Category: Art and Culture

It’s Back! It’s Back! The Toritos de Petate Parade in Morelia is With Us Again…

Morelia's 2009 Festival del Torito de Petate starred "El Michoacano" featuring as its theme Morelia's own Fuente Las Tarascas (the Tarascan fountain on Av. Madero). The huge creations were originally made of petate (the word for this woven palm mat, similar to a Japanese tatami, comes from the Náhuatl), but today they can be made of almost anything.

Here's a photo of me with a petate that I had made about a year ago. The petate can be used as a simple floor covering in a home, or as a sleeping mat, or in smaller sizes as a mat for kneeling on the ground or on a floor while one uses the metate for grinding. Its symbolism is profound–the petate is considered to be the place where dreams are born, where sleep and wakefulness meet, where life and death are connected.

Morelia's annual Festival del Torito de Petate (literally, festival of the little bull made of woven reeds) will once again have a presence here in the city. For the last two years of the pandemic, there has been no parade–but this year, it's happening again! These "little bulls" are hardly little, and are hardly made of woven reeds. Some measure as high as five meters (more than 15 feet) and weigh in at more than 110 kilos (nearly 250 pounds). Built today by group members from Morelia's working-class neighborhoods, the danza del torito de petate stems from dances that date back as far as 1586, just a bit more than 50 years after the Spanish arrival in the land that today is Mexico.

The towering Torito Azteca incorporates inventive components of pre-hispanic design. You can see the little bull's red eyes, white nostrils and red tongue near the bottom center of the photograph.

This intricate guacamaya (macaw) measures at least five meters tall. A strong young man carries the heavy torito on his shoulders and performs a several-minute-long dance. Cheering crowds and a tumultuous local band urge him and his costumed companions to ever faster spins.

Children absolutely love the Festival del Torito de Petate. The little boy on the left is wearing a horse costume held up by suspenders. He's whipping his steed in more and more frenzied circles. The taller boy in the center has a bull costume mounted on his shoulders; Mexico Cooks! could only capture a shot of the bull's tail as the boy whirled to the music.

Sixty neighborhoods participated in one of the last pre-pandemic editions of Morelia's Festival del Torito de Petate. Mexico Cooks! watched the line of elaborately colorful creatures as it formed alongside Plaza Valladolid; the giant toritos were accompanied by crowds of whoop-it-up well-wishers, cheerleaders, and frenetic dancers.

Mexico Cooks! asked this young man why his face was painted half orange, half black. "It matches our torito," he explained.

"I represent the devil, but you know it's not for real. It's just for the toritos dance."

Little ones perched high up on Dad's shoulders for a great view.

The parade of the toritos de petate and its fans and attendees is the best possible excuse for people-watching. Everyone is watching you, of course, and vice versa!

Every age celebrates when the toritos come out. The toy this woman is holding is also a torito de petate. Strolling vendors set up all over the parade route to hawk these little toritos to the crowd of thousands.

Let's all go next year! I'll let you know when the dates are announced.

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30 de April de 2022
Sugar Skulls, Sugar Angels, Sugar Cats, Sugar Fish, and More: Day of the Dead Traditions in Michoacán, Mexico

Sugar hens, each one ready to be placed on an ofrenda (altar) to a deceased relative or friend, or to give to a special person as a token of friendship on the Day and Night of the Dead in November.

There's always a new wrinkle in hand-made sugar mementos made for each November's Día de Muertos (Day of the Dead). All of these photos are regional specialty items made in and around Pátzcuaro, Michoacán. The sugar bottles (left to right) are Cazadores tequila, Bacardí rum, and Pedro Domecq brandy. The nearly life-size bottles are decorated with icing, down to the last detail of the labels.

She's stirring sugar, which is melting in the cazo (copper pot). The molds (in her hand and on the floor) are made of clay. Making sugar figures in Michoacán for Noche de Muertos is a seasonal project realized by the family of Santa Fe de la Laguna alfarero (clay artist) Nicolás Fabián. Photo courtesy Nicolás Fabián.

Today's sugar skulls, angels, and other sugar figures were, in bygone years, made of wood and clay. Because wood and clay were so expensive and difficult to work with, artisans searched for materials that not only cost less but were easier to handle. Sugar and some simple stabilizing ingredients proved to be ideal. The sugar mixture is pressed into clay molds and allowed to dry before being unmolded and decorated.

Sugar skulls mounted in a special Día de Muertos display.

A large sugar skull, two angels (approximately 6" tall), and a pink-spotted pig wait side by side on an artisan's shelf for this year's customers.

Once the sugar figures are formed and allowed to harden in molds, they are hand-decorated with stiff confectioner's icing. The artisan uses a small plastic bag to hold the icing, squeezing tiny lines of decor onto the figures from a hole cut in the corner of the bag.

These life-size fruits are made entirely of sugar.

Artisans report that the preparation and organization for sugar figure sales during the Día de Muertos festivities begins in January, nearly an entire year before the holiday. Due to the scarcity of molds for the sugar and the need to allow the sugar to dry to the necessary hardened consistency for decorating, making the figures is the work of many months.

These figures represent the Purépecha indigenous population of the Lake Pátzcuaro region. The woman wears her typical skirt, blouse, and rebozo (a type of shawl) and holds a plate of lake white fish, a regional culinary specialty in years gone by. The man beside her wears a large sombrero and some very fanciful clothing.

Sweets to the sweet: "For My Sweetheart".

Sugar fish!

Rest in peace. These are funeral wreaths, made of colorful sugar.

The most traditional sugar skulls have a friend or relative's name across the forehead. Some of these, just a bit over an inch high, have the name on a gold-colored tape above the eyes. When you're ready to make a purchase, if you don't see a skull with the name you want, ask the artisan to write it on the skull with sugar icing–no extra charge!

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6 de November de 2021
Healing the Body, Healing the Soul in Concepción de Buenos Aires, Jalisco

It occurred to me earlier this week to re-publish this Mexico Cooks! article, originally published in 2007, when I read an article in the New York Times about a beautifully restored house in Concepción de Buenos Aires. I loved being in the town, and I remembered my day there with much fondness as I read the newspaper article. I only wish I had known all those years ago about the lovely home.

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.

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.

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 grinned and nodded.

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 Álvarez 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.

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.

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."

Here's a link to the beautiful New York Times article. Architect's Home in Concepción de Buenos Aires Enjoy!

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

2 de October de 2021
Día y Noche de Muertos en Michoacán :: Day and Night of the Dead in Michoacán

Unfortunately, COVID-19, in addition to causing unprecedented worldwide death, has also separated us from publicly receiving the spirits of our departed loved one during the 2020 Day and Night of the Dead commemorations in most of Mexico. Cemeteries are closed, public spaces continue to be off-limits to the usual throngs of visitors to small town and large cities during this sacred time, and many usually highly tourisited areas in Michoacán, Oaxaca, and other areas of Mexico continue be closed to living visitors. The dead will come, expecting to be received, but our deceased friends and relatives will be welcomed in manners different from any other year in anyone's memory.

Because of inability to travel to the places I'd like to show you this year, Mexico Cooks! is simply reprinting this very popular Día y Noche de Muertos en Michoacán article from earlier times. Let's hope that in 2021 we will be able to once again enjoy the company of visitors from afar–including, first and foremost, our visitors from the más allá–the great beyond.

Remember me as you pass by,
As you are now, so once was I.
As I am now, so you will be,
Prepare for death and follow me.
…from a tombstone

What is death? We know its first symptoms: the heart stops pumping, breath and brain activity stop. We know death's look and feel: a still, cold body from which the spirit has fled. The orphan and widow know death's sorrow, the priest knows the liturgy of the departed and the prayers to assuage the pain of those left to mourn. But in most English-speaking countries, death and the living are not friends. We the living look away from our mortality, we talk of the terminally ill in terms of 'if anything happens', not 'when she dies'. We hang the crepe, we cover the mirrors, we say the beads, and some of us fling ourselves sobbing upon the carefully disguised casket as it is lowered into the Astroturf-lined grave.

Octavio Paz, Mexico City's Nobel Laureate poet and essayist who died in 1998, is famously quoted as saying, "In New York, Paris, and London, the word death is never mentioned, because it burns the lips."

Tzintzuntzan, Michoacán panteón (cemetery), Mexico Cooks! photo. These fellows sing to la Descarnada (the fleshless woman) on November 2, 2009.

In Mexico, on the contrary, every day is a dance with death. Death is a woman who has numerous affectionate and humorous nicknames: la Huesuda (the bony woman), la Seria (the serious woman), la Novia Fiel (the faithful bride), la Igualadora (the equalizer), la Dientona (the toothy woman), la Pelona (the bald woman), la Patrona (the boss lady), and a hundred more. She's always here, just around the next corner or maybe right over there, behind that pillar. She waits with patience, until later today or until twelve o'clock next Thursday, or until sometime next year–but when it's your time to go, she's right there, ready to dance away with you at her side.

November 2013 altar to La Santa Muerte (Holy Death), Sta. Ana Chapirito (near Pátzcuaro), Michoacán. Devotees of this deathly apparition say that her cult has existed since before the Spanish arrived in Mexico.

In Mexico, death is also in the midst of life. We see our dead, alive as you and me, each November, when we wait at our cemeteries for those who have gone before to come home, if only for a night. That, in a nutshell, is Noche de Muertos: the Night of the Dead.

In the lower center portion of this photograph, you can see the Quiroga, Michoacán, panteón municipal (town cemetery). Late in the afternoon of November 1, 2013, most townspeople had not yet gone to the cemetery with candles and flowers for their loved ones' graves. Click on any photograph for a larger view.

Over the course of the last nearly 40 years, Mexico Cooks! has been to countless Noche de Muertos events, but none as mystical, as spiritual, or as profoundly magical as that of 2013. Invited to accompany a very small group on a private tour in Michoacán, I looked forward to spending three days enjoying the company of old and new friends. I did all that, plus I came away with an extraordinarily privileged view of life and death.

A magnificent Purépecha ofrenda (in this case, an altar in the home of beloved friends) in the village of Santa Fe de la Laguna, Michoacán. This detailed and lovely ofrenda was created to the memory of the family's maiden aunt, who died at 74. Because she had never married, even at her advanced age she was considered to be an angelito (little angel)–like an innocent child–and her spirit was called back home to the family on November 1, the day of the angelitos. In Santa Fe de la Laguna, relatives, friends, and neighbors who arrive at the house to pay homage to a deceased person bring fresh fruit to place at the foot of the altar. This altar filled an entire room of my friends' home. Be sure to click on the photo to see the details of the altar. Fruits, breads, incense, salt, flowers, colors, and candles have particular symbolism and are necessary parts of the ofrenda.

Detail of the ofrenda casera (home altar) shown above. The altar included her favorite rebozo (shawl), placed just above her photograph. Several local people told Mexico Cooks! that the fruit piled on the altar tasted different from fruit from the same source that had not been used for the ofrenda. "Compramos por ejemplo plátanos y pusimos unos en el altar y otros en la cocina para comer. Ya para el día siguiente, los del altar pierden su sabor, no saben a nada," they said. 'We bought bananas, for example, and we put some on the ofrenda, and we put the rest in the kitchen to eat. The next day, the ones in the kitchen were perfectly normal, but the ones from the altar had no taste at all.'

Preparing a family member's ofrenda (altar) in the camposanto in a tiny village in Michoacán. The camposanto–literally, holy ground–is a cemetery contained within the walls of a churchyard. The candles used in this area of Michoacán are hand made in Ihuatzio and Santa Fe de la Laguna.

Come with me along the unlit road that skirts the Lago de Pátzcuaro: Lake Pátzcuaro. It's chilly, the puddles splash up as we drive, and the roadside weeds are damp with earlier rain, but for the moment the sky has cleared and filled with stars. Up the hill on the right and down the slope leading left toward the lake are tiny villages, dark but for the glow of tall candles lit one by one in the cemeteries. Tonight is November 1, the night silent souls wend their way home from Mictlán, the land beyond life.

At the grave: candlelight to illuminate the soul's way, cempazúchitl (deeply orange marigolds) for their distinctive fragrance required to open the path back home, smoldering copal (frankincense) to cleanse the earth and air of any remnants of evil, covered baskets of the deceased's favorite foods. And a low painted chair, where the living can rest through the night.

Watching through the night. This tumba (grave) refused to be photographed head-on. From an oblique angle, the tumba allowed its likeness to be made.

"Oh grave, where is thy victory? Oh death, where is thy sting?"

Noche de Muertos is not a costume party, although you may see it portrayed as such in the press. It is not a drunken brawl, although certain towns appear to welcome that sort of blast-of-banda-music reventón (big blow-out). It is not a tourist event, though strangers are certainly welcomed to these cemeteries. Noche de Muertos is a celebration of the spirit's life over the body's death, a festival of remembrance, a solemn passover. Years ago, in an interview published in the New York Times, Mexico Cooks! said, "Noche de Muertos is about mutual nostalgia. The living remember the dead, and the dead remember the taste of home."

One by one, grave by grave, golden cempazúchitles give shape to rock-bound tombs and long candles give light to what was a dark and lonely place, transforming the cemetery into a glowing garden. How could a soul resist this setting in its honor?

"Our hearts remember…" we promise the dead. Church bells toll slowly throughout the night, calling souls home with their distinctive clamor (death knell). Come…come home. Come…come home.

Waiting. Memories. Prayers. No te olvido, mi viejo amado. (I haven't forgotten you, my beloved old man.)

Next year, come with me.

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

31 de October de 2020
Your Flaneur in Mexico City: Markets, Food, and Curiosities–Part 1, Summer 2015

Due to the pandemia shutdown starting in March 2020, Mexico Cooks! has not been able to travel around in Mexico (or anywhere else) as usual this year. I'd like to give you a "taste" of Mexico City in the summer of 2015, when life was different and moving about the country was simple. My fond hope for all of us is that many of you will return to visit Mexico in 2021: lovely and delicious things await you here.

Midsummer always gives us an abundance of flor de calabaza (squash flowers) to be used in the kitchen. Prepared as sopa de guias (squash vine soup), quesadillas, or stuffed with cheese, these flowers are delicious and are readily available in many Mexican markets. Did you know that only the male flowers are harvested? The female flowers are left to develop squash.

You might like to try this Mexico Cooks! recipe in your own kitchen.

Flor de Calabaza Estilo Cristina
Squash Flowers, Cristina's Style

Ingredients

2 large bunches flor de calabaza, washed and patted dry
1 medium white onion
4 chiles poblano
1 chile serrano
2 large russet or other large white potatoes
Flour
Sea salt to taste
Vegetable oil, freshly rendered pork lard, or half vegetable oil, half bacon grease for frying.

Procedure

Peel and dice potatoes into 1/2" cubes. Boil until just fork-tender. Drain, allow to dry, and reserve.

Roast chiles according to your preferred method until the skin is blistered and they are well-blackened. Sweat for 10 minutes in a closed plastic bag. Remove skin. Slice each chile lengthwise to remove seeds. Dice peppers in 1/2” squares.

Rough-chop flor de calabaza into 1 1/2" pieces.

Dice onion into 1/2" squares.

Mince chile serrano.

In a large sauté pan, heat the vegetable oil until it shimmers. While the oil is heating, shake the reserved potatoes in flour and salt in a plastic bag.

Sauté onions and chile serrano in oil or oil/bacon grease mixture. Add the floured potatoes and sauté until crisp and pale golden, adding more fat if needed. Add the diced chiles poblano and continue to sauté for about 1 minute.

Add the flor de calabaza and sauté just until tender.

Add sea salt to taste.

Serves 2-3 as a side dish.

Late in the spring, we were invited to attend the opening of El Rebozo: Made in Mexico at Mexico City's extraordinary Museo Franz Mayer. The exhibition, which was originally mounted in London, featured both old and new rebozos (long rectangular shawls) as well as some other typical Mexican garments. One of the many rebozos in the exhibit was an exquisitely embroidered shawl from Oaxaca. This is a detail of that rebozo.

This photograph of Evita Perón, wife of Argentina's Juan Domingo Perón during his first term as president of that country, was part of an exhibit at Mexico City's Museum of Modern Art (MAM) during the spring and summer. The photograph formed part of an exhibition of the works of Giselle Freund, a self-taught photographer who worked in Argentina and Mexico in the 1940s and 1950s.

This tiny ironwood mortar and pestle (the mortar is only about 2" high) comes from the state of Sonora, in northern Mexico. It is made specifically for use at the table, for an individual diner to grind one or two chiles chiltepín, which are highly spicy and famously used to season certain dishes from the cuisine of that state. The grinder is passed from person to person at the table, along with a dish of whole chile chiltepín.

Chile chiltepín from Sonora. Each chile is tiny but extremely picante. Photo courtesy Hunter Angler Gardener Cook.

Beautiful ceremonial tortillas from the state of Guanajuato. The tortillas are made in the usual way and are then stamped prior to baking with a wooden stamp dipped in vegetable dye. Mexico Cooks! was privileged to see these twice this summer, first at an event at the Escuela de Gastronomía Mexicana in Mexico City and again at the Primer Encuentro Nacional de Cocineras Tradicionales (First National Meeting of Traditional Cooks) in Morelia, Michoacán.

This is the tamarillo or tomate del árbol (tree tomato), a native of the South American Andes. Each fruit is approximately 2.5" long. The flesh is fairly firm and deeply flavorful, both sweet and earthy. You never know what you'll see when you take a Mexico Cooks! tour–our group found these delicious fruits at a downtown Mexico City market.

Come back next week for more summertime wanderings with Mexico Cooks!. Our summer was far too interesting for just one article!

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10 de October de 2020
The World of Clowns in Morelia :: El Mundo de Payasos en Morelia
Mexico Cooks! is repeating this article (originally published in January 2010) because yesterday while I was coming home from shopping at a downtown food market, a terrific clown (his 'wig' was foot-tall green grass!) stepped off the curb at a stoplight and did some juggling in front of the windshield. With that, I was taken back to the Mexican world of clowns. World Clown Day, often celebrated in Morelia, is such a lot of fun! These Mexican clowns are just for play–there's nothing to scare you here! Enjoy this week's publication, not the least bit food related!

Morelia's well-known Mario Galván is Beto Botones (Bert Buttons). Don't be frightened–these Mexican clowns are completely harmless!

One sunny Saturday not too long ago, Mexico Cooks! hopped into the car and headed for downtown Morelia: it was the annual Día Mundial del Payaso (World Day of the Clown) and we wanted to see the local clown parade as it trouped west on Avenida Madero from Plaza Villalongín to the Cathedral.

Nearly 100 payasos (clowns) form Morelia's clown community. Entire families, in colorful wigs and ear-to-ear painted smiles, pass the joy of laughter and delight from one generation to the next. The patriarch among them is Beto Botones, personified by Mario Galván. His 23 years as a clown and magician make him one of the elder statesmen in the Morelia clown community. Now his sons, 11-year-old Oscar Eduardo (Bombonetto) and 14-year-old Mario Alberto (Beto Bettín) are also part of the group.

This beautifully made-up clown has also drawn his family into the act: his wife and his gorgeous baby daughter have joined the fun. His young wife said, "Most of the women who are clowns are here because of our husbands. They were clowns when we married them, so we got involved, too."

A relative newcomer to Morelia's clown community. Learning to be a true clown is a lifetime occupation. Some boys start clowning as early as age four or five.

There's more to becoming a clown than simply putting on makeup and a red nose. For the professional clown, the work of laughter is serious business. Most attend clown conventions and workshops, where they learn new routines and participate in competitions. It's not cheap to be a clown: the right costume and makeup can cost more than 7000 pesos (approximately $600 USD at the time this article was first published, in 2010). Many clowns have a profession in addition to clowning: Eduaro Espinaza (Tornillito), one of Morelia's most sought-after clowns, is also an auto mechanic. Beto Botones said, "In other big cities, a clown can charge 1000 pesos or more for working a party. Here in Morelia, most charge 600 to 650."

A young malabarista (juggler) shows off his skill.

In the worldwide clown community, there are a number of types of clowns. Mexico's professional clowns adhere to the same fascinating guidelines.
- CLOWN: he's also known as Carablanca (Whiteface), Pierrot, Enharinado (Flourface) and Listo (Clever). Normally he's made up in whiteface and wears an elegant, shiny costume. When there's a clown confrontation among the various types, he always wins–always! He represents law and order and the adult world.
- AUGUSTO: He's also known as Tonto (the Fool). He's more naive than all the rest and he's always on the receiving end of any joke.
Purple wig, green eye shadow, glittery nose, and orange suit–brilliant!
- SEGUNDO AUGUSTO: He's also known as "Contraugusto" or "Trombo". He's the third figure in a trio of clowns and is often also a musician.
- EXCENTRICO: This clown has evolved from the role of 'Augusto'. He is normally mute and sometimes uses musical instruments or other objects like juggling pins or balls.
Buck teeth, spiky hair, and starry glasses!
- VAGABUNDO (or TRAMP): His character is sad, oppressed, and abandoned.
- PAYASO DE SOIRÉE: This clown is normally an 'augusto'. He acts out his specialty in the entrance to events.
- MIMO-CLOWN: This guy is a variation on the first clown category. He's usually mute, but he has a lot of tricks up his sleeve. He can juggle, he's sometimes an acrobat, and he can often play a musical instrument or two.
Another juggler, in full regalia.
- MESIÉ LOYAL: He's the ringmaster and the director of the show–the ultimate authority.
- CLOWN DE PERSONAJE: We can identify this clown by his character or profession. He might be a fireman, a sailor, a doctor, or a cowboy. Or, he might take on the role of a policeman, a child, or someone from a familiar story.
This clown's face makeup is superb. Mexico Cooks! particularly loved his eyelashes and golden tears.

In addition to this time-honored hierarchy of clowns, Mexico is home to many informal and little-trained stoplight clowns who work our cities' street corners. You saw some of them in the January 16, 2009, Mexico Cooks! article Lo Que Se Ve En El Crucero. Beto Botones said, "These street clowns wear jeans, they don't follow the norms of real clowns, they think it's too costly to train and work professionally. But it's important to follow clown traditions. It's not right that they don't know our history, our theories, and that they don't want to act like professionals."

The wig! The tongue! The gloves, the shirt, the vest! Who could resist him?

The trained clown always has a red nose, a bright plastic sign that this is a real clown. His wig can be any color he wants, as long as it goes with his personality. Today, his makeup is usually airbrushed onto his face in the style that suits him best. Usually he wears gloves; the "Augusto" generally uses a dandy's white gloves.

These payasitos–baby clowns–are totally adorable. The little guy on the right sports a wonderful hat.

The shoes: a clown, especially an "Augusto", is notable for his gigantic, bulbous, and colorful footwear that serves to call attention to his character. A clown's suit is almost always copious, with big hidden pockets filled with balls, juggling pins, hats, and handkerchiefs: the stuff of magic, jokes, and laughter.

At last, the desfile de payasos (clown parade) turned the corner onto Avenida Madero! Even with the difficult economic situation in today's Mexico, Morelia's payasos haven't lost their sense of humor, their smiles, or their optimism.

Morelia's professional payasos are available to work all kinds parties and other special events. Nothing enlivens a child's birthday party like a clown; nothing but a clown takes a suddenly too-serious event to another level of fun. How wonderful to know that Mexico's traditional clowns live on for future generations' laughter.

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26 de September de 2020
Independence Day in Mexico :: History, Parades, and an All-Night Party

Street vendors hawk la bandera nacional (the Mexican flag) in dozens of forms for several weeks during August and right up to September 16, Mexico's Independence Day. It's always fun to see what's the latest item for sale in patriotic tchotchkes. In this photo, you see a vendor near the zócalo (Plaza de la Constitución) in Mexico City. Photo courtesy Starmedia.

Although the entire month of September is dedicated to Mexican independence from Spain, Mexico's official struggle for freedom from Spanish colonization began sometime between midnight and dawn on September 16, 1810, when Father Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla gave the Grito de Dolores (Cry of Dolores) from the parish bell tower in the town known today as Dolores Hidalgo, Guanajuato. Mexico celebrates its day of Fiestas Patrias (Patriotic Holidays) on September 16 with parades of school children and military battalions, politicians proclaiming speeches, and general festivity.

Another flag vendor, this time in Morelia, Michoacán. This man was already out selling flags and other Independence-related items just before the end of August 2019. All photos copyright Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

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

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

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

The bandera monumental (gigantic national flag) and celebratory fireworks in front of Mexico's Palacio Nacional, on the zócalo, Mexico City, September 15, 2015. Photo courtesy press.

Dressed in his finest and backed up by a military or police guard, the mayor clears his throat and loudly begins an Independence Day proclamation. He pulls a heavy rope to ring the Independence bell, then he waves a huge Mexican flag. Back and forth, back and forth! In every Mexican town, the proclamation ends with Hidalgo's 209-year-old exhortations: "Long live religion! Long live Our Lady of Guadalupe! Long live the Americas and death to the corrupt government! Long live the heroes of our Independence! Viva México! Qué viva!"

Father Hidalgo's 1810 banner, with an image of Our Lady of Guadalupe and the words, "Viva la Santísma de Guadalupe!". He carried this banner as his standard as a leader in the fight for Mexico's independence from Spain. Photo courtesy Pinterest.

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

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

The best-kept secret in Mexico is the Independence Day party. No, the biggest deal is not on September 16th. Held every year on the night of September 15, the Gran Noche Mexicana (the Great Mexican Night), the real celebration of the revolutionary events in 1810, is a combination of New Year's Eve, your birthday, and your country's independence festivities.

Wouldn't you really rather hear about the party? I knew you would!

A number of years ago my friend, música ranchera singer Lupita Jiménez from Guadalajara, invited me to a Gran Noche Mexicana where she was performing. The event was scheduled to start at 9:30, but Mexican custom normally dictates late arrival. By ten o'clock I was on my way to the party. At the salón de eventos (events hall), the parking lot was already full, but a man was parking cars on the street just a block away. As I left my car, he said, "Could you pay me now for watching your car? It's 20 pesos. I'll be leaving a little early, probably before the event is over."

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

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

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

The sad truth is that I didn't. I couldn't. My stamina flagged at about 3:00 AM, after dinner had been served at 10:30, a city politician had proclaimed the Grito, the Himno Nacional (national anthem) had been sung, and big noisy fireworks had been set off on the indoor stage (I swear to you, indoors) of the salón de eventos. Then the show started, a brief recapitulation in song and dance of Mexican history, starting with concheros (loincloth-and-feather-clad Aztec dancers) whirling around a fire-belching volcano, and ending with the glorious jarabe tapatía, the regional dance of Guadalajara that most English-speakers call the Mexican hat dance.

Danzante conchero (concha dancer). The dancers are called concheros because the lead dancer blows a conch (a large mollusk shell) to call spirits to the dance. Photo courtesy Dreamstime.com.

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

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

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

The Palacio Nacional (national office building complex, including the president's offices) on the Zócalo (Plaza de la Constitución) in Mexico City, all dressed up for the Fiestas Patrias.

Viva México! Qué viva!

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12 de September de 2020
The Sanctuary of Jesus the Nazarene :: El Santuario de Jesús el Nazareno in Atotonilco, Guanajuato

The facade of the mid-18th Century Jesuit church in Atotonilco is simple. The interior of the church is astonishing. Built between 1740 and 1776, the Santuario is still visited and revered by religious pilgrims.

Several years ago, while Mexico Cooks! visited San Miguel de Allende, we took advantage of some free time to go to Atotonilco to visit the Santuario de Jesús el Nazareno (Sanctuary of Jesus the Nazarene), one of the best-kept secrets of central Mexico. In 1996, the church was added to the World Monuments Fund, and in July of 2008, UNESCO named the Santuario to its list of World Heritage sites.

The main altar in the Calvary Chapel, the largest in the church. Sculptural figures important to Christ's Passion give visual impact to the meditations of the faithful. A reliquary rests on the red cloth.

The Santuario is a mixture of European Baroque and New World Mexican decoration. It consists of a large church, and several smaller chapels, all decorated with oil paintings by Rodríguez Juárez and mural paintings by Miguel Antonio Martínez de Pocasangre. Inspired by the doctrine of San Ignacio de Loyola, the founder of the Companía de Jesús (the Company of Jesus, otherwise known as the Jesuits), the glowing paintings and murals in the church served in the evangelization of Nueva España, where the indigenous spoke their own languages but could neither read nor write, and where the Spanish conquistadores knew little if any of the languages they heard in the new land.

St. John the Baptist pours baptismal waters over Jesus as a dove, symbol of the Holy Spirt, hovers above them. In the 18th Century, the Santuario also served as a retreat house for the Jesuits. Pilgrims still make week-long retreats at this church, praying in a chapel reserved just for their needs.

Judas Iscariot betrays Jesus with a kiss. Note the demon monkey on Judas's back. Every inch of the Santuario walls is covered with paintings of the many details, Biblical and apocryphal, of Jesus's life. Nearly all (or perhaps all–stories vary) of the murals were painted by Miguel Antonio Martínez de Pocasangre, a native of the area. He worked for thirty years painting the murals.

St. Cristopher carries the infant Jesus on his shoulder. Captain Ignacio Allende, for whom San Miguel de Allende is named, married María de la Luz Agustina y Fuentes in this church. It was here, on September 16, 1810, that Father Miguel Hidalgo took up the standard of Our Lady of Guadalupe and bore it into battle at the beginning of the Mexican War of Independence from Spain.

This side chapel, one of several at Atotonilco, is dedicated to Nuestra Señora del Rosario (Our Lady of the Rosary). The mirrors that surround the figure of Our Lady are painted with oils, probably by Rodríguez Juárez.

Detail of the chapel window.

Detail of the Marian litany in the Lady Chapel.

The Santuario has been in the process of restoration since 1997. Scaffolding still fills the church but detracts very little from the amazing paintings.

Off the beaten tourist track, the Santuario de Jesús el Nazareno will fill your eyes and heart with wonder. Let's plan a visit to see it together.

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29 de August de 2020
Volcanos and Politics: Dr. Atl, A Painter’s Eye, A Painter’s Passions

This article originally published in 2014. It's particularly pertinent right now because there is currently an enormous amount of seismic activity occurring in the same area where Paricutín, the world's youngest volcano, began to erupt in 1943–after a month of precisely this sort of constant seismic activity! Paricutín is located approximately 2 hours west of Morelia, Michoacán, the city where Mexico Cooks! lives. During the month of January 2020, seismologists recorded 1,265 small earthquakes in and around the area of Paricutín.

The painter's eye. Detail of Dr. Atl (Gerardo Murillo) 1962 self-portrait, oil on cardboard. Private collection.

Gerardo Murillo was born in 1875 in the San Juan de Dios neighborhood of Guadalajara, at the height of the Francophile rule of Mexican president/dictator Porfirio Díaz. He began studying painting at the age of 19. After studying in Italy in 1921, Gerardo Murillo became been better known as 'Dr. Atl' (atl is the Náhuatl word for water), as he was re-christened by Leopoldo Lugones, an Argentine writer and leftist political colleague. After his death in 1964, his ashes were interred in Guadalajara in what is known today as the Rotonda de Jaliscienses Ilustres (the Rotunda of Illustrious People of Jalisco). During his life, Dr. Atl was profoundly eccentric, his entire being immersed in his passions for painting, for politics, and particularly for volcanos.

Gerardo Murillo, self portrait 1899. All photos by Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

The Museo Colección Blaisten, part of Mexico City's Centro Cultural Universitario Tlatelolco (part of the UNAM, the huge multi-campus National Autonomous University of Mexico), mounted a December 2011 through April 2012 exhibition if 190 of Dr. Atl's masterworks. Dr. Atl, one of Mexico's most prominent 20th century painters, is actually very little known in the United States. Mexico Cooks! thought you might like once again to see a part of this exhibit.

Volcán Iztaccíhuatl (the Sleeping Woman volcano), 1916. Colleción Museo Regional de Guadalajara-INAH. Labels of this and many other paintings in the exhibit indicate that they were painted using Atl color (a type of paint created by the artist). Atl color is similar to Greek encaustic paint. It contains resins, wax, and dry pigment which are melted, mixed, and hardened to form a medium similar to oil pastel. Dr. Atl used his eponymous colors on paper, cardboard, rough fabric such as jute, wood, and other bases.

Although Dr. Atl is best-known as the passionate painter of volcanos, he also painted portraits. Nahui Ollín, pictured above in 1922, had a five-year romantic relationship with Dr. Atl. During the early part of her life, Nahui Ollín's name was Carmen Mondragón. Dr. Atl gave her the Náhuatl name to honor the date in the Aztec calendar that commemorates the renovation of the cosmic cycles. Private collection.

The Valley of Mexico from the South, 1931, oil on fabric. Private collection.

Dr. Atl's scholarly observation and study of Mexican geography (he was not only a painter, but also a volcanologist and writer) combined perfectly with his travels in Europe to give him the tools necessary to become one of the outstanding landscape painters of the 20th century. In 1897, then-Presidente Porfirio Díaz gave young Gerardo Murillo a scholarship to study in Europe. Murillo studied not only Italian frescoes but also philosophy and penal law. He involved himself ever more deeply with leftist, anarchist politics, a consequence of his studies that President Díaz probably did not anticipate.

Dr. Atl was also an exceptional painter of clouds. This painting is Nubes sobre el Valle de México (Clouds over the Valley of Mexico), 1933, Atl color on asbestos. Collection Museo Nacional de Arte INBA.

Detail mid-right side, Nubes sobre el Valle de México. Note the variety of brushstrokes used to create texture in the painting. Click on any photograph to enlarge the detail.

Dr. Atl began studying volcanoes during a trip to Italy in 1911. Beginning in 1925, he spent long periods of time at Mexican volcanoes such as Popocatépetl, Iztaccíhuatl, and the Pico de Orizaba. A tireless traveler, Dr. Atl climbed Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhuatl. Later those volcanoes became an important theme in his body of work.

In 1943, he visited the site of Mexico's newborn volcano Paricutín in the state of Michoacán. He said, “…El espectáculo del cono ardiente vertiendo aludes de materia ígnea, bajo un cielo de guijarros incandescentes, en sí mismo tan fuera de lo común que toda invención sale sobrando…” 'The spectacle of the burning cone spewing avalanches of lava under a sky of incandescent ash was by itself so far out of the ordinary that every other invention became like something left over…'

Volcán en la Noche Estrellada (Volcano on a Starry Night), 1950 (Paricutín). Atl color on plywood. Collection UNAM. Dr. Atl was the first artist to paint what he called 'aeropaisajes' (landscapes from the air); he took to the skies in small airplanes, flying over various volcano sites to immortalize them from above.

Life imitates art. April 16, 2012 photo of volcano Popocatépetl spewing flame, ash, and smoke. Popocatépetl straddles the state line between the Mexican states of Puebla and Morelos, approximately 40 miles south of Mexico City. Photo courtesy Todo Oaxaca.

Dr. Atl, astonished and awed to see a volcano born in his lifetime, lived for approximately a year near still-erupting Paricutín. He observed, painted, and wrote for more than seven years about this majestic and completely unexpected young volcano. The volcano continued to erupt for nine full years.

Cráter y La Vía Láctea (Crater and the Milky Way), 1960. Oil and Atl color on masonite. Private collection, courtesy of Galería Arvil.

Detail, Cráter y La Vía Láctea.

For his entire life, Dr. Atl involved himself in left-wing political movements. In 1914, he allegedly was part of the plot to assassinate then-President Victoriano Huerta, because of which he was imprisoned briefly. After his release, he lived in Los Angeles, California until 1920. When he returned to Mexico, revolutionary leader and President Venustiano Carranza named him director of the Escuela de Bellas Artes (School of Fine Arts) and then Jefe de Propaganda e Información en Europa y América del Sur (Head of Promotion and Information in Europe and South America), a position he held for only a short time.

In 1956 Mexico awarded him the Medalla Belisario Domínguez and, in 1958, the Premio Nacional de las Artes.

Gerardo Murillo Pintando en el Valle de Pihuamo (Gerardo Murillo painting in the Valley of Pihuamo), 1952. Photo by Ricardo Salazar. Dr. Atl's right leg was amputated in 1949. Popular legend has it that the amputation was due to the inhalation of gases at Paricutín, but it was actually necessary because of complications of diabetes.

Mexico gave poet Carlos Pellicer the task of writing Dr. Atl's biography. Dr. Atl wrote to him, "Now it looks like a biography will really get off the ground! A couple, nearly human, came from Los Angeles as if they had fallen from heaven, to write a biography of me. Then I remembered that you were writing one. To make a long story short, I make the following proposal: you finish the biography that you already started. I enclose a slip of paper with some suggestions for organizing it in the most convenient way…I send you the most cordial handshake…" Some of the biographical material was printed in Carlos Pellicer en el Espacio de la Plástica, Volume 1, by Elisa Garcìa Barragán and Carlos Pellicer, UNAM 1997.

Dr. Atl died in Mexico City on August 15, 1964. His ashes are buried in the Rotonda de Jalisciences Ilustres in Guadalajara, where this statue is part of the site. Photo courtesy Rodrigo_gh, Flickr.

The five-month exhibition was an opportunity to see, through the eyes of this genius painter, the Valley of Mexico before Mexico City's explosion of population with its lava-like rivers of concrete swallowed nature whole. We had the chance to see the Valley and its volcanos when they ran with rivers, when the mountains burgeoned with trees and flowers.

Today, even though the exhibition has closed, we can see Dr. Atl's vision of the Valley of Mexico every time we visit the Palacio de Bellas Artes in Mexico City's Historic Center. His design, executed by the house of Louis Comfort Tiffany, is immortalized in the theater's million-piece stained glass curtain.

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8 de February de 2020
The Baby Jesus on Candlemas Day :: El Niño Dios en el Día de la Candelaria

Niños Dios: one Christ Child, many colors: ideal for Mexico's range of skin tones. Mercado Medellín, Colonia Roma, Mexico City, December 2013.

For about a month prior to Christmas each year, the Niño Dios (baby Jesus) is for sale everywhere in Mexico. Mexico Cooks! took this photograph in 2013 at the annual tianguis navideño (Christmas market) in front of the Mercado Medellín, Colonia Roma, Mexico City. These Niños Dios range in size from just a few inches long to nearly the size of a two-year-old child. They're sold wrapped in only a diaper–and a molded-to-the-body diaper, no less.

When does the Christmas season end in your family? When I was a child, my parents packed the Christmas decorations away on January 1, New Year's Day. Today, I like to enjoy the nacimiento (manger scene), the Christmas lights, and the tree until the seventh or eighth of January, right after the Día de los Reyes Magos (the Feast of the Three Kings). Some think that date is scandalously late. Other people, particularly our many Mexican friends, think that date is scandalously early. Christmas in Mexico isn't over until February 2, el Día de la Candelaria (Candlemas Day), also known as the Feast of the Presentation.

The Holy Family, a shepherd and some of his goats, Our Lady of Guadalupe, an angel, a little French santon cat from Provence, and some indigenous people form a small portion of the 250 plus-piece Mexico Cooks! nacimiento. Click on the photo to get a better look. Note that the Virgin Mary is breast feeding the infant Jesus while St. Joseph looks on.

Although Mexico's 21st century Christmas celebration often includes Santa Claus and a Christmas tree, the main focus of a home-style Christmas continues to be the nacimiento and the Christian Christmas story. A family's nacimiento may well contain hundreds–even thousands–of figures, but all nacimientos have as their heart and soul the Holy Family (the Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, and the baby Jesus). This centerpiece of the nacimiento is known as el Misterio (the Mystery). The nacimiento is set up early–in 2013, ours was out at the very beginning of December–but the Niño Dios does not make his appearance until the night of December 24, when he is sung to and placed in the manger.

Niños Dios at Mexico City's Mercado de la Merced. The figures are dressed as hundreds of different saints and representations of holy people and ideas. The figures are for sale, but most people are only shopping for new clothes for their baby Jesus. All photos copyright Mexico Cooks! except as noted.

Between December 24, when he is tenderly rocked to sleep and laid in the manger, and February 2, the Niño Dios rests happily in the bosom of his Holy Family. As living members of his family, we are charged with his care. As February approaches, a certain excitement begins to bubble to the surface. The Niño Dios needs new clothing! How shall we dress him this year?

The oldest tradition is to dress the Niño Dios in hand-crocheted garments. Photo courtesy Manos Mexicanos.

According to Christian teaching (and Jewish tradition), the Virgin Mary and St. Joseph took the baby Jesus to the synagogue 40 days after his birth to introduce him in the temple–hence February 2 is also known as the Feast of the Presentation. What happy, proud mother would wrap her newborn in just any old thing to take him to church for the first time? I suspect that this brand new holy child was dressed as much to the nines as his parents could afford.

The Niño Dios dressed as San Juan Diego, the indigenous man who brought Our Lady of Guadalupe to the Roman Catholic Church.

Every February 2, churches are packed with men, women, and families carrying their Niños Dios to church in his new clothes, ready to be blessed, lulled to sleep with a sweet lullaby, and tucked gently away till next year.

The Niño Dios as el Santo Niño Doctor de los Enfermos (the holy child doctor of the sick). He has his stethoscope, his uniform, and his doctor's bag. This traditionally dressed baby Jesus has origins in mid-20th century in the city of Puebla.

Every year new and different clothing for the Niño Dios comes to market. In recent years, the latest fashions were those of the Archangels–in this case, the Archangel Gabriel.

The Niño Dios dressed as Peruvian San Martín de Porres, the patron saint of racially mixed people and all those seeking interracial harmony.

Niño Dios de la Eucaristía (Holy Child of the Eucharist).

Niño Dios dressed as San Benito, the founder of the Benedictine Order.

Niño Dios dressed as a Chinelo (costumed dancer from the state of Morelos).

Niño Dios de la Abundancia (Holy Child of Abundance).

The ceremony of removing the baby Jesus from the nacimiento is called the levantamiento (lifting up). In a family ceremony, the baby is raised from his manger, gently dusted off, and dressed in his new finery. Some families sing:

QUIERES QUE TE QUITE MI BIEN DE LAS PAJAS, (Do you want me to brush off all the straw, my beloved)
QUIERES QUE TE ADOREN TODOS LOS PASTORES, (Do you want all the shepherds to adore you?)
QUIERES QUE TE COJA EN MIS BRAZOS Y CANTE (Do you want me to hold you in my arms and sing)
GLORIA A DIOS EN LAS ALTURAS. (Glory to God on high).

One of the most popular 'looks' for the Niño Dios in Mexico City is that of San Judas Tadeo, the patron saint of impossible causes. He is always dressed in green, white, and gold and has a flame coming from his head.

Carefully, carefully carry the Niño Dios to the parish church, where the priest will bless him and his new clothing, along with you and your family. After Mass, take the baby Jesus home and put him safely to rest till next year's Christmas season. Sweet dreams of his next outfit will fill your own head as you sleep that night.

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1 de February de 2020