Author: typepadtowordpress

Steaming hot café con leche (expresso coffee mixed with hot milk), served with a basket of Mexico's pan dulce (sweet bread).  I took this photo many, many years ago–so long ago I don't remember when–in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán at Restaurante Don Rafa, when don Rafa was still living and had served me and my companion cafe con leche and a basket of pan dulce to start our breakfast. I still miss him, and may he rest in peace. 

In early 2000, when my mother visited me here in Mexico, one of her deepest wishes was to visit a Mexican bakery. For more than 40 years, Mother baked every crumb of bread that she and her guests consumed: white, rye, whole wheat, pumpernickel, sourdough, French baguette, and esoteric international loaves that she just had to try.  Mother wanted to see how bread baking was done in Mexico.  She even arrived with her baking apron, hoping to push her hands deep into some yeasty Mexican dough.

In those years, there was a tiny wholesale bakery in a garage just around the block from my house.  The owner, don Pedro, the master baker, and I had become good friends.  Shortly after Mom's arrival, I took her to meet him and his helpers. For two hours that afternoon, don Pedro and my mother swapped bread stories—conversation about oven temperatures, yeast, flour densities, protein content, and tales of experiments, successes and failures. My mother was amazed that don Pedro used a big clay oven with no temperature gauge.  He tested the temperature by sticking his hand into the oven, and he just knew from experience when it was right.

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, I took her 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-to-late afternoon, barrio (neighborhood) 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 desayuno (breakfast) of pan dulce served with milk, juice, hot chocolate, or coffee gets Mexico up and off to work or school.  For a few pesos in the evening, 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 to Nueva España to make communion hosts for the Catholic churches they established here, and to prepare the white bread to which they were accustomed.   Soon followed the flavors and recipes of all Europe, arriving with the Spanish to the New World. The 1860s era of Hapsburg Emperor Maximilian and his French wife, Charlotte, imposed a giddy 19th century French influence on our more rustic breads—with the advent of puff pastries, whipped cream fillings, and sticky glazes, the already extensive assortment of Mexican breads expanded even more.

Tasty sugar-swirled conchas (shells) are ubiquitous throughout Mexico.  Take a good look at the curved form of the top of the concha and then look at the photo below.

This is the baker's mold that makes the curved lines in the sugar topping.  Gently pressed into the sugar, it leaves its design.  I purchased two of these as a gift to my Mother; they hung in her kitchen until she passed away.  When my sister and I cleaned out her home, I brought them back to Mexico as a memory of her; since then, they have hung in my own kitchen.

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 (also called marranitos, 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 or marranitos (little pigs), moños o corbatas (bowties or neckties), ojo de buey (ox eye), canastas (baskets), conchas (shells), cuernitos (little horns), chinos (Chinese), polvorones (shortbread), hojaldre (puff paste), empanadas (turnovers), and espejos (mirrors): all are names of specific and very different sweet breads. 

My all-time 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 Vargas family in Ajijic, Jalisco.  When the bolillos (crusty white rolls) come of the of the oven in the early mornings, and again when the roles (cinnamon rolls) are ready at about 12:30PM, you'll find lines of locals waiting to carry home a bag of hot, fresh goodies.  The Rojas family bakery used to be called "the secret bakery", because its only identifying sign was a tiny wood rectangle painted with the word "PAN", hanging from a nail on a house at the entrance to a dead-end alley–well, that and the incredible fragrance of baking bread, wafting down the street to lure you in.

Meet the Rojas brothers, longtime bakers in Ajijic.  In the center of the photo is José Luis Rojas Vargas, who passed away in November 2020.  Way back when, the Rojas brothers ran the bakery and also had a trio called "Los Flamingos".  The old-time boleros they sang were as delicious as their bread.

The incredibly delicious cinnamon rolls made by the Rojas brothers.

At the Rojas bakery, the bakers will help you select the breads you want. There are just a few 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.  Lately, most of these are being prepared with sugar as an ingredient.  I prefer them without, and I'm sorry to report that can't find those now.

Panadería El Resobado in Coatepec, Veracruz, has been baking bread for over 130 years.  Truly, 130 years!  Two friends and I were there, at the recommendation of another friend, about three years ago.  We took our tongs and trays and gathered up bags and bags full of pan dulce, more sweet bread than we could have eaten in a week!  

These are just the conchas at Panadería El Resobado–and just some of them, not all.  The multi-level shelves stretched across two long rooms.

Two of us sneaked into the back room at El Resobado–we thought we had heard a 'meow', and sure enough!   Cats!  These were only two of the several kitties who live in the back, near the ovens.

Another 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, 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. With tray and tongs in hand, it's good to take a tour of the racks of pan dulce so you  can decide what you want.

Polvorones de Nuez are an old standard Mexican recipe that many of you in English-speaking countries know as Mexican Wedding Cookies. They're easy to make and are absolutely melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Somehow they always manage to disappear first from any tray of assorted homemade cookies.  Photo courtesy tucson.com.  

Polvorones de Nuez
Mexican Wedding Cookies

Preheat oven to 275ºF 

Ingredients
1 1/2 cups (3/4 pound) butter (room temperature)
3/4 pound powdered sugar
1 egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup finely chopped almonds or pecans–or walnuts, or macadamia nuts
3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

Beat the butter until it is light and fluffy. Then beat in 2 tablespoons of the powdered sugar, the egg yolk, vanilla, and your choice of nuts. Gradually add the flour, beating after each addition to blend thoroughly. Pinch off pieces of dough the size of large walnuts and roll between your palms into round balls. Place the dough balls 1 1/2 inches apart on ungreased baking sheets. Flatten each ball very slightly.

Bake in a 275 degree oven until very lightly browned (about 45 minutes). Remove from the oven and place the baking sheets on wire racks.  Allow to cool on the baking sheets until lukewarm.

Sift half the remaining powdered sugar onto a large sheet of waxed paper. Roll each cookie gently but firmly in the sugar. Place cookies on wire racks over wax paper. Allow the cookies to cool completely and again dust generously with more powdered sugar.

If you make these cookies ahead of need, store them in airtight containers, layered between sheets of waxed paper, for up to three days.

Makes approximately three dozen cookies.

This is Edith, who walked with me to make 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 pan dulce, 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?  

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Last week, we talked extensively about sopa seca de arroz–Mexican 'dry soup' made of rice.  Today, take a look at this menu from a fonda (a small, family-run restaurant) serving comida corrida in Mexico City.  On the day this complete meal was offered, it included your choice of sopa aguada (liquid soup, either almejas (clam shaped pasta) soup or cream of calabaza), sopa seca de arroz (rice) OR sopa seca de spaguetti, and your choice of one of the items listed in blue, everything from pollo entomatado (chicken in tomato sauce) to longaniza sausage (similar to Mexican chorizo) and nopales (cactus paddles) in a guajillo chile sauce to chilaquiles con huevo (with eggs), and a huge number of other dishes!

A young butcher in Mexico City preparing longaniza.  See the casing, on the tube to the left of his left hand?  Book a tour with Mexico Cooks! and we can go watch him in person!

Today the topic is sopa seca de pasta–"dry soup" made of some kind of Mexican pasta–anything from standard spaghetti to elbow macaroni to some tiny special pastas created just for sopas, whether liquid or dry.  Before I offer you a couple of recipes, here's a bit of the history of wheat (and pastas) in Mexico.

A Bit of the History of Wheat in Mexico

Like rice, wheat is not native to this country.  It’s commonly said that wheat arrived—in large quantities–when the Spanish first arrived in the so-called New World. History tells the story of wheat in a different way. Unlike rice, wheat arrived almost by accident in what is now Mexico. 

The voyages from Europe to what came to be called the Americas were long and arduous, and almost all edible provisions were eaten and depleted prior to the ships’ arrival. Apparently the voyagers weren’t concerned about keeping a few seeds to sow if and when they arrived. For that reason, wheat came to what is now Mexico a little later and by accident.

According to historians, three grains of wheat were found mixed into what was left of a 50 kilo (110 pound) bag of RICE, and were planted by a servant of Hernán Cortés. Just one of those three wheat grains germinated, and from that single plant, 180 grains of wheat were harvested and replanted. By 1534, only 13 years after the arrival of the Spanish, important harvests of wheat were being made near Texcoco and Puebla, in central Mexico.

The Spanish Jesuits subsequently carried wheat to the northern part of Mexico, where they taught the original peoples there to cultivate it, to harvest it, and to grind it into flour. The Spanish colonists were intent on converting the indigenous people to Catholicism, and according to Roman Catholic Canon Law (Canon 924, paragraph 2), pure wheat flour was then and continues to be required for the production of Communion hosts that were consumed by the Spanish colonists and by their indigenous converts. 

The Spaniards also wanted the grain for the production of the white bread that they were accustomed to eating in Europe. That bread became a staple on the tables of the rich Spanish colonizers, while indigenous people continued to eat corn tortillas, as they had for thousands of years prior to the arrival of the Spanish.

A one-pound package of La Moderna brand durum wheat spaghetti.  The Mexican pasta company La Moderna, founded in 1920, today offers more than 40 pasta shapes just for sopas, whether liquid or dry, in the tiny forms of bowties, gears, alphabet letters, tongues (shaped like tear drops), BBs, lentils, fideos, snail shape, clam shape, crowns, stars, mushrooms, petticoats, tiny elbow, little eyes, little hats, feathers, spirals, screws, and more!  Packages of pasta for sopa weigh 200 grams and cost about 8 pesos (the equivalent in US dollars to about 40 cents). 200 grams of these pastas will feed about 3 to 4 people as the second course of a comida.  

Pasta de fideo, also made of durum wheat.  The size numbers of La Moderna fideo range from 0 (the thinnest) to 2 (the thickest).  In Mexico, the second-most popular sopa seca de pasta is fideo, short, straight, thin pieces of pasta.  Fideo is frequently also made into a liquid soup, caldo de fideo.  We'll get to that in a few paragraphs!  

In today's Mexico, the most popular ways to prepare sopa seca de pasta are:
1. Any shape pasta–especially fideo–cooked in caldillo, a thin red broth, until the broth is completely absorbed
2. Cooked pasta stirred into a cream sauce or a creamy tomato sauce and sprinkled with cheese
3. Hot spaghet
ti or elbow macaroni with cream and diced ham
4. Cold elbow macaroni salad

My personal favorite of the La Moderna line of tiny pastas: munición (literally, shot pellets) is the tiniest.  Munición is the size and shape of BBs!  

Very few nineteenth century post-independence Mexican culinary records include the consumption of various types of pasta: ravioles, macarrones (long noodles), and tallarines (long, flat noodles).  Unless these were made in private homes, immigrants from countries where they were typically eaten brought them to Mexico.  At the time of the Porfiriato (1876-1910), many things here were "Frenchified", as Porfirio Díaz was a francophile through and through.  Italian-type pastas gave way to the French kitchen of elite, wealthy Mexicans. 

Mexico Cooks! owns a reprinted Mexican cookbook, originally published in 1910, and has spent considerable time studying the recipes.  That cookbook unfortunately offers no reference to pasta of any kind.

La Moderna was the first commercial pasta made in Mexico; its factory opened in 1920.  There are are other pasta manufacturers in today’s Mexico, most notably La Italiana, with a factory in Puebla, founded also in 1920.  La Italiana produces Italpasta for the Mexican market as does Golden Foods, located in Celaya, Guanajuato. In addition, foreign pasta makers have come to the Mexican market, particularly Barilla, which arrived in Mexico in 2003 and has its Mexico factory in San Luis Potosí. Barilla Mexico caters to the local market with both long and short pasta, plus five tiny pasta shapes specifically for preparing sopa seca.

La Moderna tiny coditos–wee elbow macaroni.  These are size 1, the smallest made.  Each little elbow measures about 1/2 inch long.

Forty-six percent of Mexico’s pasta is eaten at comida (Mexico's main meal of the day, eaten at mid-afternoon), either as a sopa seca or as a main dish. That’s 10 times more than we eat for supper, which is traditionally a lighter meal.  The three most-eaten pastas in Mexico are spaghetti (generally spelled espagueti, according to the rules of Spanish pronunciation) at 29%, fideos, 24%, and coditos (all sizes of elbow macaroni from the tiniest ones to the largest), 15%–of the average family consumption of 12.7 kilos of pasta per year.  That's about half the consumption of Italy, pretty amazing.

Are you ready for some recipes?  I am, let's get cooking!

My favorite recipe for sopa seca de fideos is:

Sopa Seca (Dry Soup) of Fideos
1. 1 pound fresh ripe tomatoes, chopped
2. 1/4 of a medium-size onion, chopped
3. 1 large garlic clove
4. 1 chipotle chile en adobo (La Morena canned chiles, if you can find them.  Otherwise buy a brand that's readily available.)

1.5 TBSP vegetable oil
1 200gr (7.5 oz) package of fine fideo pasta.  If you can't find any brand of fideos, use broken-up angel hair pasta instead.
1.5 cups chicken broth
1/2 tsp oregano
Salt to taste
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Blend the first 4 ingredients in your blender until they are in small pieces, then add 1 cup of chicken broth and blend until the sauce is smooth.

Heat the oil in a medium-size skillet and then add the fideos. Fry until lightly browned, stirring often to avoid burning them. This step will take about 2-3 minutes. Remove the fideos from the skillet and reserve.

Add the caldillo, 1/2 cup of broth, oregano, and salt to taste to the skillet. Turn the heat up to bring to a boil (about 5 minutes). Once the sauce starts boiling, add the noodles, reduce heat to very low, and cover the skillet to let simmer.

Keep cooking for about 12-15 minutes, stirring occasionally as needed until noodles are cooked and tender. If the sauce still seems too liquid when the fideos are cooked through, simply remove the skillet from the heat and set aside for 5 minutes. This will allow the fideos to absorb the remaining liquid from the sauce.

Serve either family-style in a medium-size bowl or on individual small plates.  Top with Mexican table cream or sour cream, crumbled sharp, dry white cheese and slices of just-ripe avocado.

Serves 4.
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The fideos, fried to a golden brown.  This pasta is about an inch long and as thin as angel hair.

Caldo de Fideos

1 pound fresh ripe tomatoes, chopped
1/4 of a medium-size onion, chopped
2 large garlic cloves
1 cup water
Salt to taste
6 cups chicken broth, either home-made or purchased. I like Knorr, the broth in tetrapak, if you need to buy broth.
7.5 oz package of fideos 
2 TBSP vegetable oil
3 sprigs fresh parsley

Put the tomato, onion, garlic and water into your blender jar and liquefy. When the tomato sauce is smooth, set it aside until you are ready to use it.

Put the lard or vegetable oil in a deep pot. Heat until it shimmers and add all of the fideos at once. Stir constantly over medium heat until the fideos take on a golden-brown color.

Pour the reserved tomato sauce through a wire strainer directly into the pot with the browned fideos. Allow to simmer (covered) on low to medium heat for about 5-10 minutes.

Uncover and add the parsley sprigs to the pot of simmering soup. Replace the cover and simmer for another 20 minutes.

Serves 4

This soup is delicious as a first course for a midday meal or for the main course of a light lunch.  Photo courtesy Mexico10.org.

Serves 4 to 6.
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Strips of corn tortillas, fried to a crisp golden brown.  I confess that I bought them already prepared!  

And now for something completely different!  This recipe, which I found recently, is for a sopa seca de tiritas de tortilla (thin, fried corn tortilla strips).  It's not pasta, and it's not rice, and it is delicious!  I particularly like the addition of hierbabuena (fresh mint) to the caldillo.  Combined with the tomato broth and the corn tortilla strips, the flavors give you a big bang as a side dish or second course at your meal.

Sopa Seca de Tiritas de Tortillas de Maíz con Menta

Utensils you will need
A deep, heavy, covered frying pan
A large wooden spoon

Beautifully fresh home-grown hierbabuena (mint).

Ingredients
3-4 Tbsp freshly rendered lard or vegetable oil
1 medium-size onion, cut into half-moons
2 finely chopped tomatoes
3 cups beef broth, either home-made or purchased
6 big sprigs of fresh mint–leaves only, finely chopped
Approximately half a pound of fried, thin tortilla strips
Salt to taste
1/2 cup aged white cheese, grated.  Look for Cotija-style cheese in your grocer's dairy case.

Fresh Roma tomatoes, ripe and delicious

Procedure  
In a heavy skillet, heat the fat that you choose until it shimmers.  Add the onion and sauté, stirring constantly, until it is translucent and slightly yellowish.  Add the tomato and continue to cook until the tomato becomes soft and the majority of its juices have evaporated.

Add the beef broth and the finely chopped mint leaves and allow to simmer for several minutes, until the flavors have incorporated into the onion/tomato mix.  Taste and add salt as necessary.

Add the fried corn tortilla strips and simmer until all the liquid has been absorbed, approximately 5 minutes.

Serve on individual small plate, topped with grated cheese, or serve family style on a platter and pass the cheese around to sprinkle thickly on each serving.

Finely chopped queso Cotija (Cotija cheese), ready to top your sopa seca de tiritas.

Serves 4.

Provecho!  I hope you enjoy these truly home-style Mexican recipes.  I look forward to seeing your comments.

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A perfect michelada, rimmed with Tajín and topped with crunchy fresh cucumber.  Spicy, salty, beery, umami-rich, and completely refreshing.

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

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

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

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

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

Tip to the wise: to evenly rim a glass: put a generous quantity of Tajín in a saucer.  In another saucer, put about 1/4 cup of water or jugo de limón (Key lime) Holding your mug or glass upside down and level, dip its opening just a bit into the water, then into the Tajín.  Voilà!

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

Clamato contains water, tomato concentrate, high fructose corn syrup, MSG, salt, citric acid, onion powder, celery seed, garlic powder, dried clam broth, unspecified spices, vinegar, natural flavors, food coloring, and ascorbic acid to maintain color.  Photo courtesy Clamato.

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

Micheladas a la mexicana

• light-colored lager beer of your choice
• Clamato, V8, or tomato juice
• 3 or 4 splashes hot sauce, more or less to taste.  Try Valentina, or Cholula, or use your favorite.
• 2 splashes of Worcestershire sauce
• 2 splashes of Maggi sauce 
• Juice of one lime

  Fill the glass about ¼ to ? with the V8, tomato, or Clamato juice. Add the hot sauce, the lime juice, the Worcestershire sauce, and the soy sauce. If you used Tajín to salt the rim, pour any excess from the plate into the glass.  Fill the rest with cold beer and top off your micheladas with sticks of celery or jícama, skewers of shrimp or olives, half-moons of cucumber, freshly-cooked octopus–really, anything within the limits of your imagination.  And for good measure, add another splash of Maggi. 

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

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

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

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

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

Micheladas a la mexicana

• light-colored lager beer of your choice
• Clamato or V8 or tomato juice
• 3 or 4 splashes hot sauce, more or less to taste.  Try Valentina, or Cholula, or use your favorite.
• 2 splashes of Worcestershire sauce
• 2 splashes of Maggi sauce 
• Soy sauce to taste.
• Juice of one limón (Key lime)

  Fill the glass about ¼ to ? with the Clamato juice. Add the hot sauce, the lime juice, the Worcestershire sauce, and the soy sauce. If you used Tajín to salt the rim, pour any excess from the plate into the glass.  Fill the rest with cold beer and top off your micheladas with sticks of celery or jícama, skewers of shrimp or olives, half-moons of cucumber, freshly-cooked octopus–really, anything within the limits of your imagination.  And for good measure, add another splash of Maggi. 

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

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

Salud!  (To your health!)

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