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Passion and Metamorphosis: Travis Whitehead, Artisans of Michoacán

Painted children's chairs from Quiroga, Michoacán. All photographs by Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

Today's Mexico Cooks! article celebrates the artisans, ancient traditions, and glorious representation of the state of Michoacán. It also celebrates the recent publication of Artisans of Michoacán: By Their Hands, my friend Travis Whitehead's several-year-long project of interviews and photographs of Michoacán's artisans at work. Rather than express my thoughts about Travis's passion and dedication to his work, Mexico Cooks! prefers to let him tell his own story. He generously allows me to publish the text of the speech he gave earlier this year in Morelia, Michoacán. I give you Travis Whitehead:
_____________________________________________________________

Working copper, Santa Clara del Cobre, Michoacán.

Forty-five years ago, I saw something that grabbed my attention and never let go: a caterpiller evolving into an elegant monarch butterfly. Witnessing this display of metamorphosis would leave a lasting impression on me, one that would eventually lead me on an odyssey of change, of release, and of the discovery of identity.

Rolling hand-ground clay for high-fired ceramics in Patamban, Michoacán.

The journey toward that odyssey began the day my mother showed me how to remove a monarch caterpillar from the milkweed plant outside my Texas house, place it in a jar with plenty of leaves, and watch it grow. Soon it would wrap itself into a green chrysalis, and I would wait anxiously for it to emerge into an entirely different form of life. My curiosity was forever ignited by this process of change, and I kept a close eye on the milkweed plants so I could capture more caterpillers and observe this process again.

Hand-painted batea (wooden tray), state of Michoacán.

When the butterflies finally emerged, I would take them outside and watch as they flew into the blue sky. I didn't know then what we all know now: they were headed for Michoacán. I wonder if perhaps the butterflies I released took a part of me with them, bringing a trace of myself into an enchanting place. I wonder if perhaps that part of my soul born on the wings of the monarchs hibernated, even gestated, in the magical wonderland of Michoacán, awaiting my arrival when I would regain part of myself, taking full possession of my poetic voice.

Weaving a huinumo (pine needle) hot pad, Paracho, Michoacán.

I found the place I'd been seeking my whole life quite by accident, stumbling across it while working on another project. That project failed to materialize, but by then I had become intoxicated by the state's metamorphic personality. That metamorphosis was everywhere, in the food, the language of the Purépecha indians, the crafts, and even the very landscape. The state, I learned, even has two local varieties of the tamal–the corunda and the uchepo–and I discovered that in the Meseta Purépecha, even these and other regional recipes vary from one village to the next, and that the language has slight changes in communities only a short distance from each other: a metamorphosis taking place in food and words. The very landscape itself is a metamorphic experience, ranging from pine-covered hills to stark deserts, from winding rocky shoreline to tropical jungles.

Spoon rack on red door, Pátzcuaro, Michoacán.

So strong was Michoacán's power over me that I felt compelled to spend an extended amount of time with her, so I moved there in 2008 and spent eight months visiting artisans in their homes and workshops. I was quickly charmed by the way they welcomed me into their lives. I was a stranger who came knocking on their doors, and they quickly extended their friendship to me. They allowed me to observe them practicing their crafts and take as many pictures as I wanted. They patiently answered my endless questions. I was intrigued to discover that even their crafts were continuously evolving into innovative forms, revealing still another experience of metamorphosis. With every Michoacán experience, my artistic life constantly split and then coalesced into an ever-evolving consciousness. It was a revolving kaleidoscopic experience of dissonance and resolution, crescendo and diminuendo, soaring to enormous heights and then crashing miserably so that I would have to hibernate for a while until my previous perspective acquiesced to the new insights I had achieved.

Several types of hand-made, hand-painted clay tableware, Capula, Michoacán.

However, as my poetic voice matured, so did my perspective about culture. Initially, my experiences with the artisans were conduits through which I could communicate my ever-changing poetic voice. The artisans, though, offered me genuine friendship and even a chance to participate in their daily lives. I sat with them around their hearth fires; they shared their meals with me. I took them to a cornfield so they could pick loads of corn; then I helped shuck that corn to make uchepos. I watched with delight as their children laughed and played together, sneaking up behind me with their toy pistols–BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!–before giggling and running away. I participated in one of their festivals, and soon 'my' project became less about me and more about giving them a voice to the rest of the world, sharing the story behind the crafts for which they are so famous.

Counting threads while weaving a fine rebozo (shawl) from Aranza, Michoacán.

As I observed the pace of their daily lives and the way they related to one another, I began to wonder if the crafts, the festivals, and dances are really what define a culture. Are those the things that really define culture, or are they merely details? I'm not so sure. Perhaps the real cultural experience is the way a group of people relates to one another and interacts with each other. It's a question I still ask myself.

Seventeenth century Michoacán Cristo (Christ) made of pasta de caña.

The crafts and artisans and the metamorphic life of Michoacán still have a hold on me. But I think that Michoacán has taught me a much greater lesson: the value of life and the way people experience that life, and the warmth and friendship people extend toward one another–and even to strangers who come knocking on their doors. This was truly the greatest of my metamorphic experiences in Michoacán.

Hand cross-stitched guayanga (blouse), Pichátaro, Michoacán.
____________________________________________________________

Juego de Huarukua (ancient Purépecha fireball game), Tzintzuntzan, Michoacán. Photo courtesy Jesús Alejandre G., Uruapan.

On June 27, 2013, Travis Whitehead will present Artisans of Michoacán: By Their Hands at Pátzcuaro's Museo Regional de Artes Populares, in conjunction with an important exhibit of new photographs of Michoacán by Uruapan native Jesús Alejandre. The opening of photographer Alejandre's exhibition and the presentation of Whitehead's book will be June 27, 2013 at 5:00PM.

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

22 de June de 2013
Mexico’s Dichos de la Cocina: Kitchen Sayings, Part Two

A beautiful pink and golden Mexican chicken, ready for the soup pot.

What, you might wonder, the title of this article says it is part two? Where is part one? As Mexico Cooks! spent some time this week reviewing old articles, we suddenly realized that way, way back in March 2009 we promised a second article about kitchen sayings 'later this year'–and suddenly it's four years later! Can we blame our lack of follow-through on one of my favorite sayings, "Life is what happens while you're making other plans"? Or maybe let's just leave it at 'más vale tarde que nunca'–better late than never!

Chile relleno con frijoles negros de la olla (stuffed poblano chile served with freshly cooked black beans). Photo courtesy Conde Pétatl.

Mexico's dichos de la cocina (kitchen sayings) number in the hundreds, if not the thousands. Just like sayings and proverbs in any language, Mexican dichos usually have a double meaning: what the words of the saying are, and then how they are interpreted. In English, the phrase "the early bird catches the worm" make sense just as you read it, but it has a secondary import: if you start your endeavor sooner rather than later, you have a much better chance of success. So it is with all of these!

Pig head, ready to buy and take home to make pozole.

Here are some of Mexico Cooks!' personal favorites:

Vale más pan con amor, que gallina con dolor. Bread eaten with love is worth more than chicken eaten with pain.
Se cambia mas fácilmente de religión que de café. It's easier to change your religion than to change your coffee.
Quien hambre tiene, en pan piensa. The hungry person thinks of bread.

Café con leche (coffe with milk) served with a basket of pan dulce ( sweet Mexican breads).

El que parte y comparte, se queda con la mejor parte. The one who portions and shares, gets the best part.
Al hablar, como al guisar, su granito de sal. In speaking and cooking, a grain of salt.
Frutos y amores, los primeros son los mejores. Fruits and loves–the first are the best.

A street vendor's fresh fruit in Paracho, Michoacán. He sells seasonal fruits, including papaya, sandía (watermelon), and mango. Enlarge any photo for better detail–in this photo, you'll see the bees.

Guajolote que se sale del corral, termina en mole. The turkey that gets out of the yard ends up in mole.
La vida es como una cebolla, uno la pela llorando. Life is like an onion, you cry while you peel it.
Mata el pollo y pon la mesa. Kill the chicken and set the table.

Frijol peruano ('Peruvian' beans), ready to cook in a clay pot filled with water.

Mentir y comer pescado quieren cuidado. Be careful when lying and eating fish.
Nunca falta un negrito en el arroz. There is always a black speck in the rice.
Al hambre de siete días, no hay pan duro. To a week's hunger, there is no such thing as hard bread.

Champurrado (chocolate atole) at Restaurant Flor de Lis, Mexico City.

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15 de June de 2013
Witness to Life: The Rebozo in Mexico :: El Rebozo en México, Testigo de la Vida

Lovely young Agustina in her pink silk rebozo (long rectangular shawl).

A friend recently gave me a copy of an old and anonymous Mexican poem, written in Spanish, in homage to the rebozo. The rebozo's importance to Mexican women cannot be exaggerated: from swaddled infancy to shrouded death, a rebozo
accompanies our women throughout their days. It is at once warmth,
shade, infant's cradle, cargo-bearer, fancy dress, screen for delicious
flirtation, and a sanctuary from prying eyes.

I hope you enjoy my translation.

Michoacán-made rebozos and guitar, on exhibit in Morelia. Note the elaborate fringes on both rebozos.

My Rebozo

Rummaging through my closet one fine day
I found this garment—my old rebozo!
How long had it been resting there?
Even I can’t say exactly.
But seeing it brought back so many memories
Tears clouded my eyes and fell one by one as I held
My beloved rebozo!

Mother and infant daughter wear matching rebozos, Fiesta de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe 2010.

What a faithful friend you have been.
Shall we relive just an instant of that far-distant past?
When I first showed you off, you were so beautiful, so new,
With your lively color and flowing fringe
Your reflection gleamed in the mirror like the morning star!

Fine lace rebozo still on the loom, from the Reboceros de Aranza (Aranza Rebozo Weavers Cooperative).

Come on, come on, let me fling you over my heart
The way I did in bygone years,
Next to this heart that disappointment has turned to ash!
Don’t you remember that beautiful blouse I wore,
Embroidered with poppies and carnations?
Don’t you remember all my triumphs and successes,
And my flounced skirt, so full of its pretty sequins, beads, and glitter?

Lavender and white rebozo with elaborate fringe.

See, tightened to the span of my narrow waist and
Crossed just so over my straight young back
Showing off my fresh round breasts,
With two vertical parallel lines.
We stepped out to the beat of those long-ago songs,
That dance that determined my life.
Your fringes hung down just so!
And the two of us formed one soul.

Finely woven black and red rebozo.

How was it that I wanted him? You know!
Rebozo, you heard first how I loved him!
Your fringes were hopeful prisoners of my teeth
While I heard the soft slow songs of love
Oh perverse rebozo, unfaithful friend!
You were my confidante and my hiding place
You pushed me, burning, into romance
Wrapped in your fringes as if they were cherished arms.

Intricately patterned deep red rebozo.

But what’s this I see!
An ugly hole
That looks like a toothless mouth
Bursting out into furious laughter.
You laugh at my romantic memories?
You make fun of my long gone triumphs?
You know that the one who loved me has forgotten me
And that my soul, just like my love, is sacked and plundered?

Two elderly women share a secret joke in Pátzcuaro.

And you—you aren’t even a shadow of what you were
And because we don’t remember what we have been
We are betrayed! Old! Faded!
I’ll throw you in a box with other trash—
You, who are a traitor and so worn out!
How strange and how complicated
Just like you, I also betrayed—sometimes–in little ways!
Those sweet lies and silly nonsense
That made so many of my yesterdays happy.

White and black rebozo fringed with feathers.

Laugh, rebozo! Don’t you see that I’m laughing–not angry?
The tears that spring from these eyes
Are just laughter, nothing more. I’m not crying, I’m laughing!
But how can I be laughing, when I hate you so?
Let your mantel cover my head
The way it did in days long past, when I was possessed
By a kiss so strong, so violent.

Gold and salmon rebozo de gala (fancy dress).

No! I will not throw you away, old rebozo!
You have a soul like mine
A Mexican woman's soul, wild, unmanageable
That will not bend even when faced with death itself!
I will fold you up and keep you in the closet
And there, like a holy relic,
My heart will once again put on
Your flowing fringe.

Elderly flower seller, Pátzcuaro, Michoacán.

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8 de June de 2013
Mexico’s Home-Made Hash: Delicious Picadillo (pee-cah-DEE-yo)

Elisabeth Lambert Ortiz (1915-2003), a proper British woman married to Mexican diplomat César Ortiz Tinoco, learned Mexican cuisine in Mexico City, her husband's home town. She published her wonderful The Complete Book of Mexican Cooking in 1967, which introduced the English-speaking world to some of the regional cuisines of Mexico. I've cooked from this ever more raggedy, taped-together, yellowing, food-stained, still-magical paperback edition since the middle 1970s, starting years before I moved to Mexico. The first truly Mexican recipe I ever prepared was picadillo, from Elisabeth Lambert Ortiz's book. It's Mexico's traditional home-style hash.

The ingredients for picadillo are available in almost any supermarket. Starting with the bowl of ground pork at lower left in the photograph and moving clockwise, you see the raw meat, Mexican cinnamon sticks, bright orange carrots all but hidden in the dish, chiles serrano, Roma tomatoes, white potatoes, a Red Delicious apple, raisins and dried cranberries, freshly dried hoja de laurel (bay leaves), a whole white onion, and, in the little dish in the right-center foreground, freshly dried Mexican oregano. I dried the bay leaves and the oregano myself, but you can make substitutions: use ground cinnamon rather than the cinnamon sticks, store-bought bay leaves, and the oregano you normally use instead of the Mexican type; the rest of the ingredients are commonplace.

Minced chile serrano and diced white onion.

Hash of all kinds is one of the most comfortable of comfort foods, and the hash called picadillo (the word means 'a little something chopped-up') is simply Mexico's slightly more rambunctious cousin. This picadillo recipe is always forgiving, always flexible. Prepare it with ground beef, ground pork, or a combination of the two meats. Use more potatoes, fewer carrots, an extra tomato (or two, if the ones you have are quite small). Don't care for olives? Leave them out. But by all means do try picadillo: it's a far cry from your mother's canned corned beef hash.

More ready-to-cook raw ingredients, left to right: diced tomatoes; peeled, diced apple; peeled, diced carrots. For size comparison's sake, the knife blade is 10.5" long.

Ingredients
1 kilo (2.2 lbs) ground pork, ground beef, or a combination of the two
3 large, ripe Roma tomatoes, diced
3 fresh chiles serrano, minced (Use less chile if your tolerance for picante (spiciness) is low.)
1 clove garlic, minced (I prefer to leave out the garlic.)
1 medium-large white onion, peeled and diced
4 medium carrots, peeled and diced
1 or 2 large Red Delicious apples OR 1 or 2 large, ripe Bartlett pears OR one of each, peeled and diced
4 medium white potatoes, peeled and diced
1 cup large green olives, with or without pimento, sliced
3/4 cup raisins, dried cranberries, or a combination of both
1 tsp dried oregano, Mexican if you have it
3 large bay leaves
2" piece of Mexican cinnamon stick OR big pinch of ground cinnamon
Freshly rendered pork lard OR vegetable oil, as needed
Sea salt to taste
Beef, chicken, or pork stock, or water, as needed

Sliced large green pimento-stuffed olives. Each of these olives measures a bit more than one inch long prior to slicing. Slice them in thirds or quarters.

Equipment
A large pot with a cover. I use a 4-quart enameled casserole.
Cutting board
Sharp knife
Large wooden spoon

Preparation
Heat 3 Tbsp lard or vegetable oil in your cooking pot until it shimmers. Add the onion and chile and sauté over medium fire until the onion is translucent. Add the ground meat and continue to sauté over medium fire until the meat is no longer pink. Break the meat into bite-size chunks as it sautés. Add the rest of the ingredients.

After sautéeing the onion, chile, and meat, add the rest of the solid ingredients to the pot and stir to incorporate them all. Then add stock or water; the liquid should come to about 1/3 of the way up from the bottom of the pot. Enlarge any photo for a bigger view; you'll be able to see that I used a combination of raisins and dried cranberries. I had about a quarter cup of dried cranberries on hand; a neighbor loaned me the raisins to make up the difference in measurement. The section at the bottom of the photo is blurred due to rising steam.

Cover the pot, leaving the cover just slightly ajar. Lower the heat to its lowest. Set your kitchen timer for 30 minutes and go do something else! When the timer rings, check the pot for liquid. If the picadillo has absorbed most of the original liquid, add the same amount again. With the cover ajar, continue to cook over a very low flame for another 30 minutes and correct for salt. Voilá! It's picadillo, ready to serve!

Picadillo, ready to serve after an hour's cooking. This amount of picadillo will serve 6 to 8 hungry people when served over steamed white rice or Mexican red rice. I like to prepare the picadillo recipe, serve it as our main meal, and save the rest to re-heat and serve the next day. If anything, it is even better after a night's rest–but then, aren't we all? After the second day, whatever picadillo is left freezes beautifully.

Delicious, spicy picadillo, served over rice. You and your family will love this traditional Mexican meal. By all means let me know how it goes over at your house. A huge thank you to Elisabeth Lambert Ortiz.

Provecho! (Good eating!)

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1 de June de 2013
Looking for Smut on the Internet?

Not that kind! What in the world do you think we're thinking!

Ustilago maydis, called corn smut, or huitlacoche.

Mexico Cooks! is rejoicing in a wealth of corn smut, known in Mexico as the delicacy huitlacoche (aka cuitlacoche) and known in the rest of the world as disgusting. The word cuitlacoche comes from the Nahuatl word cuitlatl (excrement) and cochi (sleeping). You wanted to know that, didn't you?

Ustilago
maydis (corn smut's biological name) is a fungal disease that most
often attacks corn before the ear forms. Spores enter corn stalks that
have been wounded by hail, insects, or cultivation cuts. The fungus
grows inside the corn kernel, distorting and discoloring it, leaving
only the husk of the kernel remaining. The fungus winters over in the
ground or in old corn stalks left to rot. Smut spores can blow long
distances, invading every cornfield in a region. No country is exempt
from its infection and losses to the fungus may be as high as 20% of a
corn crop. Most of the world's corn growers use every means possible to
stave off the infection, but here in Mexico, we love to see the fungus
come to market.

Here in Mexico City, the huitlacoche season just started. Some of the vegetable vendors at our Tuesday tianguis had piles of it for sale last week, in amongst the broccoli, chiles,
leeks, tomatoes, and the rest of the weekly array in their stands.
Twenty-five pesos (about $2.50 US) per half pound seemed like a fair
price, so we bought a bag of big juicy-looking fungus and brought it
home for comida, our main meal of the day.

The taste of huitlacoche
is deep, rich, earthy, and is frequently compared to truffles. The
texture is meaty, similar to a portabello mushroom. The color–well, we
don't eat many coal black foods, but it's quite elegant on the plate.

In Mexico, huitlacoche is sold either on the cob or loose, by the kilo. Once in a great while, fresh huitlacoche is available in a Latin market outside Mexico. It's said that the canned variety works as well as the fresh, although Mexico Cooks! hasn't used the canned product and makes no guarantees. Look for this variety:

Here's Mexico Cooks!' recipe for our comida muy de la temporada (very seasonal dinner).

Salsa de Huitlacoche con Espagueti y Pechuga de Pollo
(Cuitlacoche Sauce with Spaghetti and Chicken Breast)

Ingredients for the sauce:
1 large clove garlic, minced fine
2 tbsp white onion, minced fine
2 or 3 strips bacon, minced
3 chiles chilacas or 2 chiles poblanos
250 grams (1/2 lb) huitlacoche, roughly chopped
Sea salt to taste
Enough chicken broth to thin sauce to coat the back of a spoon
Bacon drippings plus 2 Tbsp vegetable oil

Utensils:
10-inch nonstick sauté pan
Wooden spoon
Measuring spoons
Blender

Procedure:
Roast the chiles on a dry (not oiled) comal (griddle) until the skins are blistered and nearly black. Put them in a plastic bag and twist it shut. "Sweat" the chiles for about 10 minutes. Remove the stems and seeds and peel the chiles. Roughly chop the prepared chiles and reserve for later use.

Sauté the minced bacon until nearly crisp. Remove from pan and reserve with the chiles. Keep the bacon drippings in the pan. Add the oil.

Sauté the garlic, onion, and huitlacoche in the drippings/oil until the cuitlacoche is soft, about 10-15 minutes. Be careful that the huitlacoche does not become mushy. It should retain some texture. The mixture in your sauté pan will be inky black.

Put the huitlacoche mixture, the reserved chiles
and the bacon in the blender. Add 1/2 cup chicken stock and purée.
The mix should thickly coat the back of a spoon. Add more chicken stock
if needed and blend again. Add sea salt to taste and blend briefly.
Again, the sauce will be black.

Chicken breasts:
Cut
two boneless, skinless chicken breast halves into 1/2" wide strips as
long as each breast. Put 2 Tbsp flour and 1/2 tsp sea salt in a plastic
bag and shake to mix. Add the chicken breast strips and shake to flour
thoroughly. Shake off excess flour. Sauté breast strips in olive oil
until they are golden brown. Be careful not to overcook the breast
strips. Remove and reserve.

Spaghetti:
I used 1/2 lb fettucine and cooked following package directions.

Plating:
Serves two generously.

Put half the spaghetti on each plate. Divide the cuitlacoche
sauce between the two servings of spaghetti. Divide the chicken breast
strips between the two plates, laying them across the spaghetti and
sauce. Drizzle more sauce across the chicken breast strips.

We all but licked our plates.

So…we've got rough stuff (the chopping), breasts (the chicken), and licking (the plates). I guess this really is smut on the Internet!

Provecho!

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

25 de May de 2013
Kissing the Feet of Two Volcanoes: Amecameca, State of Mexico

This article about the volcano Popocatépetl, published just over a year ago, is once again appropriate. Don Goyo (the volcano's nickname) is even more active today than it was twelve months ago.

The active volcano Popocatépetl is the second-highest mountain in
Mexico at 5,452 meters (17,887 feet) above sea level. Some sources say
that Popocatépetl is slightly higher than those quoted figures. Only
the Pico de Orizaba (5,610 meters or 18,406 feet) is higher. All photos
by Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

During the last few weeks, Mexico City's newspapers have been full of
information about Popocatépetl, the Náhuatl word for 'smoking
mountain'. This volcano, which sits in the very back yard of the city,
has once again been growling and grumbling and belching gases, steam,
smoke, and red-hot ash. Its last major eruption was in December of 2000
and everyone in this vicinity hopes the mountain won't explode again.

Popocatépetl, 1953. Taken as a young man by my good friend Roger Hagan, this magnificent photograph lets us see how both the shape of the mountain and its cap of snow have changed during the last 60 years. The photograph appears in Roger Hagan's remarkable book, Mexico 1953. Photo courtesy Roger Hagan.

In mid-April of 2012, curiousity and excitement about Popocatépetl's current
activities led us to make a Sunday afternoon trip to Amecameca in the
State of Mexico, the town closest to the volcano from our Mexico City
neighborhood. The town is southeast of Mexico City and we were there in
a bit over an hour. Had we not stopped along the way to take
photographs, we could have arrived sooner.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZAvtPJKg8U&w=420&h=315]
Popocatépetl erupting, December 2000. Video courtesy NBC News.

The alert system for possible eruptions
ranges from green (no danger) to red (extreme eruption). Currently,
Popocatépetl has been at Alert Phase 3 Yellow (magma flow and growing
explosions) for about three weeks. Phase 3 Yellow is the alert just
before red. In spite of the high alert level, no evacuations from towns
around the volcano have been ordered. Click the link for updates to
the 'semáforo de alertas' (alert system stoplight): ALERTAS

Iztaccíhautl, the sleeping woman, lies northeast of Popocatépetl and east of the town of Amecameca in the State of Mexico. Mexico Cooks! took this photo from the atrium of the Templo de Nuestra Señora de la Asunción
(Church of Our Lady of the Assumption) in Amecameca; you can see one of
the church arches in the foreground. The photo shows Iztaccíhuatl's
head (far left) and chest.

Full
view of volcano Iztaccíhuatl. Her head is at the far left in the
photo. The clouds are in fact due to the accumulation of steam and ash
emitted by Popocatépetl, just out of camera range to the right. The
northwestern sky (behind me as I took the picture) was clear blue and
brilliantly sunny.

Of course there is a romantic legend about Popocatépetl and
Iztaccíhautl. At the beginning of history, when the Aztecs arrived in
the Valley of Anáhuac and before the mountains had reached their
permanent form, a beautiful princess named Mixtli was born in the city
of Tenochtitlán–today's Mexico City. She was the daughter of Tizoc,
the Tlatoani Emperor of the Mexicas (to be known later as the
Aztecs). Mixtli was sought after by numerous noblemen, among them
Axooxco, a cruel and bloodthirsty man, who demanded the hand of Mixtli
in marriage. However, Mixtli's heart belonged instead to a humble
peasant named Popoca. Popoca went into battle, to conquer the title of
Caballero Aguila (Eagle Knight). If he claimed this title of nobility, Popoca would then be able to fight Axooxco for the hand of Mixtli.

Popoca carries his beloved Mixtli to the snowy mountains.

Mixtli knew the danger Popoca faced in this trial. Finally a
messenger brought the news that he had been killed in battle. But the
messenger was wrong: Popoca was returning victorious. Not realizing
this, Mixtli killed herself, rather than live without Popoca.

When Popoca returned to find Mixtli dead, he picked her up and
carried her body into the mountains. Hoping that the cold snow would
wake her from sleep to reunite them, Popoca crouched at her feet until
he froze there while he prayed for her to awaken.

They have
remained there ever since. The body of Mixtli became the volcano
Iztaccíhuatl (the Sleeping Woman), the ever-watchful Popoca became the
volcano Popocatépetl (the Smoking Mountain). The evil Axooxco became
the Cerro Ajusco (the highest point of the Distrito Federal).
These volcanoes tower above Mexico City and the romantic legend of
this couple has been passed on since the pre-Columbian era as a symbol
of enduring and faithful love.

Popocatépetl exhales a huge cloud of steam, gases, and ash on April 18, 2012. Photo courtesy Notimex.

The volcano is generally known by a local nickname: don Goyo. Don is an honorific used to address or refer to any respected well-known man; Goyo
is a nickname for Gregorio, in this instance specifically referring to
San Gregorio (St. Gregory). Legend says that the volcano once erupted
on San Gregorio's March 12 feast day and subsequently received the
nickname, but the volcano's feast day (yes, he has one!) is celebrated
annually on May 2. On that date, some local residencts carry gifts to
the volcano: blankets and una copita (a shot of liquor) to keep
him warm, and they pay him their continuing respects. As the
white-haired toll booth attendant said when we told him we were on our
way to pay a visit to don Goyo, "Be careful up there! He's making all this racket while he's sober–imagine if he had already had his tequila!"

The
volcano on the night of April 24, 2012. Streams of molten lava flow
down the sides of the crater while fire, steam, smoke, and sparks rise
high into the evening sky. The volcano is so loud that some residents
find it hard to get a good night's sleep. Photo courtesy MSNBC.

During volcanic activity of this kind, the world keeps turning.
Residents in the several towns nearest the volcano go about their normal
daily lives while keeping one eye on the top of the mountain and one
ear out for the latest alerts. In Amecameca, a delightful old gentleman
stopped to chat with us on the street while we were letting a local
woman take a close look at the volcano through the camera's telephoto
lens. "You know," he ruminated, "we still have to shop, cook,
eat, and sleep even though we also have to be prepared for…" he
laughed and threw his arms high into the air. "In case it blows!"

Life
goes on: inside the municipal market in Amecameca, people shop for
food, gossip with their neighbors, and laugh at the latest jokes. Click
on any photo to enlarge it for a better view.

Our new guide continued, "You should go outside town for a better
view. It's easy to get there…" He proceeded to give excellent
directions for heading to the east into the foothills at the base of the
volcano. We shook his hand and followed his directions as far as we
could, but the rutted, stone-filled path we were driving outside
Amecameca was too difficult for our vehicle. We turned onto another,
even smaller road that took us to the crest of a hill. From there, we
had an unobstructed view of the two lovers, Iztaccíhautl and
Popocatépetl. While the wind blew from behind us, we watched as don Goyo sighed several times, sending heavy plumes of steam and ash into the heavens and away from Amecameca.

As
the volcano steams and roars, commerce continues as it has for
thousands of years. Amecameca has a huge Sunday market in the church
atrium outside Templo de Nuestra Señora de la Asunciòn. The peaches, bright-green oval chilacayotes, and round calabacitas (zucchini-type squash) are offered for sale piled up in pyramids, the traditional vendors' display method.

Will the volcano blast off into a major eruption? Will it calm down
and wait till another time? No one really knows for sure, not even the
scientists who monitor its activity. On April 25, the winds shifted and
small amounts of ash began to rain down on Amecameca and some of the
other nearby towns. We're watching, along with the rest of the
populace. And meantime, our lives go on as usual.

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18 de May de 2013
A Flaneur in Mexico City: Out and About in the Distrito Federal

Wall art stencil in the Centro Histórico. "México is no country for cowards."

Vihuela player, mariachis along the canals in Xochimilco. One dictionary defines the vihuela as "an obsolete stringed instrument". Tell that to Mexico's mariachis–every group has one!

Mexico City's iconic purple glory: jacaranda in full springtime bloom.

Padlocks and ribbons, prayer reminders left at the feet of San Ramón Nonato inside the Catedral Metropolitano (the Metropolitan Cathedral). San Ramón Nonato is the patron saint of locksmiths and pregnant women.

Mango season is here, sound the trumpets! In Mexico, this variety is known as Paraíso (Paradise). It absolutely lives up to its name.

Painted chair, Xochimilco.

Organ grinder, San Ángel 2013.

Piloncillo (cones of raw brown sugar), large and small, light and dark, for sale at the Mercado de Jamaica.

Concert in the rain, Coyoacán. With Bola Suriana.

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11 de May de 2013
Restaurante Nicos, Mexico City Treasure: Traditional Mexican Cuisine, Family Comfort and Warmth

Chef Gerardo Vázquez Lugo, consummately professional executive chef at Restaurante Nicos in Mexico City. Chef Gerardo's right-hand man at Nicos (and head of La Nicolasa, their organic food shops in Azcapotzalco and in Col. La Condesa) is César Galván Arciniega.

Freshly baked, still-warm bolillo (crusty white bread roll) served from a dried guaje (gourd) and accompanied by three salsas and a wee dish of sea salt.

Mexico City's gourmands–the many of us who are heartily fond of good food and drink–often travel substantially north of the Centro Histórico (downtown) to have a marvelous meal. The magnet that pulls us to Delegación Azcapotzalco? Restaurante Nicos, a Mexico City institution since 1957. Started by María Elena Lugo Zermeño (chef Gerardo's mother) and run by the Vázquez Lugo family for the last 56 years, the restaurant offers a warmly charming atmosphere, excellent service, and simply fantastic food.

It always makes me happy to see that Nicos makes its guacamole exactly
the way I've been doing it at home for 30 years. You can see that the avocado is left in silky
chunks; it's not mashed. Add a little olive oil, some sea salt, small-diced white onion, small-diced tomato, chopped cilantro, and as much minced chile serrano as your palate can handle. No limón (Key lime) is necessary.

Prepared at tableside with perfectly ripe, perfectly fresh ingredients, this guacamole brims over in its molcajete (volcanic stone mortar) and is a plentiful appetizer for four diners. It's served with freshly-fried salty totopos (tortilla chips).

This oasis of great eating has never pretended to be more than a family restaurant serving home-style Mexican cooking. Traditional recipes prepared and served in the spirit of Slow Food are the basis of Nicos' kitchen, and attentive, non-obtrusive, closely-supervised staff continue to ensure that the customer is king. Really, what more can we want?

Another appetizer, this time doblada de tinga (delectable stewed, spiced, and shredded chicken stuffed into a folded, hot-off-the-comal (griddle) tortilla). These dobladas are offered three to an order, but our server generously provided our table of four diners with an extra doblada.

Nick Zukin, a Mexican food enthusiast and restaurant owner visiting from Oregon, recently invited me, Ben Herrera Beristain, and Jon Seymour to accompany him for comida (main meal of Mexico's day) at Nicos. An eager sí, cómo no!, and Mexico Cooks! joined Nick's group of friends at table. Faced with the truly difficult choices among Nicos' marvelous appetizers, soups, salads, and main dishes, we of course ordered far too much food, and of course we polished it all off with delight.

Our third entrada (appetizer) was this beautiful plate of trancas—taquitos (small rolled and fried tacos) stuffed with chicken and served with farm-fresh crema de mesa (Mexican table cream, similar to creme fraiche), grated queso fresco (soft white cheese), lettuce, and tomato–plus a small bowl of guacamole.

We ordered two sopas to share. This is what Mexico knows as a sopa seca (dry soup). In this case, it's the very special sopa seca de natas; a 19th century recipe from the convent of the Capuchinas (nuns) in Guadalajara. It's made of crepes, layered with shredded chicken and a sauce made of natas (unpasteurized cream from raw milk), tomatoes, and finely sliced chile poblano. Once the ingredients are layered in a baking dish, they're baked for about an hour and a half.

A soup plate arrives at table already piled with accompaniments for sopa de frijoles, the sopa aguada (liquid soup) we ordered. The shallow bowl holds strips of thinly sliced, fried tortillas, queso Pijijiapan (a white crumbly cheese from the state of Chiapas), lightly fried chile de árbol, and crema de rancho (farm-style cream). Note the name Pijijiapan: it's the only place name in Mexico with five dotted letters in a row! You can count on Mexico Cooks! for this sort of fascinating trivia.

Absolutely delicious sopa de frijoles (bean soup), based on an ayocote (white runner bean) broth flavored with fresh epazote (wormweed) is then ladled atop the soup accompaniments, and our waiter added a few drops of organic olive oil.

The first of our three platos fuertes (main dishes) was adobo de antaño con carne de cerdo con tamal de ejote tierno (pork cooked in an old-fashioned smooth, spicy adobo (sauce) and served with a fresh-corn tamal.

A tiny pot of frijoles negros (black beans), for just a spoonful each to go with our main dishes.

And another tiny pot of frijoles charros (cowboy-style beans with bacon, onion, and tomato). We couldn't have just one pot of beans, right?

Our second main dish: conejo al chile piquín (tender rabbit in a chile piquín sauce), served with ensalada de nopalitos (cactus paddle salad). Next time I am at Nicos, I'll order this dish just for myself. It was unquestionably my favorite–fall-off-the-bone tender rabbit cooked in a supremely delicious sauce. Just try and get me to give you a bite!

This dish of pollo en hoja de aguacate con pulque (boneless chicken with avocado leaf, orange juice, butter, and pulque) was, for me, a close runner-up to the rabbit. Beautifully presented and carrying the subtle flavor of anise-y avocado leaf and earthy pulque, the recipe was created by one of Mexico's foremost chefs and my friend, the great lady Alicia Gironella d'Angeli.

Can you tell that we were simply too stuffed to order dessert? We waddled out of the restaurant into the first downpour of Mexico City's 2013 rainy season, happy to have spent several hours enjoying one another's company and a superb meal. Next time you're in Mexico City, Restaurante Nicos will be a truly memorable experience for you.

Restaurante Nicos
Av. Cuitláhuac 3102, corner of Clavería
Col. Clavería
Del. Azcapotzalco
Mexico City 02080
Tel: 55.5396.7090 (reservations suggested for hours of comida, 2.30-4:00PM)
Hours: Monday through Friday 7.30AM to 7:30PM

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4 de May de 2013
Rajas con Crema :: Chile Poblano Strips with Cream, a Mexican Classic Recipe

The chile poblano is one of the most commonly used fresh chiles in Mexico's kitchen. A very large, fleshy chile, it can measure as much as seven or eight inches long. The stem end is much wider than the point, and the color ranges from dark green to almost black-green. Shopping tip: if you buy chiles poblano that are flat on all sides, they will roast more quickly than if they are lumpy. The flat sides will evenly touch the roasting surface.

The chile poblano is commonly used for preparing main dishes such as chiles rellenos, including the seasonal and festive chiles en nogada. It is also used for making rajas de chile poblano con crema (strips of chile poblano with cream), a marvelously flavorful vegetable side dish. All photos by Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

To prepare chiles poblano for use in any recipe, wash and roast them. Don't try to use them with the peel on; the peels will be as tough as trying to chew through plastic. Mexico Cooks! uses a cast iron comal (griddle) placed over a high flame to roast as many as four to six chiles at a time. Other cooks prefer to roast these chiles one at a time over an open flame, or on a broiler pan in a slightly open oven. No matter which roasting method you use, the roasted chiles should look like the ones in the above photo. Photo courtesy Maura Hernández.

Once the chiles are roasted, put them in a plastic bag, twist it shut, and allow the chiles to 'sweat' for 10 to 15 minutes. You'll easily be able to remove the blackened peels. It's best not to rinse them, as rinsing removes a good bit of the delicious chile poblano flavor.

After you have peeled your roasted chiles, they will look like this. If just a bit of toasted peel sticks to the chile, it will simply add another layer of flavor to your dish. Click on the photo to enlarge and better see the remaining blackened bits of peel.

Make a slit down the full length of each chile and cut off its stem end. Remove the seeds by brushing them into a trash receptacle.

Chiles poblano, roasted, peeled, and laid flat on a cutting board. The next step is to slice them into strips–rajas, in Spanish.

Rajas, ready to prepare and serve. For this meal, Mexico Cooks! used three large chiles to prepare a side dish for two people.

The ingredients include half a white onion, sliced very thin, and about one-third of a large sweet red pepper, diced. Sauté in hot oil until soft and translucent. Most Mexican cooks use fresh corn kernels in this recipe; I happened to have part of a sweet red pepper that needed to be cooked, so I used that instead.

Peppers and onions, ready for the addition of the chile strips!

Continue to sauté the vegetables until the chiles are soft. Because the chile strips are already roasted, the sauté process will not take long. You do not want your rajas to be over-cooked; they should still be bright green at the end of cooking.

Add about half a cup of crema para la mesa (Mexican table cream or creme fraiche–NOT sour cream) to the vegetable mix. Stir until well incorporated.

The cream will become a thick sauce for the vegetables. Salt to taste. The chile poblano is generally quite mild and flavorful, but once in a while you will come across one that is surprisingly spicy. There's no way to tell by looking at them whether they are mild or hot!

Mexico Cooks! served the rajas de chile poblano con crema topped with strips of chicken breast, lightly dusted with salted flour and sautéed in olive oil seasoned with a smashed clove of garlic. One large chicken breast half made ten strips and was plenty for the two of us for our main meal of the day. The one-dish meal was easy and delicious.

Provecho! (Good eating!)

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27 de April de 2013
Paletas La Michoacana: Big Business, Sweet and Icy in Tocumbo

When I was a little girl, a Popsicle was a big deal. Summertime meant that the ice cream truck, bell tinkling, would trundle through the neighborhood where I lived. After a frantic plea to Mom for money, she counted out coins and I raced to the corner where the rest of the kids were already gathered, waiting for the vendor to dig through his icy case for cherry, lime, or the reviled banana. The odor of amyl acetate (the chemical used for artificial banana flavoring) remains cloyingly in my memory. Photo courtesy ChezBeeper.

Remember? Hot summer days made those frozen snacks melt quickly, down childish fingers and the side of the hand, down the wrist and almost to the elbow in sticky trails of blood red and pale green. Nips of the cold treat slid in a chilly track from tongue to stomach, giving a few moments relief from childhood summers' heat and humidity. We didn't care that they were artificially flavored; Popsicles were a summer joy. Once I was an adult, I left them behind in favor of more sophisticated gelatos and sorbets.

Long before I dreamed of venturing to Mexico, Ignacio Alcázar of Tocumbo, Michoacán had a vision. Paletas—frozen treats similar to Popsicles—were on his mind. Tocumbo was a tiny village in the 1940s. Life there was harsh and subsistence was difficult. Eking a hardscrabble living from the sugar cane fields of the region around Tocumbo depended as much on Mother Nature's vagaries as on a farmer's backbreaking work. In those days, the pay for peeling 2,000 pounds of sugar cane was two pesos. Campesinos (field workers) could expect to earn a maximum of three pesos a week.

But making a living selling paletas depended solely on creating a desire for something delicious and refreshing to satisfy someone's antojo (whim). In the mid-1940s, Ignacio Alcázar, his brother Luis, and their friend Agustín Andrade left the misty mountains and pine forests of Michoacán and headed for Mexico City, the country's burgeoning hustle-bustle capital. The men had made paletas in Tocumbo for several years, but it was time to try their hand in the big city.

In 1946, the three men, illiterate native sons of Tocumbo, established an ice cream shop in downtown Mexico City. The new paletería (paleta shop) wasn't elegant, but it worked. People clamored for more and more paletas. The Alcázar brothers and Andrade expanded, and expanded again. They sold franchise after franchise of their paleta brainchild to their relatives, friends, and neighbors from Tocumbo. The single shop that the two men started became the most successful small-business idea in Mexico in the last half century, known across the country as La Michoacana. More than 15,000 La Michoacana outlets currently exist around Mexico, most of them owned by people from the town of Tocumbo.

Mexico City alone has more than 1,000 La Michoacana outlets. Usually the paleterías are called La Michoacana, La Flor de Michoacán or La Flor de Tocumbo. Every Mexican town with more than 1,000 residents is without one. Only Pemex, the nationalized petroleum company, has blanketed Mexico so completely.

When I moved to Mexico in 1981, a Mexican friend insisted that she was going to buy me a paleta. "A Popsicle?" I scoffed. She took me by the scruff of the neck and all but shoved me into the nearest La Michoacana. I peered into the freezer case and was amazed to see hundreds and hundreds of rectangular paletas, organized flavor by flavor, lined up in stacks in their protective plastic bags.

And what flavors! Mango (plain or with chile), blackberry, cantaloupe, coconut, guava, and guanábana (soursop) were arranged side by side with strawberry, vanilla, and—no, that brown one wasn't chocolate, it was tamarindo. Some were made with a water base and some with a milk base. Every single paleta was loaded top to bottom with fresh fruit. There was nothing artificial about these. I was hard pressed to decide on just one flavor, but I finally bit into a paleta de mango and was an instant addict.

The story of the paleteros (paleta makers) from Tocumbo piqued my curiosity. For many years I've been determined to visit this out-of-the-way town. I finally made the trip to the place where it all started. Getting to Tocumbo isn't simple, but driving the two-lane back roads winding along green mountains is lovely.

The names of the towns I passed through (Tarácuato, Tlazazalca, Chucuandirán, Tinguindín) roll off the tongue in the ancient rhythmic language of the Purhépecha (Michoacán's indigenous people). Women, teenage girls, and children wear beautiful ropa típica (native dress) as they walk to market or gather wood in the hills. Fragrant wood smoke mixes in the air with the crisp scent of pine. Wildflowers dot the roadsides and mountains with purple, orange, yellow and blue.

The well-manicured entrance to the town of Tocumbo lets you know immediately that you have arrived. No statues of Miguel Hidalgo or Benito Juárez grace the junction, nor is there a proud plaque commemorating a favorite local hero. Instead, the townspeople have erected a two-story statue of (what else?) a paleta. I'd seen photos of the monument, but the actual sight of the huge frozen delight made me laugh out loud.

Strawberry cream paletas.

Carefully trimmed trees, flowers, and lawns edge both sides of the road into town. Large, well-appointed homes line the streets and the local trucks and cars are recent models and very well maintained. Tocumbo has one of the highest per capita incomes of any town in Mexico.

My first stop was at the Tocumbo parroquia (parish church). Named in honor of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, the church is modern and beautifully adorned with stained glass. The architect who designed the church is Pedro Ramírez Vázquez. Arquitecto Ramirez also designed some of Mexico's most famous buildings, including the Basílica of our Lady of Guadalupe, the 1968 Olympic Games installations, Aztec Stadium, the National Anthropology Museum and the National Medical School buildings, all in Mexico City. Arquitecto Ramírez, born on April 16, 1919, died on April 16, 2013. His passing is a huge loss to the world's architectural community.

Ramírez was one of the most outstanding building designers in Mexico, a man who enjoyed international fame for his creations. It's particularly telling of the economic power of the town that the people of Tocumbo contracted with him to design their parish church.

As I sat for a bit in the town plaza, two local women strolled across the square eating paletas. After we greeted one another, I asked who the best person in town would be to give me local history. They directed me to the mayor's office on the other side of the plaza.

I spent several hours at the Tocumbo mayor's office talking with town official German Espinoza Barragán, who told me long stories of life and times in Tocumbo, and the history of the paleta.

Sr. Espinoza mentioned that many people erroneously believe that all La Michoacana stores throughout Mexico are owned by one family. "You already know that the founders were Ignacio Alcázar, his brother Luis, and their friend Agustín Andrade, and that they sold the first La Michoacana franchises to their relatives and friends. After that, the relatives and friends sold franchises to their relatives and friends, and the business just continued to spread. With a simple formula of handmade products produced every day and sold inexpensively, the business has produced hundreds of jobs as well as a high standard of living that's different from any other town in the region."

Sr. Espinoza commented, "All of our streets are paved, and all have street lights. People live very well here, although it's difficult to say how many actually do live here year round."

I looked up from my notes. "Why is that?"

"A lot of tourists from all over Mexico and many other countries pass through this town," he began. "Many see that our life here is peaceful, our climate perfect, and our town beautiful, so they ask about renting or buying a house here. Once they see Tocumbo, everyone wants to stay."

I nodded in agreement. The thought had occurred to me.

Sr. Espinoza nodded too. "People say, 'Find me a house to rent.' I just tell them to forget it, it's hopeless. Then they tell me, 'But so many of the houses here in town are vacant! Surely the owners would like to rent their houses.' I shake my head, even though up to 75 per cent of the houses here in Tocumbo are vacant for eleven months of the year.

"The thing is, everyone comes home at Christmas. No matter whether so-and-so's family lives all year round in Chiapas or Tijuana working in their La Michoacana store, in December everyone is here. Where would they stay, if their houses were rented?

"During the 1990 census, INEGI (the Mexican census bureau) tried to count the number of people in town. They counted about 2,400 people. But truly, triple that number call Tocumbo 'home'. No one misses the holiday season here. They come home to tell their stories, to find out the last word in the business, to look for a girlfriend, to get married, to have quinceañeras (a girl's15th birthday celebration), to baptize their babies. They put off all of these festivities for months, until the winter low season for selling paletas arrives and they can come home.

"This year, the Feria del Paletero (Fair of the Paleta Maker) starts on December 22 and ends on December 30. There will be sports events, free paletas, rides for kids and adults, and other things for everyone to do. You should come."

"The success of the Tocumbo paleta business must inspire people all over Mexico," I commented.

Once again Sr. Espinoza nodded. "It's a kind of work that offers even the person with the least schooling a way to make a good living, without going to work in the United States and without getting involved in selling illegal drugs."

He returned to the history of the business. "Of course, word of the success of the new paleta business in Mexico City reached Tocumbo really fast. All Tocumbo packed its suitcases and went to get in on the gold mine. Everybody was buying paleta stores. And the best is, all the contracts were made on the solid word of the parties, without any paperwork, and all the loans to start the businesses were made between the buyers and the sellers. No banks were involved.

"This first generation of paleteros (paleta makers) felt the obligation to let everyone have a part of the success. Remember that Tocumbo is a very small town. Almost everyone is related to everyone else. Everyone of that generation had grown up together, and everyone shared just a few last names. The belief was 'today it's your turn, tomorrow it's mine'. And everyone lived by that.

"Today, things are a little different, but only a little. There's still room for all the paleterías in Mexico, and the majority belong to Tocumbans. Even though other ice cream stores like Bing and Dolphy have opened and there are even new brands coming in from the United States, there's no other big success like we have had. To start with, the paleta is the people's business, not corporate business. Other businesses might spend huge amounts of money on advertising and special wrappings, but we Tocumbans don't run our businesses that way. We're flexible, we save our money, and we work very hard. The paleterías are open from early in the morning till late at night, every day of the year. Even when the owners are home for the holidays, their employees are working in the stores. We make only as many paletas as we can sell each day. We don't use chemicals in our paletas, and we adapt the flavors to the regions where our stores are."

The orange paletas are mango. Click to enlarge the photo and you'll easily see the chunks of fresh-frozenfruit.

Sr. Espinoza went on to tell me that the most popular flavor paleta is mango, because it's the fruit that everyone in Mexico loves. He continued, "In the south of Mexico, we have to offer mamey, zapote, and plátano. Where people have more income, we can sell a paleta for seven pesos. Where income is lower, such as in the states of Chiapas and Oaxaca, we sell a paleta for five pesos. We keep our stores very simple, so everyone can feel comfortable to come inside. And we try to open our stores in places where lots of people congregate: near schools, near hospitals, and near sports facilities."

The story of this business amazed me. I shook my head and said, "What was the next step for the paleteros?"

"When we saw that so many Mexicans were living in the United States, the next logical move was to start stores there. We started moving there too, and opened the first shops in California, Texas, Arizona, and Florida. And now—now there are La Michoacana stores in Pennsylvania, in Chicago, and in New York. Next will be Central and South America, you'll see.

"Did you look at the monument at the entrance to town?" Sr. Espinoza asked me. "Of course! It's wonderful," I exclaimed.

"On the way out of town, look at it again," he said. "Look, a little drawing of it is on my business card." He handed me the card. "See the blue ball of ice cream in the paleta? And see the paletas all over the ball?" I did see them. "The blue ball represents the earth, and the bright colored paletas cover it." He smiled at me. "And someday, paletas from Tocumbo, Michoacán will truly cover the globe."

I have absolute faith that he's right.

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20 de April de 2013