Aqui se vende pajarete: Pajarete sold here!

Away from the road, behind the trees, past the bushes, just over there by those old wrecked cars, a dairy farmer milks his cows. As he milks the patient cows and they snuffle their hot breath into the misty morning, groups of men (sombrero-wearing men who are real men) gather around the cow lot, each man with his large clay mug. Into each mug go a stiff shot of either charanda (a sugar cane alcohol), mezcal, or tequila, a bit of sugar and some cinnamon-laden Mexican chocolate grated from a round tablet. The mug is then filled with warm milk, freshly squeezed directly into the mug–straight from the cow. More a body-temperature drink than a cold drink, that's pajarete: breakfast of champions.

There are many more interesting and unusual drinks South of the Border, everything from A (acachú, a drink that sounds like a sneeze, made near Puebla from the wild cherry) to Z (zotol, made in Chihuahua from the sap of wild yucca). Wherever you are in Mexico, you'll find something fascinating to quench your thirst, make you feel more at home in the culture, and give you a story to tell.

A toast to each of you: Salud, dinero, y amor, y tiempo para gozarlos. Health, money, and love, and time to enjoy them.

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

27 de September de 2014
Tradition and Authenticity: What Is *Real* Mexican Food?

"Real" Mexican chile relleno (stuffed, battered, and fried chile poblano), caldillo de jitomate (tomato broth), and frijoles negros (black beans).

More and more people who want to experience "real" Mexican food are asking about the availability of authentic Mexican meals outside Mexico. Bloggers and posters on food-oriented websites have vociferously definite opinions on what constitutes authenticity. Writers' claims range from the uninformed (the fajitas at such-and-such a restaurant are totally authentic, just like in Mexico) to the ridiculous (Mexican cooks in Mexico can't get good ingredients, so Mexican meals prepared in the United States are superior to those in Mexico).

Much of what I read about authentic Mexican cooking reminds me of that old story of the blind men and the elephant. "Oh," says the first, running his hands up and down the elephant's leg, "an elephant is exactly like a tree." "Aha," says the second, stroking the elephant's trunk, "the elephant is precisely like a hose." And so forth. If you haven't experienced what most posters persist in calling "authentic Mexican", then there's no way to compare any restaurant in the United States with anything that is prepared or served in Mexico. You're simply spinning your wheels.

It's my considered opinion that there is no such thing as one definition of authentic Mexican. Wait, before you start hopping up and down to refute that, consider that "authentic" is generally what you were raised to appreciate. Your mother's pot roast is authentic, but so is my mother's. Your aunt's tuna salad is the real deal, but so is my aunt's, and they're not the least bit similar.

Carne de puerco en salsa verde (pork meat in green sauce), my traditional recipe.

The descriptor I use for many dishes is 'traditional'. We can even argue about that adjective, but it serves to describe the traditional dish of–oh, say carne de puerco en chile verde–as served in the North of Mexico, in the Central Highlands, or in the Yucatán. There may be big variations among the preparations of this dish, but each preparation is traditional and each is authentic in its region.

I think that in order to understand the cuisines of Mexico, we have to give up arguing about authenticity and concentrate on the reality of certain dishes.

A 200-year-old tradition in Mexico at this time of year: chiles en nogada (stuffed chiles poblano in a creamy sauce made with fresh (i.e., recently harvested) walnuts. It's the Mexican flag on your plate: green chile, white sauce, and red pomegranates.

Traditional Mexican cooking is not a hit-or-miss let's-make-something-for-dinner proposition based on "let's see what we have in the despensa (pantry)." Traditional Mexican cooking is as complicated and precise as traditional French cooking, with just as many hide-bound conventions as French cuisine imposes. You can't just throw some chiles and a glob of chocolate into a sauce and call it mole. You can't simply decide to call something Mexican salsa when it's not. There are specific recipes to follow, specific flavors and textures to expect, and specific results to attain. Yes, some liberties are taken, particularly in Mexico's new alta cocina (haute cuisine) and fusion restaurants, but even those liberties are based, we hope, on specific traditional recipes.

In recent readings of food-oriented websites, I've noticed questions about what ingredients are available in Mexico. The posts have gone on to ask whether or not those ingredients are up to snuff when compared with what's available in what the writer surmises to be more sophisticated food sources such as the United States.

Deep red, vine-ripened tomatoes, available all year long in central Mexico. The sign reads, "Don't think about it much–take a little kilo!" At twelve pesos the kilo, these tomatos cost approximately $1.00 USD for 2.2 pounds.

Surprise, surprise: most readily available fresh foods in Mexico's markets are even better than similar ingredients you find outside Mexico. Foreign chefs who tour with me to visit Mexico's stunning produce markets are inevitably astonished to see that what is grown for the ordinary home-cook user is fresher, more flavorful, more attractive, and much less costly than similar ingredients available in the United States.

Chicken, ready for the pot. Our Mexican chickens are generally fed ground marigold petals mixed into their feed–that's why the flesh is so pink, the skin so yellow, and the egg yolks are like big orange suns.

It's the same with most meats: pork and chicken are head and shoulders above what you find in North of the Border meat markets. Fish and seafood are from-the-sea fresh and distributed within just a few hours of any of Mexico's coasts.

Nevertheless, Mexican restaurants in the United States make do with the less-than-superior ingredients found outside Mexico. In fact, some downright delicious traditional Mexican meals can be had in some North of the Border Mexican restaurants. Those restaurants are hard to find, though, because in the States, most of what has come to be known as Mexican cooking is actually Tex-Mex cooking. There's nothing wrong with Tex-Mex cooking, nothing at all. It's just not traditional Mexican cooking. Tex-Mex is great food from a particular region of the United States. Some of it is adapted from Mexican cooking and some is the invention of early Texas settlers. Some innovations are adapted from both of those points of origin. Fajitas, ubiquitous on Mexican restaurant menus all over the United States, are a typical Tex-Mex invention. Now available in Mexico's restaurants, fajitas are offered to the tourist trade as prototypically authentic.

You need to know that the best of Mexico's cuisines is not found in restaurants. It comes straight from somebody's mama's kitchen. Clearly not all Mexicans are good cooks, just as not all Chinese are good cooks, not all Italians are good cooks, etc. But the most traditional, the most (if you will) authentic Mexican meals are home prepared.

Diana Kennedy, UNAM 2011. Mrs. Kennedy was at the Mexican Autonomous University to present her book, Oaxaca Al Gusto.

That reality is what made Diana Kennedy who she is today: she took the time to travel Mexico, searching for the best of the best of the traditional preparations. For the most part, she didn't find them in fancy restaurants, homey comedores (small commercial dining rooms) or fondas (tiny working-class restaurants). She found them as she stood next to the stove in a home kitchen, watching Doña Fulana prepare comida (the midday main meal of the day) for her family. She took the time to educate her palate, understand the ingredients, taste what was offered to her, and learn, learn, learn from home cooks before she started putting traditional recipes, techniques, and stories on paper. If we take the time to prepare recipes from any of Ms. Kennedy's many cookbooks, we too can experience her wealth of experience and can come to understand what traditional Mexican cooking can be. Her books will bring Mexico's kitchens to you when you are not able to go to Mexico.

Fresh Michoacán-grown strawberries, available all year in central Mexico.

In order to understand the cuisines of Mexico, we need to experience their riches. Until that time, we can argue till the cows come home and you'll still be just another blind guy patting the beast's side and exclaiming how the elephant is mighty like a wall.

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20 de September de 2014
The Mexican Flag on Your Plate: Chiles en Nogada for September 16: Mexico’s Independence Day
Chiles en nogada (stuffed chiles poblanos in walnut sauce), Pátzcuaro, Michoacán. Photo by Mexico Cooks!.

Mexico celebrates its independence the entire month of September with parades, parties, and traditional food and drink in restaurants and at home. The traditional festive dish during the weeks before and after the Independence Day holiday is chiles en nogada, a magnificent tribute to the seasonal availability of granadas (pomegranates) and nuez (freshly harvested walnuts). From late August till early October, fresh pomegranates and walnuts make chiles en nogada possible. Spicy chiles poblano, stuffed with picadillo and topped with richly creamy walnut sauce and pomegranate seeds, flaunt the brilliant green, white and red of the Mexican flag.

This festive dish is traditionally served on September 15 or 16 in honor of Mexico's Independence Day, though it is popular anytime in the late summer and fall. During August and September in the highlands of Mexico, particularly in Mexico City and Puebla on the streets bordering the markets, village women can be seen sitting on blankets painstakingly peeling off the brown skin from each individual walnut. It is important to use the freshest walnuts possible, as they produce such a creamy, rich sauce that it is worth the effort demanded to peel them. Yes, the recipe is time-consuming…but you and your guests will jump up and shout "VIVA!" when they've licked the platters clean.

Ingredients

For the Meat
- 2 pounds beef brisket or other stew meat or 1 pound beef and 1 pound pork butt
- 1 small white onion, quartered
- 2 large cloves garlic
- about 1 Tbsp sea salt
For the Picadillo
- 4 Tbsp safflower or canola oil
- 1/3 cup chopped white onion
- 3 large cloves garlic, minced
- 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
- 1/8 tsp ground cloves
- 3 heaping Tbsp raisins
- 1 or 2 chiles serrano, finely minced
- 4 Tbsp chopped walnuts
- 4 Tbsp slivered blanched almonds
- 2 Tbsp chopped biznaga (candied cactus)
- 1 fresh pear, peeled and chopped
- 1 apple, peeled and chopped
- 4 ripe peaches, peeled and diced
- 3 large, ripe tomatoes, roasted, peeled and chopped
- sea salt to taste
For the Chiles
- 6 fresh chiles poblanos, roasted, peeled, and seeded, leaving the stem intact
For the Nogada (Walnut Sauce)
- 1 cup fresh walnuts
- 6 ounces queso doble crema or cream cheese (not fat free) at room temperature
- 1-1/2 cups crema mexicana or 1-1/4 cups sour cream thinned with milk
- about 1/2 tsp sea salt or to taste
- 1 Tbsp sugar
- 1/8 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1/4 cup dry sherry (optional)
For the Garnish
- 1 Tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley
- 1/2 cup fresh pomegranate seeds
Method

Cut the meat into large chunks, removing any excess fat. Place the meat into a large Dutch oven with the onion, garlic, and salt. Cover with cold water and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Skim off any foam that collects on the surface. Lower the heat and allow the water to simmer about 45 minutes, until the meat is just tender. Take the pot off the stove and let the meat cool in the broth. Remove the pieces of meat and finely shred them.

Warm the oil in a large, heavy skillet and sauté the onion and garlic over medium heat until they turn a pale gold. Stir in the shredded meat and cook for five minutes. Add the cinnamon, pepper, and cloves, then, stir in the raisins, the two tablespoons of chopped walnuts. Add the chopped pear, apple, and potato, and mix well. Add the tomatoes and salt to taste, and continue cooking over medium-high heat until most of the moisture has evaporated. Stir often so that the mixture doesn't stick. Let cool, cover, and set aside. The picadillo may be made a day or two in advance.

Make a slit down the side of each chile, just long enough to remove the seeds and veins. Keep the stem end intact. Drain the chiles, cut side down, on paper towels until completely dry. Cover and set aside. The chiles may be prepared a day in advance.

At least three hours in advance, put the walnuts in a small pan of boiling water. Remove from the heat and let them sit for five minutes. Drain the nuts and, when cool, rub off as much of the dark skin as possible. Chop into small pieces. Place the nuts, cream cheese, crema, and salt in a blender and purée thoroughly. Stir in the optional sugar, cinnamon, and sherry until thoroughly combined. Chill for several hours.

Preheat the oven to 250ºF. When ready to serve, reheat the meat filling and stuff the chiles until they are plump and just barely closed. Put the filled chiles, covered, to warm slightly in the oven. After they are thoroughly heated, place the chiles (cut side down) on a serving platter or on individual plates, cover with the chilled walnut sauce, and sprinkle with the cilantro (or parsley) and pomegranate seeds.

This dish may also be served at room temperature, or it may be served chilled. It is rarely if ever served hot.

Photos 2, 3, 4, and 5 courtesy of Jesús Guzmán Moya, M.D., of Puebla, Puebla, México. Enjoy more of Dr. Guzmán's lovely photos here. Gracias, amigo Chucho!

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13 de September de 2014
Tropical Fruit, Mexican Style: A Market Primer

Ripe chirimoyas. Outside, the chirimoya skin is a dull green color. Inside, chirimoya flesh is creamy white; its seeds are large and black. The size can range from the diameter of a tennis ball to the size of your head. Photo courtesy Rawkyourhealth. All photos by Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

In Mexico, a first trip to a neighborhood tianguis can be mind-boggling—there are so many sights and smells of so many unfamiliar foods. For now, let's take a tour of some of the tropical fruits that you'll want to try.

I see so many marvelous tropical fruits on Tuesday at the tianguis (street market) where I usually shop: cherimoya, guanábana, mamey, and carambola (star fruit). There are stacks of papaya, mango, zapote (custard apple), maracuyá (passionfruit), and plátanos machos (bananas nearly the size of your forearm)—and other tiny bananas, the ones that are the size of your thumb.

Tunas (prickly pears). Since when is a tuna a fruit, not a fish?

The fruits available in season in Mexico can be confusing when we're used to the ordinary apples, peaches, oranges, pears and plums in North of the Border supermarkets. We have those "normal" fruits here too, but wait till you try the exotic produce that awaits you in Mexican markets.

The guanábana (soursop) can have a size range as wide as that of the chirimoya. Either fruit should be eaten when the fruit is very soft but not mushy. At home, I often cut a small ripe cherimoya in half and eat it with a spoon right from the skin. It makes a wonderful light dessert. The seeds are big, black, shiny, and easily discarded.

Guanábana flesh is eaten with a spoon or is used to make drinks and paletas (popsicles). Try this easy, delicious, and refreshing drink.

Agua Fresca de Guanábana
(Fresh Guanábana Juice Drink)
1 pound ripe guanábana
3/4 cup white sugar
8 cups water
1 cup milk (optional)

Cut the guanábana in half and scoop out the tender white flesh. Discard the bitter peel. Put the fruit flesh in a large bowl and reduce to a pulpy liquid, using a potato masher or the back of a large spoon. Discard the large black seeds as they appear.

When the fruit pulp is mostly liquefied, add the sugar and stir together with the fruit pulp and its juices. Put the fruit and sugar mixture in a 3-quart pitcher. Add the eight cups of water and the milk, if you wish. Stir well and chill for an hour or more.

The papaya and the mango are two of the more familiar tropical fruits available in Mexican shops and stalls.

The deep orange-red flesh of the Mexican papaya is much richer and sweeter than its small yellow Hawaiian relative. The papaya is best eaten when very ripe; the flavor and sweetness have developed beautifully just when you think the fruit might need to be thrown in the trash can.

When the papaya is super ripe—even a little moldy in spots—cut it in half and discard the seeds. Peel the papaya and cut away any small sections that might be overly soft (the overly ripe spots will be darker in color, translucent and softer than the rest of the fruit). It's delicious cut into chunks for breakfast, with a squeeze of limón criollo (the tiny round Mexican lime), a sprinkle of salt, and a dash of powdered chile if you like a little heat with your tropical fruit. For dinner, papaya slices combine with thinly sliced red onion, toasted pecans, and fresh watercress to make an exotic and refreshing salad. Try the salad with a raspberry vinaigrette dressing, either your own concoction or a bottled variety.

Mango petacón (very large mango, in this instance the variety is Hayden), Xochimilco, Mexico City.

There are nearly 2,000 varieties of mango grown worldwide. India produces more mangos than all other fruits produced in that country combined. The mango, king of fruits, is related—believe it or not—to poison ivy. Cultivated in Asia for more than 4,000 years, the growing of mangos has now spread to most parts of the tropical and sub-tropical world. The mango could well be the national fruit of Mexico.

A mango tree can grow 75 to 100 feet high and bears thousands of fruits each year. During mango season (June-August) here in the Guadalajara area, we use caution when walking under enormous mango trees; one of the heavy fruits could inflict a mighty thump to the top of an unsuspecting head.

Mangos are so wonderfully versatile that it's difficult to choose one particular mango recipe for you to try. Eaten fresh for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, the mango is unbeatable. One friend substitutes mango slices for fresh peaches when making cobbler, pie, or Brown Betty. Another makes a fantastic mango mousse, and yet another is renowned for her mango sorbet.

Cook's Tip:
Cutting up a mango can leave you with juice up to your elbows, stains on your clothing, and stringy shreds of fruit in your mixing bowl. Here's the simplest way to cut a mango with minimal mess, loss of fruit, and frustration. You'll be pleased that your mango, cut this way, will not be the least bit stringy.

Lay the mango on your cutting board with the narrowest side facing up. With a very sharp knife, cut completely through the mango along one side of the broad, flat seed. Then cut through the mango along the other side of the seed, leaving a narrow strip of skin and flesh around the perimeter of the seed. Set the seed portion aside.

Lay the two halves of the mango skin-side down on the cutting board. Cut through the mango flesh (but not through the skin) to make approximately nine diamond-shaped pieces in each mango half. Then gently flip each half of the mango inside out, so that the diamond-shaped pieces pop up. Use your knife to cut each piece free of the skin.

Next, cut the skin from the strip of mango surrounding the seed. Cut the flesh in pieces as large and as close to the seed as you can. Cut all the mango flesh into pieces the size you need.

Voilà, no strings, no shreds, and no lost juice.

My inviolable household rule is that the one who cuts up the mango gets to slurp any remaining fruit from the seed. Try to suck the seed until it's bone-white–that's how we do it in Mexico.

The banana is a familiar North of the Border favorite. Babies eat it as their first mashed fruit; older folks can eat one a day for an easy daily dose of potassium. Here in the subtropics, we have a huge variety of bananas that are just beginning to make their way north to Latin markets in the United States and Canada.

The guineo (similar to the ordinary banana), the dominico (a tiny banana also known as the ladyfinger), the manzano (the 'apple' banana), and the plátano macho (the 'macho' banana) are only four of the many types of this fruit that we see regularly in our markets.

The tiny ladyfinger banana, three to four inches long, is delicious eaten as a snack. The peel is almost paper-thin and the firm flesh is sweeter than most full-size bananas.

The manzano banana has reddish peel and a marked apple-banana flavor. These were for sale in the Mercado Medellín in Mexico City.

The plátano macho is my particular favorite, however. While it's still green and hard, it can be sliced, pounded thin, and fried into savory, salty chips called tostones. Fully ripened—the skin at this stage is dark brown or black—the plátano macho is called the maduro (mature or ripe). I don't get nervous even when I see that my maduros have a spot or two of mold on the skins. That's when they're the best, and this way to prepare them is my favorite. Be careful, they're addictive.

Plátanos machos, fried to a sweetly caramelized golden brown.

Plátanos Machos Fritos
Fried Sweet Plantains

2 very ripe plátanos machos (plantains)
vegetable oil

Peel the plaintains. Cut each plantain on the diagonal into pieces 1/4" thick.

Heat approximately 1/4" vegetable oil in a large non-stick or cast iron skillet. The oil should be quite hot but not smoking. If the oil starts to smoke, remove the skillet from the heat until the oil cools down slightly.

Put as many of the plaintain slices in the frying pan as will fit without touching one another. Fry on one side until golden brown. Flip each slice over and fry until golden on the other side. Add oil to the skillet if necessary and continue frying the plantain slices until all are done.

Drain thoroughly on paper toweling.

Serve for breakfast with fried or scrambled eggs, refried beans, and hot tortillas. The fried plantains are particularly delicious when topped with a dollop of Mexican crema (or sour cream).

Guamúchiles, available in central Mexico in April and May, just prior to the start of the rainy season.

This short series of photographs, recipes, and descriptions is just the beginning of your knowledge of the tropical fruits available season by season here in Mexico. Each harvest time brings new and different produce to our markets. We learn as we live here to anticipate certain local fruits at certain times of the year: fresas (strawberries) starting in February but available year-round; tiny orange-red wild ciruelas (plums) late in the summer; the tejocote (similar to a small crabapple) early in winter. There are other fruits gathered locally in the wild: the capulín (a kind of wild cherry) and the guamúchil (a small whitish, crisp fruit that grows on trees, in a twisted pod).

In central Mexico, strawberries are deliciously ripe all year long.

In addition, of course, we have oranges, grapefruit, pineapple, watermelon, cantaloupe, peaches, apricots, apples, pears, and tangerines in their seasons. All of these well-known fruits are generally picked in season and at the peak of ripeness here in Mexico and will cause you to lick your fingers, reach for seconds, and exclaim, "You know, I don't think I've ever really tasted one of these before!"

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6 de September de 2014
Herbs from a Mexican Garden: Old Kitchen Pals and Exotic New Friends

Fresh hierbabuena (mint) growing in a Morelia friend's garden.

The cuisines of Mexico–and there are many–are a fantastic amalgam of indigenous corn-based food preparations with a heavy overlay of Spanish ingredients, a strong influence of Moorish flavors, and a lagniappe of French artifice from the mid-19th Century. There is no one cuisine in this big country, although some popular dishes are found in every region. Not every cook prepares enchiladas with the same list of ingredients; tacos, although ubiquitous in Mexico, can be different at every crowded taco stand.

Mexico Cooks! stores garlic in this 3" diameter wire basket, hanging from a cup hook on the side of a cupboard. Circulating air keeps the garlic fresh for quite a while.

Many of the herbs and spices that you use in your own North of the Border kitchen are also used in the Mexican kitchen. Garlic, cinnamon, oregano, and thyme are in widespread use here. Cumin, cloves, tarragon, and mint show up frequently. Lemon grass, which we usually think of as an ingredient in Thai or Vietnamese dishes, is commonly grown in many parts of Mexico and is used to make tea.

A good part of the differences in the regional cuisines of Mexico is each region's use of herbs. Some of those herbs are completely unknown to those of us whose familiarity with Mexican food stops with Pepe's Taco Hut on Main Street, USA. Pepe, whose mother's family emigrated to the USA from the Mexican state of Hidalgo, prepares the restaurant's platillos fuertes (main dishes) from recipes passed down from his abuelita (grandmother), who lived for 97 years in the same Hidalgo village. He's adapted those recipes to include the ingredients he can find in the States and to the palates of his customers.

This herb, a large-leafed, strong-flavored variety of oregano called orégano orejón (big-ear oregano), is unusual even in Mexico. Mexico Cooks! once had a pot of it, but it has unfortunately gone to the great beyond. I'd love to have another pot of it.

Oregano is quite common in Mexican cooking. It can be used either fresh or dried. A small pot of oregano in a sunny spot of your kitchen garden will usually be plenty for all your cooking needs. If you live in a place where the growing season is short, harvest oregano periodically through the summer, tie the stems in small bunches, and hang upside down in a dark place to dry. It dries very fast and retains most of its aroma and flavor. Discard the stems and store the crisp leaves in an airtight, lightproof containers.

Because the growing season in most parts of Mexico is almost year-round, I can always cut a fresh sprig of oregano or two to use when making spaghetti sauce, pescado a la veracruzana, (fish prepared in the style of Veracruz) or other tomato-based sauces. I wash the sprigs and either strip off the leaves into the pot or put the entire sprig into the sauce for seasoning.

The Mexican kitchen uses a wide range of other herbs. The Spanish names read like a mysterious litany: albahaca, epazote, estragón, hoja santa, hierbabuena; comino, clavo, and romero. In English, they are (in order) basil, wormweed, tarragon, holy leaf, mint, cumin, cloves, and rosemary.

Epazote grows wild all over Mexico and in parts of the United States. Several months ago I paid ten pesos at a tianguis (street market) for a pot of it to plant in my garden. As I was carrying the pot home, my neighbor, Doña Mago, saw me and exclaimed, "Porque compraste eso?" ("Why did you buy that?").

"Well, you know" I answered, "I like it to cook in my beans, to make quesadillas, for the flavor—"

"No, no, no, amiga!" she cried, and pointed a finger toward the corner. "It grows up through the cracks in the sidewalk just down the street. You should have asked me to show you where to find it. You could have saved your money. When I want some, I just go over there and cut a piece." It's true. When I was out for a walk the next day, I noticed for the first time the epazote plant she had mentioned.

Regardless of my profligate waste of ten pesos, I do like to cook a big sprig of epazote in a pot of beans. The herb is originally from Mexico and Central America. The indigenous language name that was given to epazote is derived from the Nahuatl words 'epti' and 'zotle': the combined word means 'skunk sweat'. As you can imagine, the herb has a very strong and distinctive flavor. According to Mexican kitchen lore, epazote also has anti-flatulent properties, which is why it might be smart to add it to the boiling bean pot.
Pescado en hoja de plátano (fish cooked in banana leaf). Restaurante San Miguelito, Morelia, Michoacán.

Other plants used to give uncommon seasonings to the cuisines of Mexico are hoja de plátano (banana leaf) and hoja de aguacate (avocado leaf). You won't be able to run right out to your nearest Safeway or HEB store to find these. If you live in an area where there's a large Asian population, you'll find packages of frozen banana leaves in any well-stocked Asian food market. As for avocado leaves—well, if you or your neighbor are lucky enough to have an avocado tree, you can just go pick some. Unfortunately there's no seasoning substitute for them.

Hoja santa (holy leaf) is also known as acuyo.

Hoja santa is used extensively in Mexican cooking. It's a large, heart-shaped leaf that comes from a tall, bushy plant—a plant that will take over the garden space that it's planted in and then some, if you let it. It's a native of Mexico and has medicinal properties as well as seasoning uses. The flavor of hoja santa is reminiscent of licorice, and it combines exceptionally well with fish or chicken.

Banana leaves are used for wrapping meats to prepare barbacoa (southeastern Mexican barbecue, cooked in a pit) and for wrapping and flavoring tamales from the Yucatán Peninsula in far southeastern Mexico. Dried avocado leaves are also used as a flavoring agent; like hoja santa, they have a mild taste similar to that of licorice.

As you can see, Mexican home cooking is far more than tacos and enchiladas. The more unusual kitchen herbs of Mexican cuisine add intense flavor without adding that blast of spiciness that we so often mistake for the only seasoning of Mexico.

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30 de August de 2014
The Corn Kitchen: From February 5, 2007

Three types of maíz criollo, native Mexican corn.

Corn is the staple and basic food of Mexico. It's the place to begin this culinary journey. There's nothing in the food cultures of the rest of North America remotely comparable to the importance of corn in Mexico.

Corn was so important in the lives of the Incas, Mayas and Aztecs that it was elevated to a special role in the culture. Centéotl, the corn god, and Xilonen, goddess of the corn ear, played a primary role in pre-Conquest mythology and religious practices. In some Mexican villages, it's still customary to make offerings to the corn plant itself prior to planting. Farmers offer flowers, coffee, and aguardiente (a strong alcohol distilled from sugar cane) to the seed corn, along with prayers and songs specific to the occasion.

La planta del hombre de maíz (men of corn plant), wall painting at the Templo Rojo, Cacaxtla, Tlaxcala.

Another Mayan legend tells that when the gods had organized the earth, the water and the animals, they then turned to creating a being who would understand the goodness of life. First they tried molding a man of clay, but he was weak and inept. Then they attempted making a man and a woman of bark, but they lacked intelligence and gratitude. Finally the gods created beings whose flesh was made of corn and had the same colors as corn. These beings could think and could thank the gods that made them.

From that day forward–right up to the present moment–corn has been central to the Mexican diet and the Mexican way of life. Think of its infinite uses: the ubiquitous tortilla (a family of five might consume as much as a kilogram–2.2 pounds–of tortillas per person in the course of a day's meals), antojitos (little whims) made of nixtamal-ized corn, and an assortment of delicious preparations that ranges from the hundreds of varieties of tamales to tiny region-specific soup dumplings.

Corn can be yellow, white, blue, red, green, black, or a mix of various colors.

Any housewife can soak and boil the kernels, and then grind them into dough–that's the preparation and one use of nixtamal. She can cook the prepared whole kernels in rich soups. The variety of corn most often used in today's Mexico is cacahuatzintle, Nahuatl for–what else–corn. Cacahuatzintle produces large ears and soft, broad kernels and makes an excellent pozole, a rich soup traditionally prepared with nixtamal-ized corn kernels and pork meat. In Mexico, a whole cabeza de puerco (pig's head) is the foundation of the soup's broth.

No matter how humble, it's rare to find a meal in Mexico that does not include corn. For desayuno (breakfast), tamales. For comida (the main meal of the day), and for cena (late supper), corn's what's on the table, either as tortillas or as pozole or as rajas de chile poblano con crema y granos de maíz (poblano chiles strips with fresh corn kernels and cream), or any of a thousand dishes. We'll be talking much more about corn, this gift of Centéotl, as time goes by.

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23 de August de 2014