Category: Art and Culture

Pulque: Pre-Hispanic Drink, Gift of the Gods from the Maguey Cactus

The agave atrovirens cactus. This enormous blue-gray plant, native to the ancient land which became Mexico, continues to provide us with pulque (POOL-keh), a naturally fermented alcoholic beverage. The maguey, with pencas (thick, succulent leaves) which can grow to a height of seven to eight feet, matures in ten to twelve years. At maturity, the plant can begin to produce liquor.

Pulque, native to Mexico, is suddenly all the rage in countries far from its origin. Folks who have never seen a maguey cactus 'on the hoof' argue the relative merits of natural versus flavored pulques, canned versus straight from the barrel, and so forth. Mayahuel, the goddess of the maguey, is laughing up her sleeve at this current rash of pulque aficionados: pulque has been well-loved in what is now Mexico for longer than humankind can remember.

Legend has it that a thousand years ago and more, Sr. Tlacuache (Mr. Opossum) scraped his sharp claws through the heart of the maguey and slurped down the world's first taste of pulque–and then another, and another, until he had a snoot full. His meandering drunken ramble allegedly traced the path of Mexico's rivers.

A drawing from the Codice Borbónico (1530s Spanish calendar and outline of life in the New World) shows Mayahuel, goddess of the maguey, with a mature cactus and a pot of fermented pulque. The first liquid that pours into the heart of the maguey is called aguamiel (literally, honey water); legend says that aguamiel is Mayahuel's blood.

Aguamiel actually comes from the pencas (leaves) of the cactus. In order to start the flow of liquid into the heart of the plant, the yema (yolk) of the plant is removed from the heart and the heart's walls, connected to the leaves, are scraped until only a cavity remains. Within a few days, the aguamiel begins to flow into the cavity in the heart of the plant. The flow of aguamiel can last anywhere from three to six months. Today, the men who work the maguey to produce pulque are still called tlaquicheros. The word is derived from the same Nahuatl origin as the name for the original tlaquichero: Sr. Tlacuache, Mr. Opossum.

An early tlaquichero removes aguamiel from the heart of the maguey by sucking it out with a long gourd. Today, workers use a steel scoop to remove up to six liters of aguamiel per day from a single plant. Aguamiel is not an alcoholic beverage. Rather, it is a soft drink, sweet, transparent, and refreshing. Once it ferments, however, it becomes the alcoholic drink pulque, also known as octli.

The fermentation of pulque can start in the plant itself. Aguamiel, left in the plant's heart to 'ripen' for a few days, begins to ferment. For the commercial production which began in the 19th century, tlaquicheros remove aguamiel from the maguey and transfer it to huge steel tanks, where it ferments.

The heart of the maguey, full of aguamiel. The tool balanced in the liquid is the same type gourd that is pictured in the early drawing seen above. Between extractions of aguamiel, the leaves of the maguey are folded over the cavity where the liquid collects to prevent insects and plant debris from falling into the heart.

Mexican photographic postcard dating to the 1940s or 1950s. The women and children pose in front of huge maguey plants.

By the end of the 19th century, pulque was enormously popular among Mexico's very rich and very poor. Weary travelers in the early 20th century could find stands selling pulque–just for a pickmeup–alongside rural byways. Travelers riding Mexico's railroads bought pulque at booths along the tracks. Pulquerías (bars specializing in pulque) were in every town, however small or large. In Puebla and Mexico City, legendary pulquerías abounded.

Italian expatriate Tina Modotti, a member of the Diego Rivera/Frida Kahlo artists' circle, photographed Mexico City's pulquería La Palanca in 1926.

This common image hung in pulquerías all over Mexico. Clients could order the amount of pulque they wanted according to the drawings–and be reminded of what they had ordered when the pulque had laid them low. Image courtesy of La Voz de Michoacán.

In the foreground are the actual pitchers and glasses used in Mexico's pulquerías. Compare them with the vessels in the drawing. Image courtesy of Museo del Arte Popular (DF).

Pulque lovers spent long evenings in their favorite pulquerías in an alcoholic haze of music, dancing, laughter and delight. Far less expensive than other hard liquors, pulque carries with it the romance of ancient legend, the tradition of a nation, and the approbation of the gods.

Edward Weston, American photographer, immortalized Mexico City's pulquería El Charrito, also in 1926.

Natural pulque is a pale white, semi-viscous, liquid with a slick, thick feel in the mouth; many people are put off by that feel, as well as by its slightly sour taste. Even for those who dislike natural pulque, another kind of pulque–called curado (in this instance, flavored)–is delicious. Natural pulque, combined with blended fresh fruit, vegetables, or ground nuts, becomes a completely different drink. Bananas, guavas, strawberries, and the tuna (fruit of the nopal cactus) are particular favorites.

Feria de Pulque (Pulque Fair) in the State of Mexico. Each of the jars holds pulque curado, each flavored with a different fresh fruit, vegetable, or type of nut.

Mexico Cooks! first tasted pulque about 30 years ago, in Huixquilucan, in the State of Mexico. Huixquilucan, known to its inhabitants as Huixqui (pronounced whiskey), used to be a small town, and Mexican friends took me to its small-town fair where home-made pulque was for sale in what seemed like every booth offering food and drink. "Try it, you'll like it a lot!" my friends giggled. "Just a little taste! C'mon!" I was nervous: I'd heard about pulque and its slippery slimy-ness and its inebriating qualities. Finally we stood in front of a booth offering pulque curado con fresas: pulque flavored with fresh strawberries. "Okay, okay, I can try this." And I liked it! The first small cupful was a delicious, refreshing, slightly bubbly surprise. The second small cupful went down even more easily than the first. And then–well, let it be said that I had to sit down on the sidewalk for a bit. I truly understood about pulque.

Try it, you'll like it a lot…c'mon, just a little taste!

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14 de July de 2012
Crafts, Food and Mayan Culture in Zinacantán, Chiapas: Part One

Part One of a three-part series of articles about Mexico Cooks!' explorations in the indigenous village of Zinacantán, Chiapas. All three articles were originally published in March, 2008. Enjoy!

The highlands of Chiapas, the southernmost state in Mexico, are unlike any region of the 27 other Mexican states I know. The indigenous culture of the highlands is still fiercely Mayan, albeit with a veneer of Catholicism. The Chiapanecan Maya are for the most part unwelcoming to outsiders, holding their customs and celebrations close to their chests as jealously guarded secrets. Some regions forbid entry to both mestizos and foreigners, some forbid the taking of photographs, and some have essentially seceded from Mexico, allowing no access to services commonly accepted as essential everywhere else in the country.

There are a few small indigenous towns where outside visitors are at least superficially welcome, including the pueblo called San Lorenzo Zinacantán, located in a valley at 8500 feet above sea level, just six miles from the small but cosmopolitan city of San Cristóbal de las Casas. In Zinacantán, where the women dress like flocks of exotically beautiful bluebirds, a prominent sign on the church door reads, "Se prohibe matar pollos durante sus rezos," ('Killing chickens during your prayers is forbidden'), and the vernacular is Tzotzil, derived from Mayan. The name Zinacantán means "place of the bats". Mexico Cooks! missed seeing bats, but we lucked upon certain mystically Mayan Zinacantán ceremonies that left us wide-eyed and pensive.

Zinacantecas Juana Hernández de la Cruz, Josefa Victoria González, Juana Adriana Hernández Hernández, and Yolanda Julieta González Hernández laughed with delight when they saw their photographs.

Village residents wear ropa típica (native dress) made by their own hands. Women use hand-woven long black wool skirts, hand-embroidered red or blue blouses embroidered in teal blue, deeper blue, and green thread, and stunning tassel-embellished shawls. It's possible to identify the families that men, boys, and young girls are from based on the style of weaving and embroidery in the garments their wives, mothers and aunts make for them.

For their weddings, Zinacantán women wear the k'uk'umal chilil, an elaborately woven huipil (long blouse). White feathers are woven among the colored borders of these wedding dresses, which are nearly long enough to reach the ground. Under the huipil, the bride wears a finely hand woven and embroidered navy blue woolen skirt. The bride's white dress takes approximately five months to weave on a back strap loom. The people of Zinacantán say that the hen is a domestic animal that has feathers but cannot fly, walks on two legs just like people, is dependent on them for its nourishment, and is always near the house even when it runs loose. So the feathers that women weave into the bridal garment represent the attitude of the hen, which the bride is expected to adopt: she will not leave the household, even though she is capable of doing so, and she will shape a relationship of interdependence with her husband. Hence the feathers are a symbol of good marriage, as are the three borders of multicolored embroidery. In addition to the long blouse and the navy blue skirt, the bride wears a long white embroidered shawl which covers most of her head and face during the marriage ceremony.

Zinacantán men wear short pants and a knee-length cotón (a sleeveless garment made of one piece of hand-woven fabric sewn up the sides to the armpits, with a cut-out for inserting the head). The cotón is fastened with a wide red cotton belt wrapped several times around the waist and knotted. Over that, a man wears a hand-woven and embroidered pink fabric vest with long, elaborate tassels. A large scarf wraps around the man's head, either with or without multi-colored ribbons trailing down his back, and over the scarf the men wear a handmade hat woven of palm fronds, long colorful ribbons cascading from the peak of the sombrero.

Because many people in Zinacantán are reluctant to have their pictures taken, I took the photo of traditional wedding clothing in a women's cooperative crafts store with the permission of the women in the second photograph, who staffed the store the day Mexico Cooks! visited.

Sra. Pascuala Pérez Pérez weaves using a back strap loom.

The loom with a portion of Doña Pascuala's weaving lies neatly where she left it momentarily to tend the cooperative store.

Crafts work such as weaving traditional brides' huipiles, rugs, tablecloths, blouses, shawls, and straw hats has become the major source of income for many zinacantecos (residents of Zinacantán). Doña Pascuala told me, "We start as children, learning to separate the colored threads and put the same colors together. Many learn how to embroider, but the bad thing is that no one helps us export our crafts to anywhere outside the area."

Next week, read Part Two as Mexico Cooks! continues its visit to San Lorenzo Zinacantán, Chiapas.

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Mexico Cooks! is traveling. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programming in mid-July.

23 de June de 2012
Dr. Atl in Mexico: A Painter’s Eye, A Painter’s Passion

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

Gerardo Murillo was born in 1895 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. Since studying in Italy in 1921, Gerardo Murillo has 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.

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 Olín, pictured above in 1922, had a five-year romantic relationship with Dr. Atl. During the early part of her life, Nahui Olín'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 brushstroke 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 1942, 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 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 about this majestic and completely unexpected young volcano for more than seven 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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19 de May de 2012
Camera in Hand in Mexico City: Con la Cámara en la Mano en el DF

Where is the online game starring these birds NOT the latest craze? A couple of weeks ago, Mexico Cooks! took a small group tour to Mexico City's enormous Mercado de la Merced and was not the least surprised to find Angry Birds^®piñatas in every party goods stand. Red, yellow, blue, black and white birds were all there–but there was not a single green pig in sight.

The great violinist don Pepe Martínez, director of Mariachi Vargas de Tecalitlán–the self-described best mariachi in the world. It's true: there is no other mariachi that compares with the 114-year-old group founded in Tecalitlán, Jalisco by don Gaspar Vargas López. We were up-close-and-personal with them this past March, when we sat in the third row at their concert at the UNAM.

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Just in case you haven't heard Mariachi Vargas de Tecalitlán, listen to one of Mexico Cooks! favorites: Entra en Mi Vida (Come Into My Life). Part of the lyric goes like this: "Come into my life, I beg you! I started out missing you, then I needed you, now I don't want anyone else…I want you to be the owner of my heart." Of course I think the entire song expresses my feelings for my beloved wife.

This enormous Judas figure hangs in a stairwell at the Museo de Arte Popular (Popular Arts Museum) in Mexico City's Centro Histórico. Paper maché figures representing Judas Iscariot are traditionally hanged and burned in parts of Mexico on the Saturday night before Easter Sunday. They normally measure from this guy's shoe to his knee. This fellow is a giant, not to mention a fashion statement.

Can you look at the photo without tipping your head sideways? The green wall of plants, bringing a refreshing touch of the natural to downtown, makes up one side wall of Restaurante Padrino on Calle Isabel la Católica, Mexico City. The bicycle is parked on the–lawn? The doors lead into individual shops on the balcony of the former Palacio de los Condes de Miravalle, built in the mid-18th century. The former palace, which is now home to two restaurants (Azul/Histórico), a soon-to-open hotel, and some charming shops, is one of the Distrito Federal's oldest buildings.

Just when I think I have seen just about everything sweet or salty that people snack on here in the city, I learn about something I could not have imagined. A vendor outside the Mercado de la Merced sells these by the measure. I could not guess what I was seeing, can you? Click on the photo to enlarge it for a better view–but the who-knew secret is that these are salted wild cherry pits. Suck one for a while, then break it open and eat the tiny almond-shaped kernel inside. I regret not asking to try one.

Sometimes a person just has to show off a little. Mexico Cooks! was expecting company and decided to prepare a tortilla española–a Spanish omelet with potatoes and onions. This simple dish, served chilled or at room temperature, is a classic from Spain.

In Mexico, February 2 is el Día de la Candelaria (Candlemas Day). Candelaria marks the official end of the Christmas season; it comes forty days after the Christian celebration of the birth of Jesus. It's said to be the day that the Virgin Mary took the newborn Jesus to the temple for the first time. Here in Mexico, the feast day is celebrated by dressing a figure of the Niño Dios (Child God) in all sorts of finery and taking him to church like a babe in arms to be blessed. These Niños Dios representing various saints and traditions are for sale in shops along Calle Talavera in Mexico City, as well as in a number of other spots. There are a number of other customs for the day, and the celebration always includes eating tamales and drinking atole. Candelaria is linked to the Day of the Three Kings (January 6), when we eat rosca de reyes (a kind of sweet bread) that contains a tiny plastic figure of the Baby Jesus. Tradition says that the person who gets the little figure in his or her slice of rosca throws the tamales party on Candelaria.

Speaking of tamales, a gentleman vendor at our neighborhood tianguis (street market) gave me these on February 2 this year. They are made of typical corn masa (dough) and filled with refried black beans. Each tamalito (little tamal–that's the word for just one!) measures about three inches long by an inch in diameter. The little clay dish that holds them is about three inches across. The vendor told me that he makes them twice a year and he promised to invite me to the tamalada (tamales-making party) the next time the day rolls around. Rather than being twisted or tied closed, the ends of the corn husks are pushed into a dimple at the end of each tamal. These are a specialty of Milpa Alta in the southernmost part of Mexico City.

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5 de May de 2012
Amecameca, Kissing the Feet of Two Volcanoes

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

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

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

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Popocatépetl erupts, December 2000. Popocatépetl and Iztaccíhautl straddle the boundaries of three states: Puebla, Morelos, and the State of Mexico. Video courtesy NBC news.

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

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

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

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

Popoca carries his beloved Mixtli to the snowy mountains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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28 de April de 2012
500 Years Over a Hot Mexican Stove

Make-do old fashioned cooking technique in Tzintzuntzan, Michoacán. Frijoles boil in a clay pot on the fogón (an on-the-ground cooking fire). The fire ring, in this case, is the wheel rim of a truck; the wood is what was available at the time of need. The clay pot ensures old-fashioned flavor and Mexico Cooks!' interest in the cooking process ensured old-fashioned hospitality. "Come back at 1:30," the cook told us. "The beans will be ready and I'll make you some tortillas."

I often talk about Mexico as a country full of contradictions and paradoxes. As a case in point, the Mexican kitchen of the 21st century lives cheek by jowl with the Mexican kitchen that predates the 16th century arrival of the Spanish, and we're all the richer for it. Ancient utensils and techniques are put to daily use in modern kitchens so beautiful they could be in any of today's slick kitchen design magazines. In today's Mexican kitchen, a molcajete and its tejolote (volcanic stone mortar and pestle) often sit on the counter next to a Kitchen-Aid mixer, and a wood-kiln fired olla de barro (clay bean pot) may well share cupboard space with a Le Creuset Dutch oven.

Outdoor kitchen in San José de la Torre, Michoacán. In a few very rural parts of Mexico, it is still possible to find these old-style kitchens, built apart from the main house to keep the rest of the house cool. Just inside the kitchen, to the left in the photograph, you can see steam rising from a boiling pot.

It was in the convents that many of the most wonderful Mexican foods were invented to take advantage of local products, mixing and matching them in old European recipes. Today, those recipes that consist of the mix of Europe and the New World are among the most traditional of the Mexican kitchen.

The cooking utensils that were in daily use in Europe were almost nonexistent in the New World. Because metal utensils like those used in Spain were prohibitively expensive in the New World, they were replaced by utensils made of indigenous clay. Clay pots were gradually perfected, in large part due to the incorporation of new glazing techniques and new designs. Other utensils were made from native volcanic stone mined predominantly in Mexico's central highlands. Prehispanic utensils such as the molcajete, the comal (clay griddle), and the metate (flat rectangular grinding stone) were common. Most home cooks in the days of the Spanish colonial period were indigenous women servants who brought their utensils with them into Spanish New World kitchens.

Metate y metlapil (volcanic grinding stone with its volcanic stone mano), similar to a rolling pin. The cook has been grinding masa de maíz azul (blue corn dough). She will use some of the water in the small pot to dampen the dough as needed. The white cloth both shades the dough and protects it from insects.

The volcanic stone metate, along with its metlapil de metate (similar to a rolling pin made of stone) was the principal cooking utensil in the prehispanic kitchen, and it's still used today in rural areas to grind nixtamal-ized corn for making tortilla masa (dough). Volcanic stone is porous and microscopic pieces of it break off into the corn as it is ground, becoming an essential part of the dough. It's so essential to the texture and flavor of the masa that even in enormous commercial processing plants, the corn-grinding stones are made of volcanic rock.

The metate is also used to grind dried chiles and other grains used to prepare moles and other complex dishes, and to prepare highly prized chocolate de metate used for cooking and preparing hot chocolate.

The second most important piece in the indigenous kitchen is the three-legged molcajete, a kind of volcanic stone grinding mortar. It's still widely used, especially for grinding soft ingredients such as tomatoes, green chiles, green onions, herbs, and other condiments. A well seasoned salsa de molcajete (sauce to be used at table, made in a molcajete) is the mark of a wonderful cook.

Ingredients for salsa, ready to prepare in a volcanic stone molcajete. At the bottom and top of the photograph are comal (griddle)-roasted Roma tomatoes. You can also see roasted tomates verdes (tomatillos) and dried, toasted chiles.

Family-operated workshops in certain Mexican villages carve locally mined volcanic stone into the familiar shape of the molcajete and the less frequently seen metate. It can be difficult to find molcajetes and metates at the source, unless you know where to look. The first time I ventured to one of these small villages, I expected to see molcajetes and metates for sale in stores. I discovered that I had to knock on the doors at private homes in the towns and ask if anyone there made molcajetes.

Fortunately there is an easier way for most of us to find a traditional molcajete or metate. Next time you're on a shopping expedition to one of Mexico's regional mercados, ask the merchants where to find a vendor who sells them. They usually range in price from $65 pesos for a tiny molcajete just big enough to use for serving salsa at the table to the mother of all molcajetes priced at $125 pesos. The vendors may also sell even bigger ones carved with the head of a pig. Those are priced at approximately $600 pesos.

Classic Mexican kitchen from the 1920s. Casa Zuno, Guadalajara.

The basis and essence of the earliest and most current cuisines of Mexico is what is called the corn kitchen. Corn and corn masa have been used to prepare an infinite variety of staple foods in this country since before written history. The word masa comes from a Nauhatl word that means 'our flesh'. It's said that the Nauhatls believed that their gods created man and woman from corn dough. That equation of corn with the flesh of the human being is more telling than any long description of prehispanic, colonial, or present-day eating habits could be. Corn was all, and in many Mexican homes today, corn is still all.

For milennia, corn tortillas have traditionally been made by hand. Small balls of corn masa (dough) are rhythmically patted into near-perfect rounds, then toasted on a comal (griddle) over wood fire. The technique is passed from mother to daughter and mother to daughter in families everywhere in Mexico; girls start pat-pat-patting masa into tortillas almost from the time they start to walk.

Blue corn gorditas (thick tortillas) toasting over wood fire on a clay comal. These gorditas are also hand-patted, but are left relatively thick so that after toasting, they can be split and stuffed with your choice of delicious fillings and salsas.

The corn tortilla has always been the single most important staple food of Mexico. Tortillas with a serving of beans are a perfect protein. In many impoverished Mexican homes, corn tortillas and a pot of beans are even today the only daily fare. At all levels of society, a meal eaten at home is not complete without a large stack of tortillas, carefully wrapped in a special napkin. A family of five can easily eat a kilo of tortillas as many as eighteen tortillas per person or more along with the comida (main meal of the day).

From the time tortillas originated, women have patted balls of damp masa by hand to form it into perfect circles. It's still a mark of pride for a restaurant to offer tortillas "hechas a mano" (hand made). In some homes, especially in very rural areas, the rhythmic pat-pat-patting of hands making tortillas marks the dinner hour.

In many cases 'hand made' now means tortillas prepared using a tortilla press made of either wood or metal. Masa can either be purchased ready-made at a nearby tortillería or cooks can prepare it from dried corn. Either way, once the masa is ready the tortillas must be made quickly or the masa will be too dry to work. A piece of waxed paper or one half of a plastic storage bag is placed on the bottom half of the tortilla press. A ball of dough the size of a golf ball or slightly larger is pulled from the bulk of masa; then the dough is flattened slightly by hand and placed on the plastic. A second plastic or waxed paper sheet is placed on top of the dough and the press is squeezed shut.

Metal tortilla press in use. Note the sheets of plastic; one sheet is on the base of the press and the second is placed on the ball of dough. Photo courtesy My Home Cooking.

Open the press and there's a perfectly round tortilla, ready to have the plastic peeled off. Now do it again. And again. And again, and remember, there are five of you in the family and at least some of you will eat eighteen tortillas each at this meal! Even using the modern convenience of a tortilla press, it's still backbreaking work to prepare enough tortillas for a family's mealtime needs.

Of course Mexico is not only about rural tradition and the indigenous corn kitchen. I recently talked about recent trends in the Mexican kitchen with Licenciada Virginia Jurado Thierry, owner of Arquitectura en Cocinas in Guadalajara. Walking into her design center in fashionable Colonia Providencia is like walking into a high end kitchen designer's showroom anywhere in the world.

Sleekly modern wood cabinets are shown with stainless steel refrigerators and restaurant quality stoves; glass-front cupboards reflect top-of-the-line small appliances crouching on quartz polymer resin counters. When I explained the nature of this article, Lic. Jurado nodded and invited me into her private office to chat.

Mexico Cooks!' home kitchen in Morelia, Michoacán. The pottery, tile countertops and copper sink–and the wooden trastero (dish cupboard)–are traditional styles. The over-and-under-the-counter cupboards and the stove, washer, and dryer are new-fangled modern conveniences.

"So many people think the design of the Mexican kitchen is only done with talavera tiles. New kitchens are constantly evolving, and new design here is similar to new design everywhere. As you noticed as you walked through our showrooms, we offer nothing but the finest in kitchens. Everything is designed with convenience and efficiency and performance in mind." She paused to reach behind her and take down a thick notebook. "These are some of the products we offer to our clients."

We flipped through the book. Familiar names in high-quality, high-price tag kitchen design jumped out at me: European lines like Miele and Smeg, United States manufacturers such as SubZero, Wolf, Viking, and Dacor, and the noteworthy Italian Valcucina line were just a few important manufacturers' names I noticed. "We can offer the client a stove for $5000 pesos or we can offer the client a stove for $15,000 U.S. Usually we find a meeting place somewhere in between those figures," Lic. Jurado told me.

Twenty-first century Mexicans have gone crazy for the minimalist look, even in their kitchens. Sleek, modern design is most common in new construction. Photo courtesy Dotavideo.

Lic. Jurado smiled. "Our clients really want a bright, clean look. That translates into light woods such as oak for cabinets, lots of whites and tones of gray, stainless steel and glass. People also want aluminum accessories and opaque glass, especially for cupboard doors. Paint colors are light. For counter tops, we're getting many requests for melamine in new, stain-free colors, and polymer resin quartz in light colors. And some people want granite, or colored concrete. It's a whole range of effects, but with a very clean European look."

We've traveled more than 500 years, from pre-colonial days to the 21st century, in the course of a brief article. The contradictions of Mexico, even in as small a detail as the utensils and design of a kitchen, still amaze me.

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

21 de April de 2012
Sweet Home Mexico: Restaurante Dulce Patria and Chef Martha Ortiz

Chef Martha Ortiz, chef, owner, delightful human being, and creative guiding light extraordinaire behind Restaurante Dulce Patria–the name means 'sweet homeland'. Photo courtesy Martha Ortiz.

Several months ago, a close friend, a chef from Morelia, invited me to dine at Restaurante Dulce Patria. She wanted to introduce me to her friend, the restaurant's chef/owner Martha Ortiz. The restaurant, in the upscale heart of Mexico City's Colonia Polanco, had been open for a bit over a year and frankly, I had avoided going. I had heard so much hype about the space itself, about the chef, and about the wonders of the food and presentations–how true could it all be? Those of you who are faithful Mexico Cooks! readers know that I have occasionally been guilty of what I call contempt prior to investigation; my long avoidance of Dulce Patria wasn't quite that, but it was related to that thought: I just didn't want to be disappointed after hearing and reading so much deferential bowing and scraping about the restaurant's excellence.

Diners seated in a front window of the upstairs dining room at Dulce Patria. Photos by Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

Your beautifully appointed table awaits you, either on the ground floor or at the top of the spiral staircase at Dulce Patria. Photo courtesy Dulce Patria.

That first visit to Dulce Patria left me wanting more: more of the ambiance, which is stellar; a better chance to read the menu, which is celestial; and more opportunities to taste various heavenly and completely Mexican platillos (dishes) as prepared and presented by the Dulce Patria kitchen.

My beloved wife would rather have a tequila than a mixed drink before comida (Mexico's midday main meal). Her tequila reposado is on the far right of the photo; the chasers are, right to left, (red) house-made traditional sangrita with finely diced pineapple and a jícama swizzle; (pale green) tomate verde (tomatillo) with minced jícama; and (wine-color) beet with finely diced cucumber. She liked the traditional sangrita best; she let me taste them all and I preferred the beet.

Mexico Cooks! was seduced by a powerful craving for this raspado sentimental de grosela y limón con mezcal (a frozen concoction of red current, lemon, and mezcal). The drink was delicious, although sweet enough for dessert instead of a pre-comida cocktail. The large red menu is Dulce Patria's standard, while the small black menu contains the special offerings of the month. Both menus are written in Spanish and English.

One of the several fresh, hot-out-of-the-oven house-made breads we tried. This center of this delicious bread is both colored and lightly flavored with violets.

In 2002, Chef Martha Ortiz opened Restaurante Áquila y Sol in Mexico City. Águila y Sol (the name means "Eagle and Sun" and refers to the two faces of a Mexican coin) became the favorite destination for diners crazy for alta cocina mexicana (Mexican haute cuisine). The restaurant was one of the first of that genre, was wildly praised, and was always packed with food-savvy foreign tourists and power-lunching Mexicans. For reasons beyond Chef Martha's control, the restaurant closed after several enormously successful years. Mexico City's high-flying foodistas were bereft and were left to console themselves with what they considered to be dimmer stars in the food firmaments.

Salad of crisp baby arugula with cabuches (cactus flower buds) and a shard of crunchy, seedy violet brittle. The salad's vinaigrette is made with peanuts and a whisper of chile morita. The small morita is a cousin of the chile chipotle and gives just a hint of that chile's same smoky flavor to the salad dressing.

A goodly part of the enormous success of Dulce Patria rests in the essence of the feminine, in the tremendous sensuality of not only the restaurant's ambiance but also the highly stylized presentations of what's in your glass and on your plate. Those, plus the intense attention to every detail of every diner's individual Dulce Patria experience, create the unique sensation of having left the world behind and entered into a magic realm of a heightened reality designed just for you by the chef. Did we like it? No. We loved it, and so will you.

Tacos de chilorio, served over shredded lettuce with papaloquelite, a traditional herbal accompaniment for Mexico City-style tacos. Chilorio is shredded, seasoned pork, in this instance used to fill tacos.

The four assorted salsas for the tacos de chilorio. The salsas ranged from the mild green (far right) to the hotter-than-the-hinges-of-hell dusky black (far left). Each salsa was delicious; my particular favorite was that hellishly hot one.

This entrée plate is composed of (left to right in the photo) refried black beans in a little deep-fried totopo (tortilla chip) bowl, a puddle of mole manchamanteles, four enchiladas de manchamanteles topped with a swirl of crema de mesa (table cream), pickled red onion, flowers of queso fresco (fresh cheese) and a small bowl of green salad. The added garnish–on the thin stick–is a little green squash star, a carrot flower, and a cube of beet. Not only is the presentation exquisite, but look at the detail (just click the photo to enlarge it): a heaping spoonful of beans on the rectangular plate keeps the totopo bowl from tipping or sliding, and under the salad bowl is a tiny round of banana leaf for traction to keep the bowl in place.

What can I say? This deep-red plate holds a tamal de frijol (bean tamal, foreground), a dish of marvelous salsa, two impeccable wedges of limón con chile (Mexican lime dusted with powdered chile), and a huge flower that hides a perfectly prepared portion of pescado zarandeado (marinated, grilled fish). Look again at that flower: it's a chile ancho, split into four petals and fried. I threatened to wear it behind my ear.

A whimsical post-dessert offering of house-made typical Mexican sweets: sweetened tamarind pulp with chile, glorias (burned milk candy with nuts), and more. Some tables received their candies in small toy trucks, some were arrayed on miniature painted wood trasteros (dish shelves). Ours were presented on a tray at the base of a spinning wooden airplane toy.

Among her many accomplishments, Chef Martha Ortiz has co-authored eight award-winning books and has participated in numerous international culinary events as well as similar events here in Mexico. She has dedicated her professional life to bringing Mexican cuisine to the forefront of the finest culinary traditions in the world. As a passionate and creative chef, she maintains the highest respect for Mexico's historic traditions. Her goal is to transmit "amor a lo propio"–love for what is our own–through a complete sensorial experience of the flavours, colours, textures and aromas of Mexican gastronomy.

Mexico Cooks! has eaten literally thousands of meals in Mexico's far-flung restaurants, ranging from Tijuana in the far north to Chiapas, the southern border state, and everywhere from the humblest choza (hut) to the most elegant of dining rooms. I was never privileged to enjoy the delights of Águila y Sol, but I cannot imagine that the experience would have surpassed that of our meal at Dulce Patria. If you live in Mexico City, if you travel here from within the country or from a foreign land, put a meal at Dulce Patria at the top of your list of must-experience culinary pleasures. From the time you walk through the front door until the time you leave with a little box of gift sweets in your hand, you will be in enchanted territory that will make you want to leave a trail of violet-scented breadcrumbs to facilitate your return.

Restaurante Dulce Patria
Calle Anatole France #100 (near the corner of Pres. Masaryk)
Colonia Polanco/Anzures
Mexico City
Tel. 3300-3999 (Cellular)
Reservations strongly recommended
Hours: Sunday 1:30PM to 5:30PM
Monday through Saturday 1:30PM to 11:30PM
Average cost per person: $600 pesos and up plus beverages

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

7 de April de 2012
Out and About on Calle República de Uruguay in Mexico City: Places to Go and People to See

A large portion of Mexico City's Templo de Nuestra Señora de la Balvanera, Calle República de Uruguay #36, is given over to the veneration of San Charbel Makhlouf, a 19th century Lebanese Maronite hermit whom Roman Catholic Pope Paul VI canonized in 1927. During the last ten to fifteen years, San Charbel has acquired quite a large following in Mexico. The church features any number of images of the saint, some professionally made and others, like this one, made by the devout. Mexico Cooks! is particularly fond of this home-made image of him, with its cotton batting beard and jiggly plastic eyes like those found on some stuffed animals.

Calle República de Uruguay, just south of the Zócalo, the Metropolitan Cathedral, and the National Palace, is one of Mexico City's most interesting and varied streets. Mexico Cooks! loves to walk it block by block, discovering hidden and not-so-hidden treasures nearly every step of the way. The last time I took this walk, I noticed for the first time that one block was lined on both sides with mercerías (button and sewing notion shops) filled with hundreds, if not thousands, of different styles of buttons. AHA! A single button from one of my favorite dresses had recently gone missing in the washing machine. I found a similar button among the countless displays and asked the clerk the cost of just one. "Señora…," she hesitated, "solo se venden por cien." ('We only sell buttons in lots of one hundred.') We both laughed.

The ornately tiled dome of the Templo de Nuestra Señora de la Balvanera. The church, built in the 17th century, is open daily for all who care to visit.

This rolling contraption belongs to an old-time camote (sweet potato) and plátano (banana) vendor. At the back of the three-wheeled cart is the steering wheel and a supply of plates and bags. In the center are the vendor's other supplies. The baked sweet potatoes and bananas are carefully lined up on the firebox and oven of the cart, where they stay hot until purchased. The firebox is stoked with carbón (Mexican real-wood charcoal). At the very front of the cart is the smokestack, with its traditional ear-shattering steam powered whistle. If you listen during the evenings in some of Mexico City's neighborhoods, you'll still hear the sound of that whistle–the camotero's call for you to run out to the street to buy a hot baked camote for your cena (supper). Click on any photograph to enlarge it and see the details.

Detail, camotes y plátanos–with the ubiquitous can of La Lechera (sweetened condensed milk) that is poured generously over your purchase of either a delicious newly baked sweet potato or a freshly baked banana. Little by little, these wonderfully fragrant carts are disappearing from Mexico City's streets. As I chatted with the camotero, I mentioned that quite late most nights–as late as one in the morning–a vendor passes my building and blows his whistle. The camotero on Calle República de Uruguay scoffed and said that the vendor in my neighborhood is probably selling something other than camotes. "Quién va a querer un camote a estas horas?" (Who would want a sweet potato at that hour!)

Gorras (caps) for sale on the street. The embroidered purple cap featuring Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe particularly caught my attention. There is simply nowhere that her image is not.

Interior of a seriously deteriorated vecindad (essentially, a tenement house) on Calle República de Uruguay. Restoration work is underway, as you can see from the heavily braced walls.

Package tied up with string from the famous Pastelería La Ideal, which has a branch located at República de Uruguay #74. It's almost guaranteed that as you stroll along this street, especially in the early morning or in the evening, you will see hordes of people carrying boxes and packages with this design. Everyone wants pan dulce (sweet bread) from La Ideal! The extraordinary pan from the bakery is (pardon me) ideal for breakfast or supper. Pastelería La Ideal, with its three branches, is arguably the most famous bakery in Mexico City.

Almond-topped coffee cake from Pastelería La Ideal. It tastes even better than it looks.

Hanging menu outside Los Tacos, Calle República de Uruguay #117. This partial menu only serves as an enticement to step inside: the full menu is enormous, running from the simplest quesadilla (a tortilla folded over cheese and toasted or fried) to delicious chiles en nogada (stuffed chiles in walnut sauce). It's a dandy place to stop for an energy boost while strolling down this street.

The trompo (vertical spit) for tacos al pastor (shepherd-style roast pork) is just outside the door at Los Tacos. Thinly sliced pork is marinated in an adobo sauce, then stacked onto the spit–with a pineapple at the top. The pineapple juices run steadily into the meat as it cooks. The meat spins around and is roasted to order using the gas grate just behind it. The pastorero (specialized cook for tacos al pastor) receives your order (seis de pastor, por favor–six tacos al pastor, please) from the waiter, then turns and turns the spit until he can shave off slivers of pork for your tacos. The slivers go directly from the freshly grilled meat on the spit into a hot tortilla–you can just see that the pastorero is holding a tortilla in his left hand. The order of tacos on the plate in front of him is almost ready. The coup de grace: the skillful pastorero fills your tortilla with meat and then with a quick flick of the knife, sends a portion of roasted, slightly caramelized sweet pineapple flying from the whole fruit straight into your taco while it's still in his hand. As far as I could see, he never misses. What a guy! And needless to say, what a taco! Top it yourself with finely chopped onion, cilantro, and the salsa of your choice. It's a fiesta of flavors in your mouth.

Mexico Cooks! would be delighted to tour you along Calle República de Uruaguay, as well as along any of the fascinating neighboring streets in our Centro Histórico (Historic Center). Just let us know when you'd like to come visit us in Mexico City.

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

24 de March de 2012
A Brief History of Comida China (Chinese Food) in Mexico–and Restaurante Dalian!

Update to the review of this restaurant: as of August 2013, its ownership has changed and the restaurant has lost all its former quality. What a huge loss to the very small community of worthwhile Chinese restaurants in Mexico City.

Barrio Chino de Noche (Chinatown at Night). Mexico City's tiny Chinatown is on Calle Dolores, between Av. Juárez and Ayuntamiento in the Centro Histórico (Historic Center). Photo courtesy Jesús E. Salgado, Skyscraper City.

Most of the Chinese who came to North America in the 19th and very early 20th centuries came in order to work constructing the railroads between the USA and Mexico, primarily on the USA side of the border. Almost all of the Chinese railroad construction workers were from the province of Canton, and ONLY Chinese men were allowed into either country. Generally, if a Chinese man could cook, he became the gang cook (railroad slang) for his particular railroad construction crew.

Chinese railroad workers in the United States, ca 1890. Photo courtesy Wikimedia.

Due to immigration quotas, none of the Chinese men were allowed to bring their families into the USA. Many wives and children traveled from Canton to the port of Veracruz, on Mexico's east coast, and from there made their way to the Mexico/USA border. Some sneaked across as undocumented aliens, while others were turned back. During Mexico's years of anti-Chinese expulsions (1920s-1930s), many Chinese, including men, women and children were forceably expelled from Mexico and were made to enter the United States illegally.

Chinese women cooking, 19th century. Photo courtesy A Visual Sourcebook of Chinese Civilization.

If you're a man or woman with no marketable skill other than your skill in the kitchen, what's the best way to make a living for your family? Of course: prepare and sell food. From those original Chinese immigrants, a great tradition of Chinese restaurants grew up along both sides of the Mexico/USA border. All of them were and continue to be Cantonese. Today, there are thousands of Chinese restaurants–almost entirely Cantonese–everywhere in Mexico.

Update: this article, published on November 24, 2012, offers further insight into the Chinese situation in 20th century Mexico: Chinese-Mexicans celebrate repatriation to Mexico.

Commonly known in Mexico City as cafés de chinos (Chinese coffee houses), restaurants like La Nacional specialize in café con leche (a combination of hot expresso and equally hot milk, similar to latte), pan dulce (Mexican sweet bread), and–usually–very bad Chinese food. Photo courtesy Kairos.

Long ago, Mexico Cooks! began professional culinary life as a Chinese chef, specializing in the cuisines of Sichuan and Hunan–two of the spiciest kitchens in China, if not in the world. For years, I have told my Mexican friends that the people from those Chinese provinces eat more chile than the Mexicans. Until fairly recently, most of my friends have looked at me with profound disbelief: unless they had traveled outside Mexico and had eaten in other countries' Chinese restaurants, their experiences of Chinese food were limited to the Cantonese kitchen–and in fact, a highly Mexicanized Cantonese kitchen, light years and many generations removed from the province of Canton.

Now, however, there are two Sichuan restaurants in Mexico City. One, the Ka Won Seng, has steadfastly refused to be publicized no matter how long they have known me and no matter how much I plead. The answer is always the same: 'No pictures. No writing. No.' It's in a decent working class neighborhood, although not near any tourist attraction. My good friend and eating buddy David Lida got there before the publicity prohibition went into effect and wrote about it on his blog. It's hard to find and if you want to go there, you'll have to let David and me take you.

The corner of Calles Artículo 123 and Humboldt, across the street from Restaurante Dalian, one of just two Sichuan restaurants in Mexico City. This is not standard tourist territory. Notice, however, that Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe (Our Lady of Guadalupe) is here as well as everywhere else in Mexico, watching over her children.

Enter this building at Calle Humboldt #56 and at the very end of its long hallway, you'll find the fabulous Restaurante Dalian. This photo and the rest of the photos that accompany this article are copyright Mexico Cooks!.

Restaurante Dalian is located on a not very far-off-the-beaten-tourist path street, but on a corner that is far from Mexico City's tiny Chinatown and which is exceptionally unsavory. Mexico Cooks! is far from squeamish and even farther from nervous about where I find myself, but this particular neighborhood almost put me off. The first time we visited Restaurante Dalian, we walked past a young man clad only in his underwear and soap bubbles, taking a shower on the street. Although the restaurant is only a few blocks from Mexico City's Centro Histórico (the historic downtown), it's not a place you'd think to go. The corner is a haven for unusually down-and-out street people. We had to get over ourselves, nod briefly to the homeless, and walk just around the corner to find the entrance to the building that houses the restaurant.

Fried squid with salt and Chinese anise at Restaurante Dalian. Tender baby squid are cut into bite-size pieces, coated with batter, and deep fried until crisp, then tossed with spicy hot chiles, chopped sweet red pepper, soft-fried diced onion, scallion greens, and sesame seeds.

Mexico Cooks! recently invited several friends to come along for their first taste of real Sichuan cooking. I admit that it wasn't easy for them to say yes–not because of the new cuisine, but because of the location. Restaurante Dalian is hidden in the back hallway of a Chinese business building. It may actually be the only thing in the building. The building watchman at the front desk just pointed to the end of the hall when we asked about the restaurant. But was it worth it and will we all go back again? Absolutely, the very first chance we get.

MaPo tofu at Restaurante Dalian. Tender tofu combined with ground pork in the typical and correct proportions of spicy, oily, and tongue-numbing sensations made this dish love at first bite.

It can be difficult to arrive for the first time at any restaurant, much less one with menus written in Chinese. Names of dishes translated into Spanish were none too helpful, but we were able to deduce from the full-color menu photos what each one was. Our very kind Mexican waiter, Marcos, is the only staff member at Restaurante Dalian who speaks Spanish. The owner, a lovely woman, made a gracious attempt to communicate with us; we all bowed, smiled, and shook hands a good deal. The rest of the waitstaff speaks only Chinese. No one speaks English. Other than my wife, our friends, and I, the other diners were native-born Mexicans–plus a Russian man eating with his Mexican friend.

Kung Pao chicken. The peanuts were fried correctly, the chicken were tender and juicy, the vegetables were crisp and appetizing, and the sauce was just right. The dish was spiced exactly to my taste: HOT. All of us were over the moon with the mix of textures and flavors.

Deep-fried green beans, chile de árbol, and garlic, served in a doily-lined bowl. The doily absorbed any residual grease. The quantity was enormous. The aromas, flavors and textures of the still-crisp beans are the stuff of dreams. This is one of the most delicious Chinese dishes I have ever eaten anywhere.

Steamed fish with scallion greens and julienned sweet red pepper, served in a heavenly soy and sesame oil sauce.

Marcos, our waiter, told me the name of this dish at least three times and I still did not understand. It's a mix of tender, lightly coated thin-sliced beef, stir-fried onions and chunks of sweet red and green peppers. It comes to the table crackling and hissing, in a red-hot pan lined with aluminum foil. The whole dish is perfectly cooked and delicious, but the caramelized bits at the bottom of the dish are particularly marvelous.

After all but licking our plates, we had to call it quits. Next time we go, we might order salt and pepper shrimp, or a huge bowl of spicy seafood soup, or a different preparation of baby squid. We might try something with beef, or a chicken dish even spicier than the ones we tried our first time out. We will have to have the green beans again, but there is an entire menu of other dishes to try. There is also an inexpensive and ordinary-looking full buffet, but the a la carta menu seems to be the way to order a Sichuan meal.

A typically Chinese dessert: complimentary fresh fruit. I'm ashamed to say that there was originally triple the amount of cantaloupe on the plate, but I remembered only at this point to take a photo.

Jian Deui: glutinous rice flour dough balls filled with sweet red bean paste, rolled in sesame seeds, and deep fried. These are my all-time favorite Chinese sweets; until dining at Restaurante Dalian, I have never before seen them in Mexico.

The tiny Restaurante Dalian kitchen consists of two (or maybe three) well-used woks on a wok stove. The non-Spanish-speaking cook was a bit nonplussed by my request to see the kitchen, but after a lot of gesturing and a call for Marcos's help, the restaurant owner was gracious enough to allow me a visit to the tiny center of operations.

Restaurante Dalian
Calle Humboldt #56, near the corner of Calle Artículo 123
Centro Histórico, Distrito Federal

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10 de March de 2012
TANIA LIBERTAD: 50 Years of Music, A Singular Voice for Peace

Close to ten years ago, I first heard a live concert by Tania Libertad. She sang as one of the invitados de honor (honored guests) at the Encuentro Internacional de Mariachi (International Mariachi Festival) in Guadalajara. To say she knocked my socks off is an understatement. Unless noted, all photos are copyright Mexico Cooks!.

Less than two years after performing as one of the Mariachi Festival's guests of honor, Tania Libertad returned to Guadalajara for a solo concert in the Plaza de los Fundadores (Founders' Square). My neighbor and I attended that concert and were privileged to meet the artist. Soon thereafter, Tania invited me to her home in Mexico City for a private conversation. That conversation, published here on September 1, 2007, has been quoted repeatedly in articles by others as source material regarding her long and brilliant career.

Fast forward a few years: in February 2012, Tania Libertad celebrated her 50th anniversary as a professional singer. Seeing her ageless beauty and hearing her magnificent voice, it is frankly impossible to believe that she has been performing professionally since age nine, when she first made recordings in her native Perú.

Tania has sung and been celebrated throughout Europe, parts of Africa, and Oceanía. Of course she has given frequent concerts all over the Americas. She has recorded 38 CDs, with sales totalling well into the millions of copies. Today, she is one of the most widely recognized Latin American singers and arguably the most notable singer of what many people call World Music.

Passion and commitment for the values of love of life and the human rights struggle have marked Tania's career from the beginning. In 1997, UNESCO honored her lifelong work by naming her an Artist for Peace. In addition, she has been decorated by the governments of Argentina, Brazil, and Spain, as well as having been the recipient of numerous awards and decorations from both her native Perú and her adopted Mexico. In 2009, she received a special Grammy award for lifetime musical excellence.

Mexico City's Palacio de Bellas Artes (Fine Arts Palace). Photo courtesy Luis Osorio. In February 2012, in celebration of her 50th professional anniversary, Tania sang two successive nights of sold-out three-hour concerts in the auditorium of this magnificent building. Mexico Cooks! was there with a group of friends on the first night, seated second row center.

Tania sang more than 35 songs during the concert we heard, accompanied by her incredibly talented 10-member band of musicians as well as by the Mexico City Orquesta Stravaganza. Among the passionate songs she chose to present was La Paloma (The Dove) by Rafael Alberti. When Nobel laureate José Saramago heard her sing this song for the first time, he wrote, in part, "…cada nota acariciaba una cuerda de mi sensibilidad hasta el desalumbramiento…" ('each note caressed a chord in my feelings until I was completely dazzled…')

One of the evening's surprises (although Tania had whispered that he might sing with her) was an appearance by Armando Manzanero, one of Mexico's most prolific and treasured song writers. He and Tania are old friends and have often sung publicly and recorded together. They brought the house down as they sang three songs during this concert.

During his long career, Manzanero has written more than 400 songs, including many which are considered to be standards in Mexico's romantic genre. His most famous songs include Voy a apagar la luz (I'm Going to Turn Off the Lights), Contigo Aprendí ( With you I Learned… ), Adoro (I Adore), No sé tú (I don't know about you…), Por Debajo de la Mesa (Under the Table), Esta Tarde Vi Llover (This Afternoon I Saw It Rain), Somos Novios (English version "It's Impossible"), Felicidad (Happiness) and Como Han Pasado los Años (How the Years Have Passed By).

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBEnYkcwBLk&w=400&h=301]
Listen to Tania Libertad and Armando Manzanero singing a duet of Como Han Pasado los Años, recorded on the DVD titled Manzanero y La Libertad.

The elegantly dressed crowd gathered and we began to settle into our seats. We all watched the famous curtain at the Palacio de Bellas Artes, waiting for it to be raised for the start of the concert.

The early 20th century Louis Comfort Tiffany stained glass curtain in the Palacio de Bellas Artes depicts (left) Iztaccíhuatl (the Sleeping Woman), Mexico's third-highest mountain at 17,126 feet; (center) the valley of Mexico, and (right) Popocatépetl, Mexico's second-largest mountain at 17,802 feet and the country's largest active volcano. The curtain, from designs by Mexican artist Gerardo Murillo (better known as Dr. Atl), is made of nearly one million pieces of stained glass. It weighs 24 tons and is the only one of its kind in the world.

Detail of the poppies at the lower right corner of the Tiffany curtain.

The pre-concert anticipation in the auditorium for the first night, which sold out several weeks in advance of its date, was a whirling buzz of whispers, eddies of perfume, and flourishes of fancy dress and furs. Mexico Cooks! had heard that Mexico's president, Felipe Calderón and his wife, Margarita Zavala, would attend and sure enough, shortly before the curtain went up they helicoptered into the theater atrium and were seated without fanfare in the presidential box. From the next box, Nobel laureate Gabriel García Márquez (One Hundred Years of Solitude, Love in the Time of Cholera) leaned over to chat briefly with the president. Carlos Slim, businessman extraordinaire (yes, he's the wealthiest man in the world) was present, too, along with a number of Mexico's notable stars, including Silvia Pinal. Consuelo Sáizar, the president of CONACULTA, the Mexican government's arts council, also attended.

During the concert, Tania sang some of the most important songs she has interpreted. She sings to touch the heart, to touch the mind, and to touch the soul. She sings to advance the fight for human rights, both here at home and around the world. And, after acknowledging the presence of Mexico's president, she sang two of her strongest songs: La Maza (The Mallet), by Cuban trova writer and singer Silvio Rodríguez, which speaks of beauty, hope, song, and the battle for human rights; and D.L.G., by the Argentine artist Fito Páez, which speaks of love, prophecy, change, and apocalypse.

About 40 years ago, Tania began singing Alfonsina y el Mar, which she continues to sing at the close of each of her performances. She closed her anniversary concert with the song, sung a cappella as always in her crystal-clear voice. The audience, raptly attentive and steeped in emotion, barely breathed as she sang.

After the concert, Tania greeted Judy and me backstage. We congratulated her and chatted for a few minutes. Photo courtesy Celia Marín.

Felicidades en tu aniversario, querida amiga Tania–enhorabuena! (Congratulations on your anniversary, dear friend Tania–all best wishes!)

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3 de March de 2012