Mexico Cooks!

Mexico: a culinary travelogue, an adventure for the palate, mind, and spirit.

Author: typepadtowordpress

  • Ixtlahuacán de los Membrillos

    Billy
    I planned to photograph some membrillo (quince) trees, but at the orchard entrance I found myself face to face with the guard goat.

    No matter where you’re from, you’ve heard some interesting place
    names.  In the United States, you’ll find Medicine Hat, Wounded Knee, and French Lick. You might even live
    in a town called Eagle Knob, Summershade, or Telluride.  In Canada, Jerry’s Nose, Heart’s Desire, and Lower Economy are home to some brave souls.  We’re used to
    the rhythms of our town names and they roll easily off the tongue.

    South of the Border, it’s another story altogether. One of the
    first challenges of an expatriate’s life is learning to pronounce local town names.

    A town that’s often troublesome to pronounce is about 40 minutes south of Guadalajara, just north of Lake Chapala: Ixtlahuacán de los Membrillos (eeks-tlah-wah-KAHN de lohs mehm-BREE-yohs).  It’s a mouthful. It’s even difficult to write phonetically in a way
    that makes sense. But whether you can pronounce it or not, it’s well
    worth a visit right around this time of year.

    Many towns and cities in Mexico are named for historical
    figures or events. Ixtlahuacán de los Membrillos is named, oddly
    enough, for a fruit. The membrillo
    is known in English as a quince, and the municipality is renowned for
    its quince orchards, its artesanal quince products, and the annual Fiestas del Membrillo that take place late each summer in Atotonilquillo (ah-toh-toh-neel-KEE-yoh), a village in the nearby municipality of Chapala.

    Curious about production of the fruit, I made an appointment to meet
    Ingeniero Jorge Alberto López Iglesias, head of agricultural
    development in Ixtlahuacán, to talk about how the town became so well
    known for quince production.

    "In years gone by, there were enormous plots of land here devoted to growing huge orchards of membrillos.
    The fruit actually came over from Europe in the middle 1500s, with the
    missionary priests. At one time, this whole area was famous for the
    quantity and variety of fruit it produced. Even today, there are plum
    orchards on the hillsides. They’re visible from the highway.

    "When the town was founded, back in the early 16th century, it was just
    called Ixtlahuacán. After fruit production became really important
    here, ??especially the production of membrillos, ??the
    rest of the name was added. That happened around 1825. Since then, the
    town has used its full name: Ixtlahuacán de los Membrillos.

    Membrillo_2
    The membrillo (quince) looks a lot like an apple.

    "The climate here is perfect for growing membrillos because we have four seasons. The membrillo
    needs heat, cold, light, and rain in order to produce well. Most of the
    time we have just the right amount of each of those components. Just
    think, the membrillo needs 100 to 500 hours of exactly the kind
    of cold that we have on these hillsides in January and February in
    order for the flowers and fruit to form. This year, though, the cold
    stayed very late and a lot of the flowers fell off."

    "And when the flowers fall off, the fruit doesn’t form, right?" I saw
    that Ingeniero Jorge was quite concerned about this year’s fruit
    production.

    "That’s exactly what happens. Not only was it unusually cold for a long period of time this winter, the fruit also depends on las cabaañuelas
    (the very short January rainy season) to begin to grow properly. This
    year, we didn’t have any winter rain until February and that delay also
    harmed the young fruit.

    "Agriculture is always such a risky business, Ingeniero." I waited a moment for him to continue.

    "Yes, even though technology has changed many aspects of
    agriculture, there are still things we can’t control. For example, even
    with new irrigation methods, new pesticides, and new products such as
    shade cloth, we can’t control Mother Nature. This year’s summer rainy
    season also started late, and so far there has been much less rain than
    usual. There isn’t any real way to predict what the heavens will send
    us.

    "Now, unfortunately, the production of membrillos is
    substantially less than it used to be in this area. A lot of the big
    parcels of land have been divided into other uses." He held out his
    hands and shrugged. "What can we do? Times change."

    Ingeniero Jorge’s office mate, Verónica Zaragoza, chimed in from across the room. "But señora,the people here still use all the traditional ways of preparing membrillo, even if we have to bring some of the membrillo from somewhere else. We use several different kinds of the fruit: ??there’s the common white one that has green skin, and the membrillo melocotón, a yellow fruit that’s less acid than the white one, and the membrillo cristalino. The sweet flesh of the cristalino is almost transparent. And there’s one other, the membrillo mostrenco. It’s the first one of the season to ripen.

    Verónica continued telling me that some of the fruit is sold raw, simply cut into pieces and topped with a squeeze of fresh jugo de limón (key lime juice), a dusting of powdered chile, and a pinch of salt. It’s eaten as a snack or as an appetizer before a meal. In addition, membrillo is made into several kinds of ates (thick, stiff jellies) which are then sold by the kilo.

    "You should go to the entrance of town, where the membrillo
    booths are, and talk to the vendors. They’ll show you all the products
    and probably give you a taste of everything." Verónica smiled and she
    and Ingeniero Jorge shook my hand as we parted.

    "I’m on my way to visit the booths right now," I promised.

    Maru

    Sra. Marí­a Eugenia Zaragoza holds a jar of preserved membrillos.

    Those of you who have been to the Lake Chapala area have undoubtedly
    noticed the string of eight or ten booths along the east side of the
    highway near the entrance to Ixtlahuacán. The vendors sell honey,
    traditional candies, and other regional specialties in addition to the
    famous ates, ponche (punch), and conservas (fruits in syrup) made from membrillo. I stopped to talk with Marí­a Eugenia Zaragoza and her family about their home made products.

    Sra. Zaragoza pointed to each item as she told me about it. "We sell several kinds of ates. This rich-colored brown one is called martajada
    (rough chopped) because the fruit isn’t ground up to a smooth paste.
    There are fruit chunks and peels in it, along with sugar and a little
    water. It sells for $30 pesos a kilo. Here, taste it." She cut a sliver
    for me.

    "That’s really delicious," I complimented her, wishing the sliver had
    been a bit bigger. "And what’s that one over there, the rectangular
    one?"

    She held up the carefully wrapped package and explained that it was called molida (ground) because the quince is ground to a smooth paste prior to cooking. "This one is the same price as the martajada, $30 pesos a kilo. It’s all home made," she smiled. "Would you like to see part of the process?"

    We walked into the rear of the booth where her husband was peeling what looked like a mountain of membrillos.
    "This is Poli Herrera, and this is what he does. He’s in charge of
    peeling all the fruit, cutting it in half, and taking out the heart,
    where the seeds and their coarse coverings are." Poli held out his
    wrist for me to shake: ??his hands were clean but damp from the fruit.

    Pelando

    "After the fruit is peeled and cored, it’s washed well and put to
    parboil so that all the juices start to flow. Then the sugar is added
    and it’s all cooked until it turns that rich dark brown color and
    thickens. We do the cooking in our kitchen at home. You have to be
    really, really careful to make sure it doesn’t burn.

    Next Sra. Zaragoza showed me a big crate filled with beautiful freshly made ates martajadas. I was amazed to watch her gently tip one of the ates out of a terra cotta mold. The mold was unglazed on the outside and glazed on the inside. Each ate had a raised design on its surface. Some were flowers, some were hearts, and some were wonderful roosters.

    I stopped to talk with Alfredo Jiménez Garcí­a, who was busy wrapping the smooth bricks of membrillo in plastic wrap. He told me that he does a little of everything, from waiting on customers to working in the back room.

    Back outside, Sra. Zaragoza showed me the neatly shelved bottles of ponche.
    "It’s all natural. It only contains fruit, sugar, water, and alcohol.
    We make it and bottle it at home. It costs $30 pesos for a liter. And
    here is the conserva. The jars, ??about a kilo each, ??sell for $40
    pesos." The color of the preserved fruits in syrup was beautifully dark
    red. "And of course we also make empanadas (a sweet Mexican turnover) filled with ate." She pointed to the plastic-wrapped packages on the shelves. "They’re delicious for breakfast or dessert."

    Ate_de_membrillo_4

    Ates de membrillo, fresh from the molds and just beautiful–and of course, delicious.

    As I was preparing to leave, Sra. Zaragoza handed me a bag. "Take these
    with you with our compliments," she smiled. "You and your friends will
    enjoy our homemade ate martajada and our empanadas." I was delighted with her generous gift.

    As I drove north toward Guadalajara, I decided to detour the short distance to Atotonilquillo to find out the dates of the Fiestas del Membrillo.
    I kept my eye on the odometer and saw that it is only seven kilometers
    from the La Barca exit off the Chapala/Guadalajara highway to the membrillo vendors’ booths along the main road in the little village.

    I pulled up to the first booth along the road. The teenage boy behind
    the counter squinted slightly and wrinkled his nose in thought when I
    asked if he knew the dates for the quince festival. "Well, my uncle
    wrote the song for it, and the song says it’s always on August 16. It
    only lasts two days, but it’s a lot of fun. You should come."

    "So it’s not a nine-day fiesta, like so many are?" I’d never heard of a two-day fiesta, but then it’s quite unusual to find a fiesta devoted to a fruit.

    "Oh no, it’s only two days. Be sure you don’t miss it, and bring
    all your friends. We’ll have a great time, and you can hear my uncle’s
    song." He grinned proudly.

    "You can count on it, son. I’ll look for you at the fiestas."
    We shook hands and I drove back toward the Chapala/Guadalajara highway.
    The package that Sra. Zaragoza had given me sent the tempting fragrance
    of sweet membrillo wafting toward the driver’s seat, the vision of the fiesta
    danced in my head, and the day was bright with promise.

  • The Mexican Flag on Your Plate: Chiles en Nogada

    Mariachi

    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 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 you've licked the platters clean.

    Ingredientes

    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 Tablespoon sea salt

     

     For the Picadillo  

    • 4 Tablespoons safflower or canola oil
    • 1/3 cup chopped white onion
    • 3 large cloves garlic, minced
    • 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon 
    • 1/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
    • 1/8 teaspoon ground cloves
    • 3 heaping Tablespoons raisins
    • 1 or 2 chiles serrano, finely minced
    • 2 Tablespoons chopped walnuts or pecans
    • 2 Tablespoons chopped candied pineapple
    • 1 fresh pear, peeled and chopped
    • 1 apple, peeled and chopped
    • 1 large potato, peeled and diced
    • 3 large, ripe tomatoes, roasted, peeled and chopped
    • sea salt to taste

      •  

    Chiles_poblanos
     

     

    For the Chiles  

    • 6 fresh chiles poblano, roasted, peeled, and seeded, leaving the stem intact 

      •  

     For the Walnut Sauce 

    • 1 cup fresh walnuts 
    • 6 ounces 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 teaspoon sea salt 
    • 1 Tablespoon sugar   
    • 1/8 teaspoon ground cinnamon 
    • 1/4 cup dry sherry (optional)

      •  

    Granadas

     

    For the Garnish  

    • 1 Tablespoon chopped flat-leaf parsley or cilantro leaves
    • 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 5 minutes. Add the cinnamon, pepper, and cloves, then, stir in
    the raisins, the 2 Tablespoons 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 1 day 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 on absorbent paper until completely dry. Cover and set aside. The chiles may be prepared a day in advance.

    At
    least 3 hours in advance, place the 1 cup walnuts in a small pan of
    boiling water. Remove from the heat and let them sit for 5 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, if using, until thoroughly combined. Chill for
    several hours.

     

    Chile_en_nogada_2


    Preheat the oven to 250ºF. When ready to serve, reheat the meat filling and stuff the chiles until plump and just barely closed. Put the filled chiles, covered, to warm in the oven. After they are thoroughly heated, place the chiles
    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.

    Photo 1 courtesy of Larry Orinovsky, Guadalajara, Jalisco, México.  Thanks, Larry!

    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!

     

  • Fiestas Patrias Mexicanas: Celebrating Mexican Independence Day

    Banderas
    Street vendors hawk la bandera nacional (the Mexican flag) in dozens of forms for several weeks in August and early September.

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

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

    But the best-kept secret in Mexico is the Independence Day party.  Held every year on the night of September 15, the Gran Noche Mexicana (the Great Mexican Night), the real celebration of the revolutionary events in 1810, is a combination of New Year’s Eve, your birthday, and your country’s independence festivities.  Wouldn’t you really rather hear about the party?

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

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

    Dressed in his finest and backed up by a military or police guard, the mayor clears his throat and loudly begins an Independence Day proclamation.  In every Mexican town, the proclamation ends with Hidalgo’s 197-year-old exhortations: "Long live religion!  Long
    live Our Lady of Guadalupe! Long live the Americas and death to
    the corrupt government!"

    Guadalupano
    Father Hidalgo’s 1810 banner.

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

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

    Two years ago my friend Lupita Jiménez invited me to a Gran Noche Mexicana where she was performing.  The event was scheduled to start at 9.30, but custom dictates late arrival.  By ten o’clock I was on my way.  At the salón de eventos (events hall) the parking lot was already full, but a man was parking cars on the street just a block away.  As I left my car, he said, "Could you pay me now for watching your car?  I’ll be leaving a little early." 

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

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

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

    The sad truth is that I didn’t.  I couldn’t.  My stamina flagged at about 3:00 AM, after dinner had been served at 10.30, the Himno Nacional had been sung, a city politician had proclaimed the Grito, and fireworks (I swear to you) had been set off on the indoor stage of the salón de eventos.  Then the show started, a brief recapitulation of Mexican history starting with Aztec dancers whirling around a belching volcano and ending with the jarabe tapatía–the dance English-speakers know as the Mexican hat dance.

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

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

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

    Zcalo_df_2
    The Zócalo (main city plaza) in Mexico City, dressed up for the Fiestas Patrias.

    Viva México!  Qué viva!

  • Burritos to Go

    Kitchen1burrito

    For those of you who live in the most parts of the United States, the
    burrito is a fast food fact of life. Southern California in particular
    has its Mexican drive-through joints where the burrito is king. You can
    order a burrito stuffed with everything from carnitas to lobster; some
    burritos are advertised as being "as big as your head". Most are the
    equivalent of an entire meal, frequently eaten from your hands,
    dripping in the dubious safety and comfort of your car as you whiz
    along a freeway.  One burrito that originated in San Francisco’s Mission District comes stuffed with all the usual items (a meat, rice, beans, guacamole) and adds french fries, fresh from the deep fat!

    Here in Mexico, the burrito is a little more elusive. Not
    a native of the central or southern part of Mexico, it’s been imported from the northern regions of
    Mexico to fill a niche in some local menus.

    Burritos (as food) are a relatively recent invention. The flour tortilla roll-ups are filled with meat, rice, frijoles refritos (refried beans), guacamole, and chile.

    The Random House Unabridged Dictionary defines burrito as a Mexican
    cooking term: a tortilla folded over a filling of ground meat, cheese,
    or refried beans. [1940-45; derived from Mexican Spanish: stuffed taco,
    Spanish: young donkey, foal, equivalent to burro or its diminutive, burr + ito]

    In his book Chicano Folklore, Rafael Castro says that
    the burrito (the food) probably originated in Northern Mexico and was
    not known in other regions of Mexico. It may possibly have originated
    in the American Southwest—Chicanos in Texas have been making them since
    the 1920’s. The origin and first use of the word burrito for a special
    type of taco is muddy, however. One story has it that the ‘new’ flour
    tortilla and bean tacos were better suited than the crisper, more
    fragile corn tortilla to withstand travel in the saddle bags of the vaqueros (cowboys).
    Castro says they came to be called burritos because young donkeys were
    often the "sidekick" of the vaquero’s horse. Another story says that
    "burrito" comes from small children asking for a treat while their
    mother was making tortillas. She would form the masa (dough) into a small tortilla, heat it on a comal,
    smear it with beans, roll it up, and send each child away with one,
    satisfying them until it was time to eat. Another tale thinks the term
    came from a 1940’s restaurant in Ciudad Juárez (just across the Mexican border from El Paso, Texas) called Los Burritos that sold
    these new flour tortilla creations.

    Yet another theory says that the word burrito originated among migrant
    workers in California’s Imperial Valley. The fields were often too far
    from the lodgings provided for the workers for them to return home for
    lunch, so their rice and beans were cooked up in the morning, portions
    were wrapped in a large flour tortilla to carry them out to the fields.
    Thus the tortilla more specifically was the "little burro" used to
    carry the lunch, but the term burrito was understood to mean the whole
    package.

    Kitchen6burritossign

    Fonda Los Burritos de Moyahua
    Out in the wilds of the state of Zacatecas, there is a little town
    called Moyahua (moy-AH-wah), where the burrito has reigned supreme
    since 1976, when the restaurant Fonda Los Burritos Moyahua opened. Now
    world-renowned, the restaurant opened its branch on the
    Chapala-Guadalajara highway (about half way between Chapala and the
    Guadalajara airport) in 1989.

    For 15 years Los Burritos has served burritos to hungry truckers, to
    bus loads of travelers, to ravenous families, to workers taking a
    break—to anyone who turns in off the highway, 24 hours a day, 7 days a
    week, 365 days a year. On Sunday afternoons the line of folks waiting
    to be fed often stretches down the entry stairs and all the way out to
    the parking lot.

    My friend Susan and I drove the 40 minutes from Guadalajara to Los Burritos
    for lunch last February. The restaurant is essentially a cafeteria; we
    each grabbed a tray and started down the line. The choices were
    plentiful: the menu includes chiles rellenos, chicken, and a few other standard dishes as well as the famous burritos, which is what we were craving.

    Every burrito is made in the same way: a freshly made flour tortilla about eight inches in diameter is smeared with a spoonful of frijoles refritos and filled with a good amount of your choice of eight to ten different guisados (stews). The day we were there, the guisados included cochinita pibil (pork cooked Yucatan style), tinga poblana (Puebla-style stew), carne de res a la mexicana (Mexican style beef, with tomatoes, onions, and chile), chicharrones con salsa verde (crispy fried pigskins with spicy green sauce), carne deshebrada (shredded beef cooked with tomatoes and spices), elote con rajas de chile (corn with green chile strips), and others, including my personal favorite, chilorio (cooked and shredded pork and diced potatoes, seasoned with chile and a variety of spices).

    In addition to the burritos, you’ll be tempted by chunks of cheese (queso fresco or panela) to add to your plate and desserts such as arroz con leche (Mexican rice pudding), flan (Mexican caramel custard) ,and jericailla
    (plain Mexican custard). Grab a soft drink or a beer, pay at
    the end of the cafeteria line, and head for a table. Place an order for
    quesadillas (and do order at least one; they’re the best I’ve
    eaten in Mexico) and you’ll be given a number to place on your tray;
    after you’re seated a waitress will bring the quesadillas to you at your table.

    Expect to pay very little for your meal. Susan and I ordered two chilorio burritos, one burrito of cochinita pibil, two quesadillas, a chile relleno, two chunks of queso fresco, and two soft drinks. The total bill for the two of us was under 80 pesos (Less than $8 USD).

    Kitchen2burritossusan

    La Fonda Los Burritos has three large dining rooms, two huge indoor
    rooms and another outdoors under a roof for shade. You’ll find
    wonderful fresh salsas and pickled chiles jalapeños available on a
    table in each dining room. In addition, there are posters in
    hand-lettered Spanish hanging from the ceilings of all three areas. The
    posters are changed from time to time; when Susan and I were there,
    love poems by the romantic Spaniard, poet Gustavo Adolfo Becquer
    (1836-1870), were hung in honor of February, the month of love.

    La Fonda Los Burritos de Moyahua is located on the west side of
    the Chapala-Guadalajara highway just past the exit for La Barca (as
    you’re driving north), almost directly opposite Motel Eddie’s.

    Burritos in the Home Kitchen
    It’s simple and delicious to
    make burritos at home-and they’re suitable for any meal from breakfast
    to a midnight snack. I talked to a favorite chef, who gave me this recipe for:

    Mexican Style Breakfast Burritos
    (Serves 4)

    4 flour tortillas, 7-8 inches in diameter
    4 thick slices of bacon
    1/2 white onion, chopped into 1/2-inch pieces
    3/4 pound new potatoes, boiled and cut into 1/2-inch dice
    1/8 teaspoon ground cumin
    salt and fresh ground pepper
    3 eggs, lightly beaten
    1/4 cup chopped canned green chiles
    1/4 cup shredded Monterey Jack cheese
    1/2 ripe avocado, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch dice

    Wrap the tortillas in foil and warm in a 250 degree oven.

    Fry the bacon and remove from the skillet when crispy. Drain on
    absorbent paper and crumble. Add the onion to the skillet and sauté
    until softened. Stir in the potatoes and sprinkle with cumin, salt, and
    pepper to taste. Fry until the potatoes are well-browned; you may need
    to scrape the bottom of the skillet with a spatula so that the potatoes
    don’t stick. Lower the heat and stir in the eggs and green chiles.
    Scramble with a fork until the eggs are completely set but still moist.
    Remove the skillet from the heat and stir in the cheese and the
    crumbled bacon.

    Spoon 1/4 of the mixture across the middle of each warmed
    tortilla; be sure to leave room to fold the tortilla. Sprinkle on some
    diced avocado. Fold two sides of the tortilla over the filling,
    slightly overlapping. Fold up the bottom to cover more of the filling
    and roll into a cylinder.

    Buen provecho!

  • One Voice for Peace: Tania Libertad

    Tania_red

    When I moved to Guadalajara, I started buying the newspaper Público every Friday so I could read its weekly magazine of cultural offerings in the city. Everything is included in the Público, from events for children to events at gay bars, from poetry readings to concerts to films.

    Last April, I noticed that one of my favorite singers, Tania Libertad,
    was scheduled to give a free concert as part of an all-Mexico artists’
    conference. My friend Consuelo was as excited and eager to hear this
    artist as I was. We agreed to leave the car at home, take a bus to the
    Centro Histórico, and take a taxi home after the concert.

    The night of the concert we jumped on a city bus and in no time were at
    the huge Plaza Fundadores behind the Teatro Degollado. The stage was
    set up, but most of the folded chairs were still stacked alongside the
    plaza. It wasn’t that
    early, but there were only a few people sitting in ragged rows.
    Consuelo and I eyed one another, afraid that the concert might have
    been canceled. We agreed to wait a while and pulled two chairs from
    the stacks and sat down.

    Just before the concert was to have started, it was announced
    that the arrival of the conference participants would be delayed. The
    concert had been postponed for an hour. Consuelo and I laughed and kept
    up our conversation: Tania Libertad would be worth the wait.

    Born in Perú, Tania Libertad now lives in Mexico City. She has
    an ethereal voice and dedicates her personal and professional life to the advancement of peace in
    the world. Beyond those sketchy details and the long list of recordings
    including music from many cultures and genres that she has to her
    credit, we knew little else about her.

    And then, just as the sun went down and the cool evening breeze came up, the concert started. "Señoras y señores, les presento—TANIA LIBERTAD!" The announcer bowed and held out his hand to greet her as she swept onto the stage.

    For more than an hour and a half she sang the typical boleros (Mexican
    romantic standards) known to the whole audience, highly rhythmic music
    from South America, and politically charged music designed to rally her
    listeners to the consciousness of peace.

    Tania2

    Her group—skilled vocalists and musicians playing keyboard, guitar,
    drum, and accordion—backed her impeccably. The audience roared its
    approval after every song. Finally, the musicians sat silent and Tania
    sang her final song, Alfonsina y el Mar, a capella in the huge dark plaza, her crystalline voice echoing poignantly among the 19th Century buildings.

    Te vas Alfonsina                            
    You leave, Alfonsina
    Con tu soledad                              
    With your loneliness
    Qué poemas nuevos                        What new poems
    Fuiste a buscar?                              Did you go to look for?
    Una voz antigua                              An ancient voice
    De viento y de sal                           Of wind and salt
    Te requiebra el alma                      Breaks your soul
    Y la está llevando                          And takes it away
    Y te vas hacia allá                         And you go toward the distance
    Como en sueños                            As if in a dream
    Dormida, Alfonsina                       Sleeping, Alfonsina
    Vestida de mar.                            Dressed in the sea.     

    The audience sighed as if it were one person, sat silent for a
    heartbeat, applauded wildly and stood cheering long after Tania had
    left the stage. When Consuelo and I finally started moving toward the
    street, I noticed that there was a guard standing vigil at the door to
    the tent dressing room next to the stage. "Va a salir Tania?"
    (‘Is Tania coming out?’) I asked him. He shook his head, and then said,
    "They’re going to let some people go in to talk with her."

    All thought of leaving gone, Consuelo and I stood in the
    milling crowd until we were motioned to duck through the door into the
    white tent. There were just a few of us, three or four, taking turns
    talking with Tania. I asked for an interview for Living at Lake Chapala.
    Tania’s personal manager, Mireyda Garza, graciously said of course. Two
    weeks later I received word that I could go to Mexico City to talk
    privately with Tania at her home.

    We sat together in her lovely living room and she began to answer my questions.

    "My family didn’t know I was singing. My father was in the military, my
    mother worked from seven in the morning till nine at night. My eight
    older brothers took care of me—you can just imagine how that was.

    "It started when I was in preschool. The teacher was planning a little
    night of performances and there was to be a flamenco dancer. I wanted
    to wear that costume; it was my heart’s desire. But the costume was for
    a skinny girl, and I was chubby. I wanted to wear it so much!

    "What did I do? I sneaked a girdle of my mother’s! It was like an
    enormous bandage, and I wrapped it tight around and around myself—and
    the dress fit! I tried to dance, I tried to sing, and that’s how I got
    my start." Tania laughed. "Think of this, there I was, a little
    Peruvian girl in black patent leather shoes, singing an old Mexican
    song, "La Historia de un Amor"
    What in the world did I know about the story of love? But that’s what I
    sang, my very first time on stage. I was five years old.

    La Historia de un Amor sung by Tania Libertad and Eugenia León.

    "By the time I was seven, I was singing in contests. And by the time I
    was nine, I was making records in Peru. I was born on the north coast,
    where the descendents of African slaves lived, and the music I heard
    there, the music I grew up with, got into my bones. It’s the music that
    still fascinates me more than any other. My CD Costa Negra is really homage to that music, and my latest CD, Negro Color, carries the theme onward."

    Tania talked about her father, who for a time supported her desire for
    a career in music, taking her to Lima to search for a recording
    contract. But, she told me, after a certain point he no longer wanted
    her to sing and certainly didn’t want her to study after she graduated
    from high school. Although she had made ten successful recordings in
    Peru, her father wanted her to end her career.

    "I wanted to go to university. The only way he let me enroll was if I promised to study what my brother studied." She grimaced.

    "What did you study, Tania?" I thought I was ready to hear anything.

    "Oh, you won’t believe it. I studied the science and engineering of
    fisheries." She rolled her eyes until I couldn’t suppress my laughter.

    "And has it been useful in later life?" Now we were both laughing.

    "At least it got me into the university, where I could meet
    people who were more involved in the arts and in politics—my thinking
    was very far to the left, very much in tune with resistance to war,
    very much looking for a way to find peace.

    "When I was 20, I actually ran away from home, because my father’s
    thinking was completely different from mine. I needed to be taken
    seriously as a person and as a woman, and my father no longer wanted me
    to pursue my career as an artist, a singer. So I hid for two weeks with
    friends until my father accepted me as an adult with the rights of an
    adult." She sighed.

    "And then?" I asked.

    "And then I started to travel and sing in other countries. I
    went to Cuba in 1976 and was so intrigued with the music there. I began
    to understand the new music that had so much to say politically. The
    songs can be heard on different levels: as love songs, as love songs to
    a country, as songs of resistance and peace. These are what we call canciones camufladas—camouflaged
    songs. Since I was an adolescent, it’s been important to me to take a
    stand for what I believe, to show my ideas. In Perú, so many were
    extremists. And I stood up for peace, for an end to war, for people’s
    right to live freely.

    Tania_headshot

    "In 1977 I came to Mexico. Here in Mexico, I fell in love—with the
    country, with the audiences that gave me such an enormously warm
    welcome, and with the music. I’ve recorded many CDs of boleros
    (Mexican romantic standards) and they’ve all been very well received.
    I’ve had the opportunity to sing and record with so many extraordinary
    Mexican singers: Vicente Fernández, Armando Manzanero, and Marco
    Antonio Muñiz, to name just a few."

    "Como Han Pasado los Años" with Armando Manzanero: Tania Libertad.

    I was curious. "Just how many CDs have you recorded, Tania?"

    She thought for a moment. "Thirty-five or thirty-six. Or maybe
    thirty-seven. It’s about time for me to make a new one. The last one, Negro Color,
    was released at the end of 2004. I’ve been thinking about what the new
    one will be. And so many of the CDs have sold—millions, really. I have
    so much to be grateful for.

    "I’ve sung on every continent. I’ve sung with so many
    incredible singers from every country: Cesarea Evora, Plácido Domingo,
    Mercedes Sosa, Kiri Te Kanawa, Miguel Bosé, and others, so many others.

    "In 1997, UNESCO (United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural
    Organization) gave me a great honor when it named me an honorary
    Ambassador of Peace, an artist for peace. It’s something that is
    tremendously important to me. I was thrilled to sing for UNESCO at
    their headquarters in Paris, and I take my role very seriously."

    She flashed her beautiful smile. "And now I am a Mexican. A
    Peruvian still, but a few years ago I also became a Mexican citizen. I
    love this country, I love this city. This is where my whole life is,
    this is where I live and work."

    "Do you worry about the dangers in Mexico City to a well-known and visible person like yourself?"

    Her look became very serious. "Of course I do. So many people have been
    assaulted, so many kidnapped. As you said, it’s mostly the very visible
    who are assaulted. I worry about my family. We’ve actually been
    assaulted four times; it’s terrifying. There is so much violence in
    society now—violence in homes, violence in the streets, violence in
    films and on television. It’s taken so little time for private society
    to become inculcated with everyday brutality. I don’t think it can get
    much worse.

    "In June, I sang in Ciudad Juárez on behalf of the efforts made to stop
    the killing there. All of those young women are gone and so little
    seems to be done to put a halt to that killing. Here in the Distrito
    Federal, there are so many kidnappings and so much violence. Of course
    we’re frightened. But on the other hand, life must continue. Our daily
    lives can’t be so intimidated with what might happen. We have to do our
    part to stand up for peace, stand up for a peaceful way of life. It’s
    the greatest gift we can give to one another and to our future: the
    right to live in peace."

    There were more questions to be asked, but Tania was packing for yet another tour. The time had come to say not ‘Adios‘, but ‘Hasta pronto’—until soon.

    Tania_hands

    Tania Libertad is a soaring voice, a soaring mentality. Her life work is the definition of her name: Libertad. Freedom.

    For information about Tania Libertad and the locations of her world-wide concerts, please visit: her website.

  • Three Generations of Gunpowder

    San_lucas_church

    On the Catholic feast of Saint Luke I invited my friend Julia to drive to San Lucas Evangelista with me to meet the coheteros (fireworks makers). It was the final day of the fiestas patronales (patron saint’s festivities) for Saint Luke and I knew his little namesake town would be in full party mode.

    We drove along the main street of the tiny town looking for the church.
    Usually a village church is easy to locate—I just look for the church
    tower and point the car in its direction. This town was different; we
    couldn’t see a tower. Finally I pulled to the side of a narrow street
    and asked an elderly shawl-wrapped woman how to get to the church.

    "Ay señora," she sighed, "No se puede." (You can’t.)

    I was momentarily puzzled, but then light dawned. "Because of the fiestas?"

    "Yes, the whole street is blocked with the rides and booths. You
    need to go to the last street in town," she pointed, "and park your car
    there. Then you can walk." She shook her head, scandalized by the
    madness of the fiestas.

    Chuckling, I followed her directions and parked the car almost
    directly in front of the church, but on the rocky unpaved side street
    rather than the main street. We walked a few meters to the churchyard
    and immediately saw that the castillo
    (the castle, a large set-piece fireworks display) was under
    construction. We also noticed that the church has no tower—no wonder we
    hadn’t spotted it immediately from the edge of town.

    Coheteros

    As I approached a group of men working on part of the castillo, they stood up to greet us. "Buenas tardes, how can we help you?"

    I explained that I was interested in talking to the boss about the
    fireworks and that I was going to write an article about the fireworks. The first young man laughed and pointed at a second young man
    crouched on the ground working. "Talk to him, he’s the boss’s son.
    He’ll help you." Then he laughed even harder. The young man in question
    rolled his eyes and grimaced.

    "My name is Gerardo Hernández Ortiz, and I’m not the boss’s
    son. I’m just a helper here. You want to talk to the big boss—he’s over
    there." He pointed at another man standing by the churchyard gate.
    "Wait here a minute, I’ll go get him." He socked the first young man in
    the arm as he walked to the gate. I watched as he talked briefly with a
    man in a navy blue plaid shirt. He glanced toward me and nodded.

    Very shortly that man came over and shook my hand. "I’m Manuel Zúñiga of Cohetería del Pueblo (Town Fireworks Makers). My worker said you wanted to talk with me?" I explained my interest again and he became very serious.

    "You have to explain to your readers that my profession is not dangerous. The majority of accidents happen because of juguetería, the small ‘toy’ fireworks such as palomitas (poppers) and luces de Bengal
    (sparklers) used by children. Those fireworks are imported from China
    and are much less stable than the ones we make here in Mexico. Those
    are very dangerous, very.

    "Yes, there have been some bad accidents with our kind of fireworks,
    like the one in Veracruz in January 2003 (28 people were killed and
    more than 50 were injured when illegally stored fireworks exploded in a
    central market), but those incidents are very unusual.

    "Our philosophy is that one person dies, but others follow in his footsteps and the work carries on and becomes better.

    "My family has been making castillos, cohetes (rockets), bombas
    (bombs) and other fireworks for three generations. My grandfather, may
    he rest in peace, started making fireworks in San Juan Evangelista, the
    next town over there," he gestured to a spot in the distance beyond the
    church, "and then the whole family moved to Cuexcomatitlán, just up the
    road from here, and we’ve lived there ever since."

    "It’s always been a family business. You might say that we’re Zúñiga
    and Sons." He smiled broadly. "I’m Manuel Zúñiga, at your service. We
    make a unique style of fireworks and we’re very good at it. We’ve won
    many contests, including first place in the State of Jalisco. We’ve
    been asked to be judges at a pyrotechnics contest in the State of
    Mexico.

    Assembling_in_the_cemetery

    "Most people think that the Chinese are the kings of gunpowder,
    that China is the world capital of fireworks. We’ve found out that the
    tradition of fireworks is very strong in England and that the English
    are really more knowledgeable than the Chinese. Their designs and
    innovations are at the forefront. We hope to travel to England one day
    to see their work in person."

    I was fascinated with the construction of the various parts of the castillo.
    "It looks as if you have to be an engineer to figure out how this
    entire thing fits together and works," I said, reaching up to move
    several parts of the mechanism.

    Closeup

    "Yes, it’s very complicated. Every tube that you see attached to the
    structure is filled with gunpowder and the chemicals that create the
    colors of the designs. We use several different kinds of materials to
    make the framework, like carrizo (bamboo canes) and madera de pino
    (pine wood). The bamboo is very flexible, the pine is rigid. There are
    other kinds of wood that we use to give more shape to the designs. Some
    of the sections of the castillo are hinged so that they move up and down as they spin.

    "Designs are made with long thin tubes filled with gunpowder and with
    the thicker tubes that shoot fire. You might see flowers, a heart, a
    horse or a cow, or some religious symbols." He walked over to a large
    section of castillo
    lying on the ground and traced the outline of the design with his
    finger. "This one is a chalice with the communion host above it. Can
    you see it?" I certainly could. "It will look beautiful when it’s lit
    up tonight."

    Closer

    "When it’s time to put the whole castillo together, the
    parts are set onto a pole. We start with the topmost part and then use
    a system of pulleys to raise it up. Then we add the middle section, and
    then the bottom part under that."

    Closeup_2

    "Come with me, I want to show you some other things." As we
    walked to the fireworks-filled storeroom next to the church, Sr. Zúñiga
    continued explaining the intricacies of his family business.

    Toritos

    "Here, this is something different. It’s a torito, a
    little bull. See the shape? Late tonight, we’ll bring these out to
    play." He laughed. "A boy carries this little bull over his head—yes,
    after it’s lit and while it’s exploding with color and fire—and runs
    through the crowd. He’ll chase whoever looks like a good victim. He
    hunts for whoever looks nervous. This torito has buscapíes
    fastened to it. Those are a kind of fireworks that shoots off the
    framework of the little bull and skitters along the ground. It
    literally means ‘looks for feet’. It’s only a little dangerous." He
    grinned and winked.

    I grinned too, remembering a fiesta night in Guadalajara when a small boy with a blazing torito chased me down a cobblestone street as the festive crowd laughed to see the señora running to escape.

    Soul11night

    Sr. Zúñiga talked as we walked back through the churchyard. "We work
    all year round. There are 25 of us who build the fireworks.

    Up_it_goes_2

    "We’ll be in Ixtlahuacán de los Membrillos on October 21 for a visit of
    Our Lady of Zapopan and in Ajijic on October 31 for the last day of the
    month-long celebration for Our Lady of the Rosary. There will be a castillo in each town. Of course we’ve already started preparations for the nine-day festivities in Ajijic at the end of November."

    We gazed up at the castillo being mounted just outside the cemetery fence. Curious, Julia asked him, "What does it cost to have one of these built?"

    "The simplest ones start at $7,500 pesos—about $665 U.S.. The price
    goes up from that to about $20,000 pesos—about $1,800 U.S.—for more
    complicated castillos built on a central pole, like this one. Then there is another category of castillo,
    much more complex, that starts at $25,000 pesos. For that kind, the
    sky’s the limit." He shook my hand. "Can’t you stay until we burn this
    one at around eleven o’clock tonight?"

    Soul12spinner

    "I wish I could—maybe next year." With a last look at the work in progress, Julia and I headed for the car. I knew I’d dream of castillos that night. The sky was the limit.
       

  • Tianguis: Mexico’s Street Market

    Musicians

    The typical Mexican tianguis (street market) is a
    multi-layered event. It combines wonderful shopping with catching up on
    friends and gossip. It’s a place to restock your larder and recharge
    your spirit at the same time.  The tianguis is the perfect spot to buy lovely
    and inexpensive flowers, delicious field-fresh produce, and succulently
    sweet tropical fruits. I also buy all of my fresh fish,
    chicken, cheese, and yoghurt right there at the tianguis.  When I tell them where I shop, many friends from North of the Border exclaim, "What! Aren’t you afraid of—afraid of—" and their questions fade into puzzled silence.

    No, I am not afraid. Not of food poisoning, not of communicable
    diseases, not of spoilage. After years of purchasing nearly all of my
    produce, meats and dairy products at the tianguis, I believe that it’s just as safe and healthy to buy those items from the tianguis
    vendors as it is to buy them from a supermarket refrigerator case. I’ve never been
    sick nor had any sort of problem from any of the foods I buy from the
    market vendors. The friends I’ve convinced to try the vendors report
    the same thing: unequalled satisfaction and never a problem.

    It took me some time to figure out not only what I needed but also where at the tianguis I
    wanted to buy. You can figure it out, too. My main rule of thumb is to
    buy where the crowds have gathered to shop and to make my purchases
    where the fresh foods I want are clean and free of flies. I haven’t
    been disappointed. The quality of meat (particularly chicken)
    is far superior to anything I’ve bought from a butcher. The cheeses and yogurt are unbeatable. The fish is inevitably fresh and clean. Not
    only are the eyes clear but the fish still smell of the ocean.

    It’s always best to go to the tianguis early to buy products that need refrigeration.
    During those first hours of the market, the meats, fish, and dairy
    products are still chilled and the selection is good. Later in the day,
    some items may not be available and what’s left might look a bit tired.

    There are usually several fishmongers at any good-sized urban tianguis.  A fishmonger’s booth is usually large and
    filled with a variety of fish. Dorado (mahi mahi),
    huachinango (red snapper), lenguado (sole), robalo (sea bass), mackerel, crabs, shrimp, octopus, tilapia, and a
    full assortment of others fresh from the sea compete for space on a bed
    of ice. You can request your fish entero (whole), filete (filleted), or even molido (ground, for ceviche).
    If the fish is small, expect to pay by weight for the whole fish even
    if you ask for it filleted. If the fish is very large, like a dorado,
    you’ll be charged only for the fillets. Occasionally it’s possible to
    make a special request. I’ve asked for fresh sea
    scallops when they’re in season. If you’re making a request for a party
    menu, it’s always best to have an alternative in mind: sometimes the
    special item you want isn’t available.

    Fishmonger_7

    All of the fish sold by these vendors comes from the Atlantic or Pacific oceans to
    the main fish market in Zapopan, a suburb of Guadalajara. The vendors
    are at the market before dawn to purchase the freshest fish to sell in
    the tianguis.

    At some tianguis (but not all) you’ll find vendors selling pork and some beef from a tiny
    table. The table is just big enough for a few large pieces of fresh
    pork ready to be cut to order, a scale, and a roll of plastic bags. 
    Some days they also have freshly rendered lard for sale.

    Carne

    I eyed the women lined up to buy, I peered at the meat, and I watched the carnicero (butcher) cutting orders for several weeks before I stepped up to the
    table myself. It took that long for me to know what I wanted to
    request: a half kilo (approximately one pound) of maciza so that I could prepare carne de puerco con chile verde. Maciza is the solid leg meat (fresh uncured ham) I used for cutting cubes of pork. You can also have maciza ground for albóndigas (Mexican meatballs) or to mix with ground beef for a meatloaf or Italian meatballs. While I was waiting for my maciza, I noticed the lomo (pork loin) and made a mental note to add it to my shopping list another week.

    The butcher told me that he buys only first class hogs
    and has them butchered at the municipal slaughterhouse. At
    the tianguis, he and his mother sell either lomo or maciza
    cut to your specifications. The price for either meat on the day that I
    talked with Sra. Gómez was $60 pesos per kilo. The meat is not
    refrigerated at the tianguis, but it is meat-locker cold when it is
    placed in the cooler where it is kept until it’s sold out, usually by
    10 AM.

    A little over a year ago I noticed that a new chicken seller had set up shop at the tianguis.
    When I prepared the first skinless, boneless chicken breast that I bought from
    Guadalajara’s Jaime Ribera, I was hooked. Brought freshly killed
    to the tianguis on Wednesday mornings, Jaime’s chicken is the freshest, pinkest, plumpest, most flavorful chicken I have eaten in my life. His chicken is immaculately clean, as is his booth.

    The pallid birds of the USA grow even paler in comparison to these
    glorious creatures. Chicken this good was not available even in the
    markets I frequented during two months I recently spent in France.

    Chicken_2

    Jaime sells his chicken any way you want it, from a whole bird to just
    the feet. Breasts can be had with or without skin and bones. If I want
    the nearly paper-thin breast meat that is used here for preparing milanesa de pollo
    (breaded chicken), Jaime either has it ready or cuts it for me while I
    wait. Although the livers are mixed with hearts, I always ask him to
    sell me just the livers. He carefully picks the hearts out of the mix.
    When I buy the golden yellow feet—I use them when preparing chicken
    stock—he always makes sure the toenails are well-trimmed.

    Chicken Part Price In Pesos per kilo
    Breast (skinless, boneless) $56
    Breast (with skin and bone) $35
    Leg (with thigh, back portion attached) $22
    Leg (with thigh, no back) $25
    Wings $15
    Whole chicken $24
    Chicken livers $10
    Chicken feet $8

    Like the rest of the vendors featured here, Jaime never touches money
    with his bare hands. He takes your payment in a piece of plastic wrap
    or in a plastic glove.

    Cheeses

    For me, it isn’t a successful trip to the tianguis without buying at
    least one liter of yogurt. Homemade, the yogurt is creamy, sweet without being cloying, full of
    natural fruits, vegetables, or nuts, and just right for breakfast. My
    particular flavor is the zarzamora (blackberry), but some friends rarely buy anything but the durazno (peach) and others swear by the nuez
    (pecan). You’ll also find liter jars of mango, celery, carrot, and beet—just about
    any flavor yogurt you might want. At $15 pesos a liter, it’s a real
    steal. The vendors also sell a variety of cheeses, thick crema (Mexican cream, similar to French creme fraiche), requesón (Mexican-style
    cottage cheese, similar to Italian ricotta), and flour tortillas. All
    of the dairy products are kept fresh and cold in coolers during the
    selling day.

    Products Price in Pesos
    Yogurt $15/liter
    Queso Panela (Mexican fresh cheese) $24/per cheese 650-700 grams
    Queso Oaxaca (Oaxaca-style cheese) $50/kilo
    Crema (Mexican thick cream) $26/kilo
    Queso Cotija (Mexican sharp cheese) $48/kilo
    Queso Adobera (Mexican melting cheese) $22/half kilo
    Requesón (Mexican cottage cheese) $20/kilo
    Flour Tortillas $10/packet

    Yogurt

    My dairy product buying isn’t confined to just one vendor. I usually purchase cheeses from another booth.
    Santiago and Ana Isabel Valdomillos specialize in cheeses, cream, yogurts, honey, and chicken nuggets, smoked pork chops, and other
    easy-to-prepare meats. You’ll also see small bottles of Yakult, a
    drinkable live-bacteria yogurt.

    Products Price in Pesos
    Yogurt $16/liter
    Queso Panela (Mexican fresh cheese) $36/kilo
    Queso Oaxaca (Oaxaca-style cheese) $48/kilo
    Crema (Mexican thick cream) $32/kilo
    Queso Cotija (Mexican sharp cheese) $50/kilo
    Queso Adobera (Mexican melting cheese) $40/kilo
    Queso Gouda (Gouda-style cheese) $60/kilo
    Requesón (Mexican cottage cheese) $22/kilo
    Miel (Honey) $25/small  $38/large
    Flour Tortillas $9/packet
    Chuleta Ahumada (smoked pork chop) $54/kilo

    Santiago smiled when I asked how long he had been selling at the tianguis. "Altogether,
    it’s been more than 28 years." He gestured with his index finger held
    straight up to indicate the height of a small child. "I used to help my
    Dad when I was no taller than this."

    More_cheeses

    I’m particularly fond of Santiago’s queso cotija, a cheese named
    for the town in Michoacán where it originated. It’s a sharp and fairly
    dry cheese which crumbles easily. As it ages, it becomes drier and
    sharper. It’s delicious crumbled over refried beans and enchiladas or
    stirred into soups.

    The dairy and other products are kept cold in coolers
    throughout the day. The products kept out for sale on the tables are
    also covered with cheesecloth to protect them from flies.

    I think you’ll be wonderfully surprised by the freshness,
    quality, and prices of the fish, meats, chicken, and dairy products
    offered for sale by these vendors. There’s no reason to shop elsewhere
    for what you’ll find on your regular outing to the tianguis.
       

  • Old Guadalajara Bed and Breakfast

    Pa_facade

    I’ve known Paul Callahan and Arturo Mercado Arreola for much longer than I
    have lived in Guadalajara, but until recently I’d not visited
    their sumptuous bed and breakfast lodgings. The unassuming outside of
    the building purposely tells the passerby nothing about the beauty that
    waits inside.

    "These old city houses were enormous," Paul said, once we were
    comfortably ensconced in the patio’s period chairs. "They weren’t built
    to be elegant or all gussied up. It’s kind of odd that people think
    Mexican architecture is about cupolas and domes and exotic colors. City
    architecture has always been extremely simple. The old houses were
    huge, but they were simple to the point of severity.

    "This house was once part of the Santa María de Gracia Convent. When we
    bought the 16th Century house about 30 years ago, it was a white
    elephant. No one, but no one, wanted to live in downtown Guadalajara in
    those days. We bought it at a bargain price and started fixing it up."

    Arturo continued, "We met here in Guadalajara 33 years ago.
    Even way back then, when we bought the house, we were thinking of
    opening a B&B. It took us a while to get around to it, though."

    Paul nodded in agreement from his cozy chair across the room. "We’ve
    only been taking guests for the last year and a half." He laughed. "At
    the time we bought the house, it was divided into a lot of tiny rooms,
    and it had no bathrooms. Now we have eight very large bedrooms, each
    with a private bath. We have our own quarters, as well."

    Arturo gestured across the patio. "Would you like to see where we live?"

    Courtyardcomposite1

    I followed the two men across the simple patio that they have
    planted with elegant bamboo that reaches to the second floor balconies.
    They led me through a hallway and into another patio which seemed miles
    away from the bustling Historic Center of the city. In the old houses
    of Guadalajara, there was often more than one patio, for increased
    ventilation and light, with each patio surrounded by rooms opening onto
    it.

    Both patios feature covered terrazas (terraces that
    serve as outdoor rooms) furnished with comfortably soft-cushioned
    furniture, antique paintings, Oriental rugs, period lighting, and the
    many small treasures that Paul and Arturo have accumulated over the
    course of their life together.

    We chose our chairs in this terraza and continued our talk.
    Paul pointed to the back of the house. "That part of the house used to
    be the stables," he reminisced, thinking of the house as they found it.
    "This patio was the corral. We didn’t need room for clotheslines or
    chickens, so we put a partial roof over the patio and made it a terraza."

    Arturo gave me a pensive look. "You know, so many people have strange
    notions about what it’s like to live in the city. Pollution, crime—you
    name it, people think it’s a problem here. The truth is that it’s so
    safe here. We love the city. And we’ve had this upholstered furniture
    out here for years. It’s not the least bit dirty from pollution."

    Paul nodded. "If I feel like going for a walk at three in the morning,
    I never feel the least bit afraid to go out. The Historic Center is
    probably the safest part of the city. Best of all, everything we want
    is right at our fingertips. Sometimes months go by and we don’t take
    the car out of the garage. We walk, or we take a cab or a bus."

    Principalliving1_2

    Paul excused himself to consult with a repairman who was
    working in the house while Arturo continued talking with me. "Our
    guests just love it here. Even though we’ve only been open a short
    time, we’ve had repeat customers. We don’t take children; the B&B
    is for adults only. The whole house is completely non-smoking. Plus, of
    course, as Paul said, everything is right here. The Teatro Degollado
    and the Cathedral are just a couple of blocks away, along with all the
    plazas, museums, and monuments in the colonial center of Guadalajara."

    I glanced around at the beautiful outdoor room we sat in. Lush
    plantings combined with exquisite antiques to create an atmosphere of
    quiet luxury. "Arturo, are your rooms usually completely booked?"

    "Often all of our rooms are full during the winter, when people
    want to escape the cold in the north. Summer is less busy. We do love
    having guests. The people who choose to stay with us are so very
    interesting, so very sophisticated."

    Paul walked into the room again and picked up the conversation.
    "We don’t advertise aggressively at all. You know we have a website,
    but it’s very simple. There aren’t a lot of places to click the mouse
    to go to other pages—it’s just that one page. If someone wants to email
    me with questions, of course I answer with all the information the
    person needs or wants. But we don’t advertise very much."

    Paul continued, "The longest anyone has stayed with us is sixteen days.
    That couple loved it here so much that they just couldn’t leave."

    Arturo explained that the B&B is gay-friendly and that they
    do advertise on a gay Mexico travel website. "It’s very low-key," he
    mentioned. "Once in a while we have male couples, sometimes we have
    women couples, but all of our clients socialize together here, gay and
    straight alike. Breakfast is always a wonderful event."

    I’d heard about the sumptuous Old Guadalajara breakfasts from some of
    their former guests. "I’ve heard rumors that you two are quite the
    cooks," I smiled.

    Arturo’s eyebrows jumped up. "Not me!" he exclaimed. "Paul’s
    the cook. He prepares exquisite breakfasts for the guests. Tell her,
    Paul."

    Paul grinned. "Of course we set the breakfast table with linens,
    crystal, china, and silver. There are always fresh flowers. Our guests
    come downstairs and gasp—then they have to run right back up to get
    their cameras, the table is so beautiful.

    "We start with freshly squeezed juices, excellent coffee, and
    English teas on the table for him or her. There are always four or five
    types of seasonal fruits on the table. If a guest wants something
    special, a tropical fruit like guanábana or carambola,
    we make sure it’s on ready for him or her. Then we serve eggs any way
    the guest wants them, or hotcakes, or any number of things. There are
    always breakfast meats, such as smoked pork chops, bacon, or sausages.
    I always make muffins—they’re served with my own homemade marmalades.
    Sometimes I even make my own butter. I’d much rather prepare too much
    food than have a guest want something that isn’t available. No one
    staying here has complained about not having enough to eat."

    "My goodness, Paul, I just might show up for breakfast myself
    some morning." I was practically drooling over his descriptions. "All
    of that sounds out of this world. Do you offer lunch or dinner to your
    guests?"

    Arturo laughed. "You should have seen him at Christmas. The
    rooms were full and on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day nothing in
    Guadalajara was open. Paul prepared a full dinner buffet for the guests
    on Christmas Eve—and then did it all again on Christmas Day so that our
    guests wouldn’t have to go out hunting for food. They would never have
    found a restaurant open."

    Paul shook his head. "It was a lot of effort, but it was so
    good to see our clients so happy. We had a wonderful time with them."

    "And are there other services that you offer your guests?"

    "We do keep ice on hand for people who want to have a drink here, and
    we’re thinking of selling some good table wines to those who want them
    during their stay. There’s not a liquor store here in Guadalajara’s
    Historic Center that stocks that sort of thing. Our guests sometimes
    want to have a glass of wine here and then go out to dinner. It would
    be a convenience for them." Paul motioned to Arturo. "Let’s show her
    the guest rooms and the rest of the house."

    We started our tour with the kitchen, a well-used and obviously
    well-loved area. The stove, a professional model, dominates one wall.
    Cooking equipment including an Italian ice cream maker cluttered the
    counters. "I built this kitchen for me," Paul said. "I love to cook and
    we rarely eat in restaurants, so this is my retreat."

    Through the swinging kitchen doors is the formal dining room where
    breakfast is served. Across the first patio, we climbed a flight of
    stone steps to the second floor guest rooms. A collection of antique
    Mexican masks hangs on one staircase wall; paintings of every style and
    age cover the other walls.

    Bedroom1front1

    At the top of the stairs, Paul and Arturo guided me into the first
    guest room. A bed draped in hangings from a princess’s fantasy stood
    against one wall, antique rugs hung on another, and more paintings
    covered the rest of the walls. The room is at once simple, graceful,
    and very well furnished. The bathroom is well-appointed and large.

    As we walked along, we talked about the décor and the various styles of art and artifacts found in the B&B.

    "We don’t want the house to be too fussy," Arturo said. "We want our
    guests to have the experience of elegant luxury of a kind they wouldn’t
    find in a hotel."

    "How have you priced the rooms?" I asked.

    Paul answered, "We still charge just $125 USD per night for a
    room, whether it’s occupied by one or two people. All our rooms have
    queen size beds, and of course they all have private baths."

    Bedroom2south1

    "You’ll see that all the baths are very simple—large, but
    simple. All of the tile is white, all the shower curtains are white,
    and all the towels are white. White is sparkling clean, which is what
    we emphasize. Beauty and cleanliness are our hallmarks."

    Arturo mentioned again that the neighborhood is exceptionally
    safe, even late at night. "Our guests enjoy going to hear the
    Philharmonic, going to a late dinner at one of the restaurants near
    here, or staying out late for drinks and talk. There’s never been a
    moment of concern for anyone’s safety.

    "We cater to real travelers, people who have experienced
    several different cultures and want to experience Mexico in all its
    glory. We think we offer that experience right here in the heart of
    Guadalajara."

    I think so too, and so will you.

    The Old Guadalajara B&B  is located at Belén 236, Centro Histórico, Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mexico.

    For more information, see the Old Guadalajara B&B  website at www.oldguadalajara.com or Email: information@oldguadalajara.com

  • Spiritual Healing in Mexico

    Road
    The road to Concepción de Buenos Aires.

    The drive deep into the mountains was long, more than two hours from my home in Guadalajara. Many kilometers of the
    twisting road were rough, pocked with deep potholes. I got stuck behind
    a slow-moving slat-side truck full to the brim with plastic bags of raw
    chicken, huge crates of vegetables and fruits, bags of bread and other
    foods. I was in a hurry to reach Concepción de Buenos Aires, a tiny
    town well off the beaten tourist path, where I was to meet Sr. Cura
    Manuel Cárdenas Contreras, the pastor of la Parroquia de la Inmaculada
    Concepción—the parish of the Immaculate Conception. I’d heard a little
    about him and his healing work from an acquaintance, but I really couldn’t imagine
    what lay in store for me.

    When I arrived, I discovered that it was tianguis (street
    market) day in Concepción de Buenos Aires. The streets around the town
    square were closed, blocked by vendors’ booths. Rock music blared and
    the dusty cobblestones were crowded with men in jeans and cowboy hats,
    women in red-checkered aprons buying vegetables for the day’s comida
    (dinner), and little children tugging at their older siblings’ hands as
    they pleaded for a candy or toy. I squeezed into a parking space and
    navigated through booths of bolis (a frozen treat), flower arrangements, and DVDs to get to the parish steps.

    I made my way through the church to its inner courtyard, where there
    was a great deal of bustle. A big truck—the very loaded-down truck I
    had followed along the road to town—was being emptied. One of the women
    helping with the truck explained to me that all of its contents had
    been donated for the poor of the town. The food was being divided into
    bags for individual families. "We do this every week," she beamed. She
    led me to the entrance to the parish office. "He’s in there, just go on
    in," she encouraged me.

    Health1church
    La Inmaculada

    Religious pamphlets, candles, and pictures crowded sales
    shelves in the dim anteroom. What I assumed to be the secretary’s desk
    was unoccupied. I waited a moment for a prior visitor to come out of
    the priest’s office. When the visitor left, a gravelly voice welcomed
    me. "Come in, come in."

    Padre Manuel rose to greet me and we chatted for a bit.
    A steady stream of townspeople arrived to schedule Mass intentions.
    "I’ll close the office at 12:30," he said, "and we’ll go over to the
    house to talk further. We can have some privacy there."

    Just then a tiny elderly woman wrapped up in a shawl came into the
    office. She was looking for the church secretary, who was indeed taking
    the day off. Padre Manuel said, "What do you need?"

    She said, "I’m looking for a hand."

    Father Manuel held up one of his, fingers spread apart. "Here’s one."

    "Ay, padre, not yours, no no no. It’s that I fell and
    broke my hand, and I promised the Virgin if it got well I’d hang up a
    hand to say thank you." She wanted to purchase a small milagro, a metal token that she’d hang near an image of the Virgin as a way to say thank you for her healing.

    Close
    Detail above the altar of La Inmaculada.

    He asked to see her hand, which from where I was sitting looked bruised
    and still a bit swollen. He started rubbing her hand a little and she
    winced. He said, "You have sugar, don’t you?"

    "Sí, padre." She nodded her admission of diabetes.

    "And I can tell that your hand still hurts. Who were you fighting with?"

    "Ay, padre, I fell down!" She giggled. "I guess I was
    fighting with the ground. The doctor just took the cast off and yes, it
    still hurts."

    He prodded at her hand with his big fingers and then yanked her little
    finger. Then he prodded around her thumb and yanked a bit. "Move your
    hand." She tentatively moved her fingers. "No, really move it, bend it,
    make a fist, wiggle your fingers."

    She did, and a slow beautiful grin spread across her face. "It doesn’t hurt!" He nodded.

    Milagros_2
    Milagros mexicanos, including human body parts, animals, and other symbols.

    Then he said, "How’s your hearing?"

    "Ay, padre, since my husband died three months ago I
    can’t hear, my ears are stopped up." He put an index finger into each
    of her ears and snapped them out again in an abrupt motion. Then he
    tapped one of his index fingers, hard, on the crown of her head. And
    again. Then he whispered, "What is your name?" No reaction. A little
    louder. No reaction. And again, this time very loud.

    "Consuelo Alvarez Martínez, padre."

    He repeated his ministrations, and from behind her, whispered very
    softly in her ear again. "What is your name?" She answered instantly.

    Then he said, "You have trouble with your blood pressure, right?" 

    "Sí, padre." He put his hand high on the bony part of her chest and pressed hard. Then he asked her if she got dizzy when she bent over.

    "No, padre, but after I bend over and then stand up, I get dizzy."

    He said, "Try it."

    She did. "A little, padre."

    He pressed on the bony part of her chest. "Again."

    "Ay padre, still a little."

    "Now try." And she said she was fine, no dizziness.

    It was all very matter of fact. There were three other people in the
    room, including me. She went happily on her way, saying she’d be back
    the next day to pay her debt to the Virgin.

    In just a few minutes, Padre Manuel finished writing up the Mass
    intentions and ushered me through the church, down the sacristy steps,
    and into the spacious office where he receives people who are looking
    for his help. Settled at his desk, he began talking about his life.

    "I was born in 1931 in Valle Florido, a rancho that’s part
    of the municipality of Concepción de Buenos Aires, to Manuel Cárdenas
    García and Petra Contreras Cárdenas. I never knew my father. He was
    killed by eight men just six months after he married my mother. She
    never remarried, so I was an only child. When I was seven years old, I
    started primary school out in the country.

    "By the time I was thirteen, I had started thinking about what I wanted
    to be when I grew up. In those days, there were only a few options. The
    diocesan seminarians from Guadalajara came out to the rancho on
    vacation in August that year, and I began to be interested in knowing
    more about God. I liked the catechism and I decided to go ahead and
    enter the junior seminary.

    "For the first two years, I studied in Tlaquepaque to finish school.
    Then I entered Señor San José Diocesan Seminary in Guadalajara. After I
    studied three years of theology in the diocesan seminary in Mérida, I
    finished my theology studies in Guadalajara and then was sent to the
    state of Tabasco. I was ordained a priest in Tabasco on July 9, 1961,
    by Archbishop Fernando Ruíz Solórzano."

    Padre Manuel paused and tapped a finger on his desk. "How long were you in Tabasco, Padre?" I asked.

    "Sixteen years, all told. Then at the request of the bishop of Ciudad Guzmán, I came back to the archdiocese of Jalisco."

    I was puzzled. "How is the archdiocese of Jalisco divided, Padre? I didn’t know there were other diocesan divisions."

    He smiled. "Yes, we have the archdiocese, with its base in
    Guadalajara. Then we have three other diocesan seats within the
    archdiocese: Ciudad Guzmán, San Juan de los Lagos, and Autlán." He
    ticked the names off on his fingers. "So I was called to the diocese of
    Ciudad Guzmán and came back to Concepción de Buenos Aires on April 30,
    1973. Then in May, I was called to Tuxpan to help with the fiestas of
    Nuestro Señor del Perdón. On June 13, 1973, I was named pastor at the
    parish of Teocuitatlán de Corona, in Jalisco.

    "I was there for nearly ten years, and then I was asked to be pastor at another parish in Jalisco.

    "Finally, in 1994, I was named pastor here at La Inmaculada, in
    my home town of Concepción de Buenos Aires. And I’ve been here ever
    since, eleven years now." He shook his head incredulously at the rapid
    passage of time.

    Padre_manuel
    El Señor Cura Manuel Cárdenas Contreras

    "Padre Manuel, many people have told me about your remarkable ability
    to bring about miraculous cures. Tell me something about how that
    started."

    He leaned forward and looked intensely at me. "I don’t cure. God
    cures. I’m only the means. As a human being, I don’t really understand
    what happens.

    "More than twenty years ago, I suffered a lot from terrible
    back pain that affected my right leg. For eleven months, the pain was
    intense, day and night. I went to many different doctors, different
    specialists, as I looked for a cure, but the pain wouldn’t leave me and
    the doctors weren’t able to cure me. I was desperate.

    "In one of God’s mysteries that we as human beings can’t
    understand, I was sent to a doctor, a specialist, in Guadalajara. He
    was a trained medical specialist, but he also used alternative healing
    methods. He utilized an alternative energy, he did some things that I
    can’t explain even now. In twenty minutes the pain was gone and I could
    stand up straight. I went back twice more, and I was cured." Padre
    Manuel held out his hand and drew in his breath.

    "The doctor told me that I also had the gift of healing. I told
    him no, no I didn’t. He said yes, yes I did, and that he would teach me
    how to use the gift. I refused, over and over again.

    "Then one day the doctor said to me, ‘So, you wanted to be healed, but
    you don’t want to be an instrument of healing? You wanted to receive, but you don’t want to
    give back?’ That stopped me in my tracks. How could I continue to
    refuse?"

    I felt a chill run through my body as I listened to Padre Manuel tell his story. "Please go on," I encouraged him.

    "The doctor asked me to come back four times a week, four hours
    a day, for four months. He said in that length of time he could teach
    me to use the power for healing that he felt in me. He taught me about
    the positive energy that comes from women, the negative energy that
    comes from men, and how they complement one another, the yin and the
    yang. He taught me about chakras and auras, he showed me how to use
    ordinary scissors to effect healing.

    "I’ve talked to thousands of people since then, from all social
    classes. People with health problems come here from everywhere, eager
    to be healed. Now I’m only able to see people on Fridays and Saturdays.
    Working in this way is extremely draining, very tiring.

    "Recently a family brought one of their daughters to me, all the way
    from Texas. When she came, she was walking with crutches, with great
    difficulty. The girl had just had an operation that cost $40,000 USD, an operation that the
    doctors told the family would allow her to walk again.  The
    operation was a failure." Padre Manuel pointed to my left. "Look, those
    are her crutches. When she left here, she could walk as well as you
    can."

    I felt the sharp sting of tears in my eyes. "A friend of mine
    came to you a few years ago, with terrible back pain. Maybe you
    remember him—Eufemio García?" Padre Manuel nodded.

    I reminisced about his story. "Eufemio had rescued an enormous old
    crippled dog that had to be bathed frequently to keep her from smelling
    bad. He used to strip down and hose her off in his patio so he wouldn’t
    make such a mess in his house. One evening he bathed her, let her in
    the house onto the tile floors, and she slipped and couldn’t get up. Eufemio tried to lift her and he slipped, doing the splits on the tiles.
    Not only had he pulled his muscles, but he developed a bad back injury
    that prevented him from taking anything but baby steps. He couldn’t
    walk up a flight of stairs and he couldn’t step up onto the high curbs
    we have here.  Some other friends brought Eufemio up to
    Concepción de Buenos Aires to see you."

    Padre Manuel took up the thread of the story. "You know, I cure
    using scissors. Of course the scissors never touch the person, but they
    draw energy and cut pain and—well, we don’t know exactly how it works,
    but it does. If I remember your friend, he’s a big man, right?"

    "Yes, Padre, he’s well over six feet tall. Not as tall as you are, but tall."

    Padre Manuel nodded. "I would have had him stand in front of me
    while I passed the scissors over his head, his neck, and down his back.
    It doesn’t sound so impressive or important, but what did he tell you
    happened to him?"

    "He told me that he could have sworn you pressed the scissors
    against his body as you worked with him. He said he felt their
    pressure, but one of his friends who was here that day insists that the scissors never touched him. He felt
    them move over his body in just the way that you described."

    The priest nodded again. "She’s right, the scissors never touched him. What else did he tell you?"

    I thought for a moment. "He said that the pain lessened
    immediately. He said you told him to bend and touch his toes. He could
    do it, and there was no pain. Then you asked him to do some knee bends,
    and again there was no problem. He said he could take normal steps
    right away, and in about ten minutes he was completely back to normal.
    He told me he took some teas that you’d prescribed to supplement the
    healing. He said his pain never came back and he’s had no problem with
    his back since then."

    Once again Padre Manuel nodded. "That’s excellent, I’m so glad to hear it. Tell your friend to treasure his health.

    Road_to_concepcion
    Blue agave–tequila–fields near Concepción de Buenos Aires

    "You know, a Japanese woman, a chemist in Tapachula, brought her
    daughter to me because she couldn’t raise her arms or use them. Now
    that she has been here, she can. In Spanish, we have a dicho (saying): Querer sanar es media salud
    (to want to be healed is half of health). I can’t explain the mysteries
    of God in curing people of their problems, but I know it is God who
    cures. What I do is work with God’s energy and the energy of the person
    who has the illness. That woman you saw in my office earlier today?
    With God’s help, her problems will be healed.

    "Just tell people that it is God who heals, it’s not me." Padre Manuel
    clasped my hands and walked me to the door of the church. "Remember,
    I’m the instrument." He bent down and hugged me. "Vaya con Dios."

     

  • The Web of Tradition: Textile Making in Mexico

    Weaving

    Twenty to thirty thousand years ago, early humans developed the first
    string by twisting together handfuls of plant fibers. Preparing thin
    bundles of plant material and stretching them out while twisting them
    together produced a fine string or thread. The ability to produce
    string and thread was the starting place for the development of
    spinning, weaving, and sewing. All three of those indigenous textile
    making traditions are still strong in today’s Mexico.

    Today we’ll take a look at the
    weaving of the Huicholes in the states of Jalisco and Nayarit and the
    Zapotec in Oaxaca.

    The fundamental aspects of hand weaving have remained unchanged
    for millennia. Webster defines a loom as "a frame or machine for
    interweaving yarn or threads into a fabric, the operation being
    performed by laying lengthwise a series called the warp and weaving in
    across this other threads called the weft, woof, or filling." Another
    definition, quite to the point, states: "A loom is the framework across
    which threads are stretched for the weaving of cloth."

    When the backstrap loom was developed, it was easy to transport and
    simple to construct. One end of the loom was attached to a fixed point,
    like a tree trunk, and the other was a rod, which was held in place
    with a cord that passed around the waist of the weaver. By leaning back
    against the waist cord, the weaver could put tension on the warp
    threads and adjust tautness at will. The backstrap loom is still used
    today by Native Americans in the southwestern part of the United States
    and by people in Central America and Mexico. The complexity of the work
    that can be created on this loom is limited only by the skill of the
    weaver, and the entire loom with the weaving in progress can be rolled
    up at any time and carried from place to place.

    In the culture of Mesoamerica (the region extending south and
    east from central Mexico to include parts of Guatemala, Belize,
    Honduras, and Nicaragua), clothing fabrics were quite diverse. In arid
    locations, plants such as yucca, agave cactus, and palm fibers were
    used for weaving. Where the climate permitted, cotton was the chosen
    fiber. Cotton was grown in Mexico as early as 3000 B.C. Although cotton
    did not grow in the region of the Aztec empire, the Aztecs obtained
    cotton from the peoples they conquered. At that time, only certain
    social classes were allowed to wear cotton clothing. Rabbit fur and
    feathers from exotic birds decorated luxurious clothing, while bark
    paper clothing was used for some ceremonial vestments. The clothing of
    lower social classes was made of much rougher fibers.

    Soul1backstrap

    In the entire Mesoamerican region, women worked using a
    backstrap loom, and then sometimes embroidered fabrics and applied
    shells, precious stones, and silver and gold ornaments to the fabrics
    they wove. In the south of Mexico, women made weavings using ornamental
    stitches or, among the Mayans, decorated with thin braided ropes. In
    the northern parts of Mesoamerica, floor looms were used.

    Fabrics woven in these ways were of the highest importance in early
    Mexican life. At times, fabrics were used as money. Each culture of
    Mesoamerica had deities who watched over those women who spun thread,
    those who wove, and those who embroidered. At birth, a baby girl was
    symbolically initiated into the work of weaving, and upon her death, a
    woman was buried with the textile tools that she had used all through
    her life. Textile making was considered to be much more than a
    technique. It was a sacred gift bestowed on women by the gods.

    Conquest by the Spanish and the continuing presence of the conquistadores
    changed the panorama of textiles in Mexico. During the time of
    colonization, new techniques of weaving, materials, designs and forms
    of dress arrived in the New World. Silks, wools, and the pedal loom
    needed to weave them were introduced. In addition, the Spanish brought
    a strong textile influence from Asia and Egypt.

    Soul4bags

    The richness, variety and liveliness of Mexican weaving are in
    large part derived from the fusion of these influences. Traditional
    Mexican indigenous clothing represents the union of the people, proud
    of their geographic and cultural origins.

    The indigenous people we meet most often in Guadalajara are the
    Huichol. They use art, including weaving, for much more than
    decoration or economic gain. In the February-March 2005 New Life Journal,
    author Lisa Lichtig writes, "For women, the loom is the violin. Woven
    bags come in various sizes and colors and are used for carrying
    everything from food to sacred offerings. Each, however, is made with
    special woven designs that are signatures from the heart and the dreams
    of the weaver.

    "In the process of learning to weave, the apprentice makes miniature
    weavings as offerings to the gods. When a girl leaves her offering, she
    may take one of the offerings left for that same god by another girl or
    woman. She takes the borrowed offering home and copies the design, and
    then returns the borrowed piece and leaves another one that she herself
    has made. This practice has been a means by which designs were
    distributed among Huichol women."

    Soul3huichbelt

    When the Spanish came to the New World, they brought sheep,
    previously unknown to the indigenous peoples of Mexico. The Huichol
    quickly learned to shear, card, spin, and weave wool. They used native
    vegetable and mineral dyes to create the vibrant colors so crucial to
    their designs. Today, as the Huichol herd fewer and fewer sheep,
    acrylics have largely replaced wool in Huichol work. Very few weavers
    still know how to make and use the old dyes.

    Soul2huichbag

    The indigenous Zapotec are native to the state of Oaxaca, far to the
    south of Mexico. Many Zapotec are extraordinary rug weavers. The most
    famous Zapotec rug weaving center is Teotitlán del Valle, Oaxaca, a
    remote mountain village that has become well known everywhere in the
    world due to the traditional fine weaving done there. Despite the
    ten-hour drive to Teotitlán del Valle from Mexico City, the world shows
    up on the doorsteps of the Zapotec weavers. Rugs from the village are
    sold all over Mexico as well as in the United States and other
    countries.

    Before the arrival of the Spanish and their sheep, the
    Zapotecos had been cultivating and weaving cotton for several thousand
    years. Like the Huicholes, the Zapotecos quickly learned to card, spin,
    dye, and weave wool. They have used traditional vegetable and mineral
    dyes for centuries, although aniline (artificial) dyes came into use
    about 30 years ago.

    Soul6zaprugs

    The secrets of the natural dyes are jealously guarded. They are
    extracted from a range of plant mineral and insect sources: indigo blue
    from the jiquilete plant, green from malachite copper,
    and the rich red hues of the red from the world famous cochineal beetle on the nopal
    cactus. Dyes are hand-ground and hand mixed. Many weavers have begun
    using artificial dyes due to the difficulty and expense of creating
    dyes with flowers, herbs, insects, and other natural materials.

     

    Buyer’s Note: Ask your rug dealer which dyes his weavers use.
    Discerning buyers or collectors insist on natural dyes. Be aware that
    if a dealer claims to use only natural dyes and the price of a rug you
    like seems too good to be true, his claim is probably not true.

    Soul5zaploom_2

    The Zapotec weavers of Teotitlán wove on traditional backstrap looms
    until the Dominican missionaries introduced harness looms in the 16th
    Century. Today, some Zapotec weavers like to create modern carpet
    designs based on the art of Diego Rivera, Pablo Picasso, or Max Escher.
    Others disagree. One weaver said, "Those are beautiful designs, but
    those designs are created by painters. I am a weaver, and my rugs are
    the traditional designs of my people."

    We’re privileged to have fine Zapotec rugs available in Guadalajara every day of the week. All of the rugs are made in
    Teotitlán del Valle, Oaxaca. These wool rugs, if properly cared for,
    will last a lifetime whether you use them on your floors or hang them
    on your walls.