Category: Current Affairs

Is It A Creche? A Manger Scene? In Mexico, It’s a Nacimiento.

A Christmas tree may be the central focus of your home decoration during this joyous season of the Christian year. In most parts of Mexico, though, the Christmas tree is a fairly recent import and the primary focus of the holiday is still on the nacimiento (manger scene, creche, or nativity scene).

One of Mexico Cooks!' biggest delights every late November and early December is shopping for Christmas–hunting for gifts of course, but also, on the lookout for new items to place in my nacimiento (manger scene). Truth be told, I have five nacimientos–or maybe six–that come out each Christmas season, but only one of them keeps growing every year.

The tiny figures in this nacimiento are made of clay; the choza (hut) is made of wood. The shepherds and angels have distinctive faces; no two are alike. One shepherd carries firewood, another a tray of pan dulce (sweet breads), a third has a little bird in his hands. The tallest figures measure only three inches high. According to la leyenda navideña (the Christmas legend), even the animals in the stable bowed down to worship the Niño Dios (Baby Jesus). Click on any photo to enlarge the image for a better view.

The Niño Dios is not placed in the pesebre (manger) until the night of December 24. The Niño Dios for the clay nacimiento above is just over an inch long and is portrayed sleeping on his stomach with his tiny knees drawn up under him, just like a real infant. This entire nacimiento was made about 35 years ago in Tonalá, Jalisco, Mexico.

Mexican households traditionally pass the figures for their nacimientos down through the family; the figures begin to look a little tattered after traveling from great-great-grandparents to several subsequent generations, but no one minds. In fact, each figure holds loving family memories and is the precious repository of years of 'remember when…?''. No one cares that the Virgin Mary's gown is chipped around the hem or that St. Joseph is missing an arm; remembering how the years-ago newest baby, now 32 and with a baby of his own, teethed on the Virgin's dress or how a long-deceased visiting aunt's dog bit off St. Joseph's arm is cause for a family's nostalgic laughter.

Nacimiento en vivo (living nativity scene), Lake Chapala, Jalisco, Mexico. In 13th century Italy, St. Francis of Assisi was the first to be inspired to re-enact the birth of Christ. The first nacimiento was presented with living creatures: the oxen, the donkey, and the Holy Family. Even today in hundreds of Mexican communities, you'll see living manger scenes.

Holy Family, 18th century Italy. The earliest nativity figures, made of clay, were created in 15th century Naples and their use spread rapidly throughout Italy and Spain. In Spain, the early figural groups were called 'Belenes' (Bethlehems).

A few weeks before Christmas, my tiny nacimiento de plomo (manger scene with lead figures, none over four inches high) comes out of yearlong storage. The wee village houses are made of cardboard and hand-painted; each has snow on its roof and a little tree in front. You might well ask what the figures in the photo represent: Sr. San José (St. Joseph, who in Mexico always wears green and gold) leads the donkey carrying la Virgen María (the Virgin Mary) on their trek to Belén (Bethlehem). We put these figures out earliest and move them a bit closer to Bethlehem every day. This nacimiento is the one that grows each year; I have added many, many figures to the original few. This year the total number of figures is near 250.

Click on this photo from the early years of my nacimiento and you will see that the Holy Family has not yet arrived in Bethlehem; the choza is empty and St. Joseph's staff is just barely visible in the lower right-hand corner. Click to enlarge the photo to better see the figures in the nacimiento: gamboling sheep, birds of all kinds, shepherds, shepherdesses, St. Charbel (to the left and behind the choza), an angel, and Our Lady of Guadalupe are all ready to receive the Niño Dios (Baby Jesus). Notice the upright red figure at the right, standing in the Spanish moss: that's Satanás (you know who!), who is always present in a Mexican nacimiento to remind us that although the birth of Jesus offers love and the possibility of redemption to the world, sin and evil are always present.

Detail of the lead figures in my ever-growing nacimiento. To the left is a well (with doves) and a woman coming to draw water; to the right is an arriero (donkey-herder) giving his stubborn little donkey what-for.

No matter how many figures are included in a manger scene, the central figures in any nacimiento are the Holy Family (St. Joseph, the Virgin Mary, and the Baby Jesus). In Mexico, those three are collectively known as el misterio (the mystery).

A very small portion of one of the largest nacimientos on display in Mexico City. It measures more than 700 square meters and includes thousands of figures. They include everything you can think of and some things that would never occur to you: a butcher shop, a running stream and a waterfall, sleeping peasants, and washerwomen. A nacimiento can include all of the important stories of the Bible, from Genesis to the Resurrection, as well as figures representing daily life–both today's life in Mexico and life at the time of Jesus's birth. Photo courtesy El Universal.

Papel roca (hand-painted paper for decorating a nacimiento), a choza (little hut), and two kinds of moss for sale in this booth at the Guadalajara tianguis navideño (Christmas market). Over the course of years, Mexico Cooks! has purchased figures of a miniature pre-Hispanic loinclothed warrior, a tiny shoemaker working at his bench, a wee man sawing firewood, and a shepherd standing under a tree while holding a lamb. The shepherd's tree looks exactly like a stalk of broccoli and makes me smile each time I look at it.

Where in Mexico can you buy figures for your nacimiento? Every city and town has a market where, for about a month between the end of November and the first week in January, a large number of vendors offer items especially for Christmas. Some larger cities, like Mexico City, Guadalajara, Morelia, and others, offer several tianguis navideños (Christmas markets) where literally thousands of figures of every size are for sale.

A few years ago, I found a tiny figure of the seated Virgin Mary, one breast partially exposed as she nurses the Niño Dios, who lies nestled in her arms. It's the only one like it that I have ever seen. She measures just about two and a half inches high.

This shepherd keeps watch over his cook-fire in the Mexico Cooks! nacimiento. He's about three inches long from head to toe; the base of the fire is about the same length; the lead props for the pot are about two inches high.

This booth at a tianguis navideño in Guadalajara offers Niños Dios in every possible size, from tiny ones measuring less than three inches long to babies the size of a two-year-old child. In Mexico City's Centro Histórico, Calle Talavera is an entire street devoted to shops specializing in clothing for your Niño Dios. The nacimiento is traditionally displayed until February 2 (Candlemas Day), when the Niño Dios is gently taken out of the pesebre (manger) in a special ceremony called the levantamiento (raising). The nacimiento is then carefully stored away until the following December.

The choza (hut) in the Mexico Cooks! nacimiento. People and animals are waiting for the arrival of the Mary and Joseph, and for the birth of the Christ Child. Click on any photo for a larger view. In addition to the original lead figures, we now have indigenous figures found in a Mexico City flea market, antique lead animal figures (the rabbit behind the sleeping lamb, the little brown dog behind the kneeling shepherd), finely detailed santons from a trip to Provence, modern resin figures of every description, and many more. Two hundred more–and counting!

Piles of gold and silver glitter cardboard stars of Bethlehem, for sale at the tianguis navideño in southern Mexico City's Mercado Mixcoac.

At another tianguis navideño, an assortment of clay figures for your nacimiento: villagers, chickens, and vendors. Size and scale don't matter: you'll find crocodiles the size of a soft drink can and elephants no bigger than your little finger. Both will work equally well in your nacimiento.

Giant flamingos go right along with burritas (little donkeys). Why not?

Each traditional figure in a nacimiento is symbolic of a particular value. For example, the choza (the little hut) represents humility and simplicity. Moss represents humility–it's something that everyone steps on. The donkey represents the most humble animal in all creation, chosen to carry the pregnant Virgin Mary. The star of Bethlehem represents renewal and unending light.

Which diablito (little devil) tempts you most, the one with the money bag or the one with the booze?

How many shepherds do you want? This annual tianguis navideño booth has hundreds, and in sizes ranging from an inch to well over a foot tall.

It wouldn't be a Mexican nacimiento without tortillas! You wouldn't want the Sagrada Familia (Holy Family) to go hungry, would you?

Turkeys were a new addition for Navidad 2016: a dear friend knows my nacimiento passion and found this pair of antique turkeys for me. The bigger one is just 3" from beak to tail. They'll fit right in with the other 200-plus figures!

This Christmas, Mexico Cooks! wishes you all the blessings of the season. Whatever your faith, we hope you enjoy this peek at the nacimiento, one of Mexico's lasting traditions.

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23 de December de 2017
Piñatas :: Not Just For Birthdays! It’s Time for Mexico’s Posadas

Traditional piñatas ready for sale decorate the door to the Hernández family's tiny taller (workshop) on Av. Lázaro Cárdenas, Morelia, Michoacán.

Among clean ollas de barro (clay pots), plastic receptacles filled with engrudo (flour/water paste), and colorful, neatly stacked rounds of papel de china (tissue paper), Sra. María Dolores Hernández (affectionately known as Doña Lolita) sits on an upturned bucket. She'll celebrate her 88th birthday on December 24, and she still lights up–just like a Christmas tree–when she talks about her business and her life.

The last point of the star-shaped piñata is in Doña Lolita's hands, nearly ready to be glued into place.

"When I was a young woman, raising my family together with my husband, it was hard for us to make a good living here in Morelia. We had eight children (one has died, but six girls and a boy survive) and we struggled to make ends meet. My husband was a master mason, but I wanted to help out with the finances. I knew a woman who made piñatas, and I thought, 'I can do that.' So I started trying my hand, nearly 60 years ago."

Doña Lolita adds another layer of newspaper to this piñata in progress. "You can't put too much newspaper on the pot, because it will take too long to break," she explained. "And you can't put too little on it, either, because then the first child to hit it will break it. That's no good, either. You just have to know how much to use." Click on the photo to enlarge it and get a good look at the clay pot inside the paper maché.

"The woman who made piñatas wouldn't give away her secrets, so I had to figure everything out for myself. You should have seen me the first time I tried to make a bird's beak for a parrot-shaped piñata! A man I knew told me to make it out of chapopote (a kind of tar), so I did. It hardened all right, but later in the day the weather warmed up and that beak dripped down to here! What a mess! I finally figured out how to make the shape out of paper, but I just about broke my head thinking about it!"

Pre-cut rounds of papel de china (tissue paper) wait to be glued onto a piñata. The black plastic bag holds strips of newspaper.

Doña Lolita told me about the different grades of paper used to create different styles of decoration on the piñata, and she explained different kinds of paper-cutting techniques; she's absolutely the expert. Here, her son-in-law Fernando cuts tissue paper for fringe. His hands are so fast with the scissors it made my head spin; he can even cut without looking.

"In those days, the clay pots cost four and a half pesos for a gross–yes, for 144. In the old days, I usually sold about 7,000 piñatas every December, so you can imagine the investment I made just in clay pots. In the 1960s, I could sell a large piñata for seven pesos. Now–well, now the pots are much more expensive, so naturally the piñatas cost more, too. The large ones cost 45 pesos. This year, I'll sell about 1,000 piñatas just for the posadas. "

Piñatas in various stages of completion hang from every beam in Doña Lolita's tiny workshop.

"When my daughter Mercedes was about eight years old, she wanted to learn to make piñatas. She'd been watching me do it since she was born. So I taught her, and I've taught the whole family. Piñatería (making piñatas) is what's kept us going." Doña Lolita smiled hugely. "My children have always been extremely hard workers. There was a girl for each part of making the piñatas. Every year, we started making piñatas in August and finished at the beginning of January.

This gigantic piñata, still unfinished, measures almost six feet in diameter from point to point.

"One time, we had so many piñatas to finish that I didn't think we could do it. So I thought, 'if we work all night long, we can finish them by tomorrow morning.' Only I couldn't figure out how to keep the children awake to work all night." She laughed. "I went to the drugstore and bought pills to stay awake. I knew I could keep myself awake, but I gave one pill to each of the children. And in just a little while, I was working and they were sleeping, their heads fell right down into their work! What! Those pills didn't work at all! The next day I went back to the drugstore and asked the pharmacist about it. 'Oh no! I thought you asked me for pills to make them sleep!' he said." Doña Lolita laughed again. "We finished all the piñatas in spite of those pills, but you had better believe me, I never tried anything that foolish again."

Doña Lolita builds piñatas with her son-in-law, Fernando Cedeño Herrera (left), her daughter Mercedes Ayala Hernández, her grandchildren and her great-grandchildren. A close friend, Oswaldo Gutiérrez López (background), works with the family. Her grandson Enrique, 19, says he intends to keep the family business going.

Oswaldo Gutiérrez works on this piñata in the doorway of the tiny taller. Doña Lolita has taught many people the art of creating traditional piñatas, but her family and her loyal customers say she's the best piñatera (piñata maker) in Morelia.

"People come from everywhere to buy my piñatas. I don't have to take them out to sell; I only sell them here in the taller. Because they're so beautiful and well-made, all the best people in Morelia–and lots of people from other places–come to seek me out and order piñatas for their parties. I've taught my family that our work is our pride and our heritage, and my children have all taught their children the same. That is our legacy, our family tradition."

Fill the piñata with candy like these bags of traditional colación (hard candies especially for Christmas).

But why piñatas, and why in December? During the early days of the Spanish conquest, the piñata was used as a catechetical tool, for teaching Catholic dogma. The body of the piñata represented Satan; each of the seven points symbolized the seven capital sins (pride, lust, gluttony, rage, greed, laziness, and envy). The bandanna worn by the person whacking at the piñata symbolized blind faith. Breaking the piñata equated with the triumph of good over evil, overpowering Satan, overcoming sin, and enjoying the delights of God's creation as they pour out of the piñata. Doña Lolita's most sought-after piñatas continue the traditional style, but she also creates piñatas shaped like roosters, peacocks, half-watermelons, deer, half moons, and once, an enormous octopus!

Now, for the nine nights from December 16 through December 24, Mexico celebrates las posadas. Each evening, a re-enactment of the Christmas story brings children dressed as la Virgencita María (ready to give birth to her baby) and her husband Sr. San José (and a street filled with angels, shepherds, and other costumed children) along the road to Bethlehem, searching for a place to stay. There is no place: Bethlehem's posadas (inns) are filled. Where will the baby be born! For the re-enactment, people wait behind closed doors at certain neighborhood houses. The santos peregrinos (holy pilgrims) knock, first at one door, then another. At each house, they sing a song, begging lodging for the night. At each house, the neighbors inside turn them away in song: 'No room here! Go away! Bother someone else!' Watch a lovely slide show: Las Posadas.

Freshly toasted cacahuates (peanuts) also stuff the piñata. The wooden box holding the peanuts is actually a measure, as is the oval metal box.

After several houses turn away la Virgen, San José, and their retinue, they finally receive welcome at the last, previously designated house. After the pilgrims sing their plea for a place to stay, the guests assembled inside sing their welcome, "Entren santos peregrinos…" (Come in, holy pilgrims…). The doors are flung open, everyone piles into the house, and a huge party starts. Traditional foods like ponche (a hot fruit punch), buñuelos (a thin fried dough covered with either sugar or syrup), and tamales (hundreds of tamales!) pour out of the kitchen as revelers sing villancicos (Mexican Christmas carols) and celebrate the coming of the Niño Dios (the Child Jesus). Finally, all the children line up to put on a blindfold and take swings at a piñata stuffed with candy, seasonal fruits, and peanuts.

This five-pound bag of hard candies shows a blindfolded (but peeking) boy ready to break open the filled piñata. Luis Gómez, a merchant at Local 290, Mercado Independencia in Morelia, offers these and other bags of piñata candies.

Caña de azúcar (sugar cane), also in season now, goes into the piñata, too. The skin is left on and it's cut into 2" to 3" sections, then added to the mix of other treats.

Yes, little jícamas are also in the markets right now–and meant to be included in the piñata! We only use tiny ones–they also measure about 3" in diameter.

Mandarinas (tangerines) are in season at Christmastime and round out the goodies in lots of piñatas.

The piñata, stuffed with all it will hold, hangs from a rope during the posada party. A parent or neighbor swings it back and forth, up and down, as each child takes a turn at breaking it open with a big stick. Watch these adorable kids whack away:

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XIOjDz0smFw&w=560&h=315]

The piñata, lovely though it may be, is purely temporary. Nevertheless, happy memories of childhood posadas with family and friends last a lifetime.

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16 de December de 2017
Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe :: Queen of Mexico and the Empress of the Americas
The Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe (Our Lady of Guadalupe) in Mexico City. This newest Basílica was constructed between 1974 and 1976. It is the second most visited religious shrine in the western hemisphere–second only to the Vatican.

In 1982, Mexico Cooks! first visited La Morenita (a common nickname for Our Lady of Guadalupe) at her Basílica in Mexico City. Over the course of many years, I went back often. In 2008, I was taking a friend for her first visit to the shrine and I was practically bursting with the excitement of introducing her to the heart, the very soul, of Mexico. The extreme devotion demonstrated by the pilgrims to the Basílica, the depth of personal faith in La Reina de México (the Queen of México), and the juxtaposition of the sublime with the not-so-sublime makes the trip well worth repeating.

First on our list when many faithful visit Mexico City is always the Basílica of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Once our friends here discovered that we were going, every single person's first question was, "Van a la Villa?" ("Are you going to the Basílica)"

To each inquirer we grin and answer, "Of course! Vamos primero a echarle una visita a la virgencita." (The first thing we'll do is pay a visit to the little virgin!)

Devotional pilgrimages are an everyday occurrence at the Basílica.

The enormous Basílica of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in Mexico City is the most visited pilgrimage site in the Western Hemisphere. Its location, on the hill of Tepeyac, was a place of great sanctity long before the arrival of Christianity in the New World. In pre-Hispanic times, Tepeyac had been crowned with a temple dedicated to an earth and fertility goddess called Tonantzin, the Mother of the Gods. Tonantzin was a virgin goddess associated with the moon, like Our Lady of Guadalupe who usurped her shrine.

Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe is Mexico's patron virgin, the mother of us all, and her image adorns churches and altars, house fronts and interiors, taxis and buses, bull rings and gambling dens, restaurants and houses of ill repute. The shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe, La Villa, is always a place of extraordinary vitality and celebration. On her major festival day, the anniversary of the apparition on December 12th, the atmosphere of devotion created by literally millions of pilgrims is truly electrifying.

These young sisters are dressed as peregrinas indígenas (indigenous pilgrims) for el Día de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, celebrated every December 12.

The story of Our Lady's 1531 appearance in Mexico is familiar to every person who lives in this country.

The Tepeyac hill and shrine were important pilgrimage places for the nearby Mexica (later Aztec) capital city of Tenochtitlán. Following the conquest of Tenochtitlán by Hernan Cortez in 1521, the shrine was demolished, and the native people were forbidden to continue their pilgrimages to the sacred hill. The pagan practices had been considered to be devil worship for more than a thousand years in Christian Europe.

On Saturday, December 9, 1531, a recently baptized indigenous man named Juan Diego set out to see a doctor in a nearby town: his uncle was very sick and needed medicine. As he passed the pagan sacred hill of Tepeyac, he heard a voice calling to him. Climbing the hill, he saw on the summit a young woman who seemed to be no more than fourteen years old, standing in a golden mist.

Revealing herself as the "ever-virgin Holy Mary, Mother of God" (so the Christian telling of the story goes), she told Juan Diego not to be afraid. Her words? "Am I not here, am I not your mother?" She instructed him to go to the local bishop and tell him that she wished a church for her son to be built on the hill. He told her about his uncle's illness; she said, "Don't worry about your uncle, I'll take care of him. Please go to the bishop." Juan did as he was instructed, but the bishop's staff refused to let him into the office.

Typical children's costumes to be worn in processions for the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

On his way home, Juan climbed the sacred hill and again saw the apparition. He reported his failure to see the bishop. The Virgin told him to return to the bishop the next day. This time the bishop's staff listened more attentively to Juan's message from Mary. They were still skeptical, however, and so asked him to go get a sign from Mary that would prove who she was.

Two days later Juan went again to Tepeyac and, when he again met Mary, she told him to climb the hill and pick the roses that were growing there. Juan climbed the hill with misgivings. It was the dead of winter, and flowers could not possibly be growing on the rocky, cold and frosty mountain. At the summit, Juan found a profusion of roses, an armful of which he gathered and wrapped in his tilma (a garment similar to a poncho). Arranging the roses, Mary instructed Juan to take the tilma-encased bundle to the bishop, for this would be her sign.

When the bishop unrolled the tilma, he was astounded by the presence of the flowers. They were roses that grew only in Seville, Spain–where he had lived. But more truly miraculous was the image that had mysteriously appeared on Juan Diego's tilma. The image showed the young woman, her head lowered demurely. Wearing a starry blue mantle and flowing gown, she stood upon a crescent moon. The bishop was convinced that Mary had indeed appeared to Juan Diego and soon thereafter the bishop began construction of the original church devoted to her honor.

The original tilma worn by Juan Diego still hangs above the altar in the Basílica. Venerated by millions of pilgrims, the maguey cactus fiber tilma shows no wear after 486 years.

News of the miraculous apparition of the Virgin's image on a peasant's tilma spread rapidly throughout Mexico. Indians by the thousands came from hundreds of kilometers away to see the image, now hanging above the altar in the new church. They learned that the mother of the Christian God had appeared to one of their own kind and spoken to him in his native language. The miraculous image was to have a powerful influence on the advancement of the Church's mission in Mexico. In only seven years, from 1532 to 1538, more than eight million Indians were converted to Christianity.

The shrine, rebuilt several times over the centuries, is today a great Basílica with a capacity for 50,000 pilgrims.

Juan Diego's tilma is preserved behind bulletproof glass and hangs twenty-five feet above the main altar in the basilica. For more than 485 years the colors of the image have remained as bright as if they were painted yesterday, despite being exposed for more than 100 years following the apparition to humidity, smoke from church candles, and airborne salts.

From the sublime to the not-so-sublime: these key ring-bottle openers for sale in the trinket bazaar outside the Basílica bear various images of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.

The coarsely-woven cactus cloth of the tilma, a cloth considered to have a life expectancy of about 40 years, still shows no evidence of decay. Astronomers have concluded that the 46 stars on her gown coincide with the position of the constellations in the heavens at the time of the winter solstice in 1531. Scientists have investigated the nature of the image and have been left with nothing more than evidence of the mystery of a miracle. The dyes forming her portrait have no base in the elements known to science.

The origin of the name Guadalupe has always been a matter of controversy. It is believed that the name came about because of the translation from Nahuatl to Spanish of the words used by the Virgin during the apparition. It is believed that she used the Nahuatl word coatlaxopeuh which is pronounced "koh-ah-tlah-SUH-peh" and sounds remarkably like the Spanish word Guadalupe. 'Coa' means serpent, 'tla' can be interpreted as "the", while 'xopeuh' means to crush or stamp out. This version of the origin would indicate that Mary must have called herself "she who crushes the serpent," a Christian New Testament reference as well as a a reference to the Mexica's mythical god Quetzacóatl, the plumed serpent.

That February, we took the Metrobús to La Villa, a journey of about an hour from the neighborhood called La Condesa, where we were staying with friends, to the Basílica in the far northern part of the city. The Metrobús, Mexico City's marvelous above-ground rapid transit system, left us just two blocks from the Basílica.

Pope John Paul II made five official visits to Mexico. To many Mexicans, he continues to be the true Pope, Mexico's Pope. This image of Pope John Paul II, showing him protected by and devoted to Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, is found in both pictures and figures. It is still displayed in many Mexican homes.

Holy water bottles in the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, available from vendors' booths around the Basílica.

The street and the bridge to the Basílica are filled chock-a-block with booths selling souvenirs of La Villa. Everything that you can think of (and plenty you would never think of) is available: piles of t-shirts with the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe and that of Juan Diego, CDs of songs devoted to her, bandanna-like scarves with her portrait, eerie green glow-in-the-dark figurines of her, key chains shaped like the Basílica, statues of La Virgencita in every size and quality, holy water containers that look like her in pink, blue, green, and pearly white plastic, religious-theme jewelry and rosaries that smell of rose petals, snow globes with tiny statues of La Guadalupana and the kneeling Juan Diego that are dusted with stars when the globes are shaken.

In front of the Basílica, you can have your picture taken next to her image and with a variety of horses. The caption on the yellow sign reads, "A Memento of My Visit to the Basílica of Guadalupe".

There are booths selling freshly arranged flowers for pilgrims to carry to the shrine. There are booths selling soft drinks, tacos, and candy. Ice cream vendors hawk paletas (popsicles). Hordes of children offer chicles (chewing gum) for sale. We were jostled and pushed as the crowd grew denser near the Basílica.

Is it tacky? Yes, without a doubt. Is it wonderful? Yes, without a doubt. It's the very juxtaposition of the tourist tchotchkes with the sublime message of the heavens that explains so much about Mexico and its duality. We needed to buy several recuerdos (mementos) for our friends in the United States, but we were hard-pressed to decide what to choose. Some pilgrims buy before going into the Basílica so that their recuerdos can be blessed by a priest, but we decided to wait until after visiting the Virgin to do our shopping. When we finished shopping, we discovered that a priest was stationed in a nearby booth to bless late purchases.

The 16th Century Basílica is sinking into Mexico City's shifting subsoil. The new Basílica is built in the same plaza.

The present church was constructed on the site of the 16th-century first shrine to Our Lady of Guadalupe. It was replaced by the shrine that was finished in 1709, called the Old Basílica. When the Old Basílica became dangerous due to the sinking of its foundations, a modern structure called the New Basílica was built on the same property. The original image of the Virgin of Guadalupe is now housed above the altar in this New Basílica.

Built between 1974 and 1976, the new Basílica was designed by architect Pedro Ramírez Vásquez. Its seven front doors are an allusion to the seven gates of Celestial Jerusalem referred to by Christ. It has a circular floor plan so that the image of the Virgin can be seen from any point within the building. An empty crucifix symbolizes Christ's resurrection. The choir is located between the altar and the churchgoers to indicate that it, too, is part of the group of the faithful. To the sides are the chapels of the Santísimo Sacramento (the Blessed Sacrament) and of Saint Joseph.

That February, on an ordinary day at the beginning of Lent, we entered the Basílica as one Mass was ending and another was beginning. Thirty Masses are often celebrated during the course of any day. Pilgrims pour in to place baskets of flowers on the rail around the altar. People filled the pews and were standing 10-deep at the back of the church. There were lines of people waiting to be heard in the many confessionals.

We stood for a bit and listened to what the priest was saying. "La misa de once ya se terminó. Decidimos celebrar otra misa ahora a las doce por tanta gente que ha llegado, por tanta fe que se demuestra" ("The eleven o'clock Mass is over. We have decided to celebrate another Mass at 12 o'clock because so many people have arrived, because of so much faith being demonstrated.")

Priests celebrate as many as 30 Masses every day of the year.

Making our way through the crowd, we walked down a ramp into the area below and behind the altar. Three moving sidewalks bore crowds of pilgrims past the gold-framed tilma. Tears flowed down the cheeks of some; others made the sign of the cross as they passed, and one woman held her year-old baby up high toward the Virgin. Most people moved from one of the moving sidewalks to another in order to be able to have a longer visit with the Mother of Mexico.

When I first visited the Basílica 35 years ago, there were only two moving sidewalks. Behind them was space for the faithful to stand and reflect or pray for a few minutes. Now there are three moving walkways. The constant crush of visitors required that the quiet space be devoted to movement rather than reflection and rest.

We walked to the back of the Basílica to look at a large bronze crucifix exhibited in a glass case. The crucifix, approximately three feet high, is bent backward in a deep arch and lies across a large cushion. According to the placard and the photos from the era, in 1921 a bouquet of flowers was placed directly on the altar of the Old Basílica beneath the framed tilma. It was later discovered that the floral arrangement was left at the altar by an anarchist who had placed a powerful dynamite bomb among the flowers. When the bomb detonated, the altar crucifix was bent nearly double and large portions of the marble altar were destroyed. Nevertheless, no harm came to the tilma and legend has it that the crucified Son protected his Mother from the bomb.

After a while, we reluctantly left the Basílica. With a long backward glance at the tilma, we stepped out into the brilliantly sunny Mexico City afternoon. The throngs in the Basílica atrium still pressed forward to visit the shrine.

We stopped in some of the enclosed shops at sidewalk level and then continued over the bridge through the booths of mementos. After we bought small gifts, the priest on duty blessed them for us and we moved away to hail a taxi. My heart was still in the Basílica, with our Mother.

Take your pick: hundreds of statues of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe await you in the shops outside the Basílica.

The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe falls on December 12 each year. Think about her just for a moment as you go about your day. After all, she's the Queen of Mexico and the Empress of the Americas.

How to get there once you're in Mexico City:
- From the Centro Histórico (Historic Downtown) take Metro Line 3 at Hidalgo and transfer to Line 6 at Deportivo 18 de Marzo. Go to the next station, La Villa Basílica. Then walk north two busy blocks until reaching the square.
- Take the Line 1 Metrobús (Indios Verdes) north to the station Deportivo 18 de marzo. Go down the stairs, head left half a block to the corner, turn right to cross the street, and walk two blocks to the right until you get to the Basílica.
- From the Hidalgo Metro station take a pesero (microbus) to La Villa.
- From Zona Rosa take a pesero along Paseo de la Reforma, north to the stop nearest the Basílica.
- Or take an Uber from your hotel, wherever it is in the city. Tell the driver, "A La Villa, por favor. Vamos a echarle una visita a la Virgencita." ("To the Basílica, please. We're going to make a visit to the little Virgin.")
Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours.
9 de December de 2017
Noche de Muertos (Night of the Dead) in Michoacán :: Mutual Nostalgia

Mexico Cooks!' full body bone scan, 2009.

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 a 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 right over there, behind that pillar. She waits with patience, until later today or until twelve o'clock next Thursday, or sometime next year–but when it's time, she's right there to dance away with you at her side.

November 2013 altar to La Santa Muerte (Holy Death), 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 panteón municipal (town cemetery) in this small town. 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 30-plus years, Mexico Cooks! has been to countless Noche de Muertos events, but none as mystical, as spiritual, or as profoundly magical as in 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, a home altar) in one of Michoacán's villages. 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. 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. 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 perdieron su sabor, no sabían a nada," they said. 'We bought bananas, for example, and we put some on the altar and the rest in the kitchen to eat. The next day, the ones in the kitchen were fine, but the ones from the altar had no taste at all.'

Preparing a family member's ofrenda (altar) in the camposanto in another village's cemetery 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 artisans' homes.

Come with me along the unlit road that skirts the Lago de Pátzcuaro: Lake Pátzcuaro. It's chilly 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.

Waiting 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 cempazútchiles 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.

Watching. Prayers. No me olvido de ti, mi viejo amado. (I haven't forgotten you, my dear old man.)

Next year, come with me.

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28 de October de 2017
La Cocina de Doña Esthela :: Doña Esthela’s Kitchen, Valle de Guadalupe, Baja California

Señora Blanca Estela Martínez Bueno–known to the world as doña Esthela–along with her husband, don José, in the white hat–converse with Rafael Mier about some of Mexico's native corns.

Doña Esthela and her husband, both of whom were born and raised in farming families from the state of Sinaloa, Mexico, know corn inside and out. They had a lot to talk about with Rafael Mier and were thrilled that he'd brought the mazorcas (dried ears of corn) with him to the restaurant. The visit we made to their Valle de Guadalupe restaurant, La Cocina de Doña Esthela, was exciting for all of us. Watching the way these three people enjoyed touching these old-time ears of corn, listening to the stories they swapped about planting, raising, harvesting, storing, and cooking with the grains, inspired me deeply.

Doña Esthela and don José (doña and don are honorifics in Mexico, prefixes to a respected woman or man's first name) moved from Sinaloa to Baja California over 20 years ago. To do her part to support their family, doña Esthela took in washing and ironing. Shortly after, she began selling home-baked cookies–and not just any cookies: she was making and selling coricos from the state of Sinaloa, the curled-up cookies on the right in the photo. Coricos are made with lard, corn masa (dough), a little sugar, and some baking powder: simple ingredients with fabulous flavor.

Pretty soon her coricos, burritos, and whatever else she could prepare to sell outside the employee entrances to maquiladores (trans-border factories) and outside local schools was in hot demand among the workers and students in her Mexican neighborhood, and before much longer, other people got wind of the fact that she was a terrific cook. Soon after that, the actors and crew from a popular Mexican telenovela (soap opera), filming in the area, showed up asking to be fed, and the rest is history. She started restaurant life in her home kitchen, with one table, cooking whatever ingredients she could afford to purchase. Over the years, she and her family have expanded the restaurant over and over again–today, La Cocina de Doña Esthela can seat up to 160 diners at a time.

A simple sign, nothing fancy–but on weekends, the wait to be seated can be as much as three hours. If you're in Baja California and want to have breakfast at Doña Esthela's on Saturday or Sunday–or during a puente (holiday weekend)–a word to the wise: the restaurant opens at 8:30 AM. Be there early so you don't have to stand in line forever. On the other hand, if there is a line ahead of you, wait. Breakfast is worth it and you'll thank me.

Let's get to the point: what did we eat?

The star of the restaurant is the barbacoa de borrego tatemado (pit-cooked mutton). Doña Esthela gets up long before dawn to put the mutton and its seasonings into the underground cooking pit–it has to be ready when she opens the doors to customers at 8:30AM. Fall off the bone tender, the meat is served with a bowl of consomé, the liquid in which the meat was cooked. I've eaten delicious barbacoa in a lot of places, and I swear to you that this is the best I've ever tried. Anywhere. Ever.

Big platters started coming quickly out of the kitchen. These are gorditas, thick corn tortillas, split in half and stuffed with spinach, with machaca, with nopales, or with chicharrón, all served with frijoles refritos, Sinaloa style.

Machaca (shredded, seasoned dried beef), scrambled into eggs. Doña Esthela prepares everything herself, with some other staff in the kitchen to help.

I put a spoonful of the machaca into one of her house-made corn tortillas and bit into it, and I think my eyeballs rolled back in my head with joy. If you don't eat anything else at La Cocina de Doña Esthela, you must have the machaca. In 2015, the British food website Foodie Hub named Doña Esthela's breakfasts–with special attention given to the machaca–the tastiest in the world. It's certainly far and away the best machaca Mexico Cooks! has ever tasted.

To the right in the photo is the completely merited Foodie Hub trophy, awarded to Doña Esthela for her breakfasts. In the middle, one of the reed baskets filled with Mexico's colorful native corn. To the left, the clay bowl holds little balls of what I know as azafrán de bolita (little saffron balls). I was so surprised to see them in Baja California; a friend from the state of Jalisco gave me some several years ago and told me that they were only known in that state. His grandmother used them for giving a deep saffron yellow-orange color to a recipe that she made for potatoes and onions.

Here is some of the azafrán de bolita that my Jalisco friend gave me, in a dish that measures about two and a half inches in diameter. The little balls are about the same size as whole allspice. I split a couple open so that you could see their interior color.

Doña Esthela's hot-off-the-comal (griddle) corn tortillas. The incredibly rich flavors of every dish on the table were only enhanced by the pure, delicious taste of home-nixtamal-ized corn masa, pressed into tortillas and toasted on the comal until just right. The tortillas just kept coming–and not only these marvelous corn tortillas, but also doña Esthela's addictive flour tortillas! Which to choose! Easy–have both!

Just when we thought we were finished with breakfast (i.e., ready to burst from having eaten our weight in everything but the actual clay plates, which we politely refrained from licking), doña Esthela brought us a couple of platters of her corn hotcakes and maple syrup. Somehow these, too, disappeared. Our 9-year-old companion, Wolf Koenig, said these were the best pancakes he'd ever tasted. Seems like there's a "best" theme happening here–and honestly, everything we ate WAS the best of whatever it was.

Wolf's dad, W. Scott Koenig, snarfing down a flour tortilla filled with frijolitos refritos (refried beans). The plate at the bottom of the photo holds what's left of just one of the platters of those beans.

Our group, just barely willing to turn away from their plates to look at me as I took the picture. The shutter clicked and we all went right back to mmm-ing and oooh-ing and chewing and enjoying the best (there it is again!) breakfast ever. Clockwise from the left side of the photo: Chris Mejia of Baja Test Kitchen, W. Scott Koenig of A Gringo in Mexico, Wolf Koenig of corn hotcake fame, Ursula Koenig, Jennifer Kramer of Baja Test Kitchen, and just a sliver of Rafael Mier of the Facebook group Tortilla de Maíz Mexicana–which if you haven't yet joined, you definitely should.

One last shot of our crew, with its stars of the day: the maíces mexicanos nativos that were the reason for our trip to Baja California, and to the far right, our incredible breakfast hosts, don José and doña Esthela. From left to right, the rest of us: Mexico Cooks!, Jennifer Kramer, Rafael Mier, and Chris Mejia.

The best way to rescue Mexico's at-risk native corns is by eating them, as we did and you will at La Cocina de Doña Esthela. It's urgent that we promote Mexico's high-quality native corns and at the same time, Mexican farming.

Mexico's two most precious resources: the campesino and the native corn.

If you are ever in the vicinity of Valle de Guadalupe, Baja California, do not miss breakfast with doña Esthela. Go early, but if there's a line, don't be discouraged. Breakfast is so worth the wait.

La Cocina de Doña Esthela
Highway from El Tigre to Guadalupe S/N
Valle de Guadalupe, Baja California
Open daily from 8:30 AM
Telephone: 01-646-156-8453

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

14 de October de 2017
Mexico City Earthquake :: We Interrupt Our Regular Programing…

Beautiful Plaza Río de Janeiro, Colonia Roma Norte, Mexico City. The tall pink building on the right-hand side of the photo is (was, I suppose) the home of a friend. It was seriously damaged in the quake and all residents were evacuated. Photo courtesy Capt. Ricardo Gómez Garrido and Pinterest.

At 11:00AM on September 19, 2017, the 32nd anniversary of the 1985 Mexico City earthquake, the nation as a whole took a few moments to sound its earthquake alarms as a test run for city residents to practice precautions, and as a memorial to the many, many thousands of people who lost their lives in Mexico City that day so long ago. The earthquake alarm is arguably the most shocking sound in this city where I live. There are 8000 alarm speakers set up, one or more in every neighborhood; one of them is just on the corner, only one door from my apartment building. The horrible and unmistakeable sound–alerta sísmica alerta sísmica alerta sísmica, accompanied by unspeakable sirens–comes directly into my home office window. As 11:00AM approached, I steeled myself and warned the cats; the alarm went off as scheduled, stopped within a minute or so, and we all breathed a sigh of relief.

Two hours and fourteen minutes later, all hell broke loose. A massive earthquake, 7.1 on the Richter scale, shallow and with a nearby epicenter, crashed into Mexico City with no warning. Due to its proximity, there was no time to sound the alarm until the quake had already started. As is usually the case, the neighborhood where I live and the neighborhood nearest me were hardest hit. There are geological reasons for that, but no need to elaborate on those now. Parts of the whole city sustained serious damage; at last count, about 50 buildings collapsed, thousands more are in danger of collapsing, more than 400 people lost their lives, and thousands more are seriously injured.

This building collapsed in my neighborhood. Photo courtesy El País.

On September 24, a young Mexico City woman whom I do not know used social media to express her thoughts, feelings, and experiences as she volunteered that day with an earthquake relief effort. I contacted her and asked her permission to translate her writing into English and publish it here. She calls herself "Al" and she asked that I not publish a photograph of her. She says she's not a writer, although in my opinion she most definitely is.
___________________________________________________________

"Yesterday I spent six hours helping at Ground Zero on Calle Escocia, in the Del Valle neighborhood of Mexico City. I had stayed overnight at my parents’ home, and got up at 6:30AM. My mother made breakfast for me while I was getting ready, and then I lined up to go to the place where volunteers were to gather.

"Al" wrote about the wreckage and rescue efforts at this building. Photo courtesy El Universal.

Those in charge explained to us that we women were to pass empty buckets to the Mexican army, who were going to fill them with rubble and then pass them to two lines of men who were behind us, pressed up against the walls. The army was to move any metal, glass, furniture, and other more dangerous objects. They knew how inexperienced most of us volunteers were and they didn’t want us to run any risks.

In order for us to go in, they gave us equipment—helmet, gloves, vest, and face masks. They used permanent markers to write our name, a contact number, and blood type on our arms. They vaccinated us against tetanus.

And then we went into Ground Zero in silence, our cellular phones turned off. Right after a 45 minute delay due to the scare of the second earthquake [Saturday 23 September, a 6.2 aftershock from the earthquake on September 7, 2017], the army immediately put us to work. We had to wait while Civil Defense made sure that it was safe to go into the building.

My eyes could not believe what they were seeing: I had never seen a collapsed building, never thought how a structure so strong and solid could become a mountain of rubble and memories. The “line of life”, as we called it, began its work, and we put thinking aside in order to be able do our job.

The 'line of life'. Photo courtesy Daniel Águilar and El Universal.

While we were actively working, other volunteers continuously offered us donated water, electrolytes, candies, tamales, and hard-boiled eggs. We volunteers preferred not to eat; we just took candies and left the food for the army and the engineers. Doctors came through continuously, asking if we were feeling all right, putting drops in our eyes, and helping people out of the building if they looked over-tired.

Passing buckets, even the big paint-bucket size ones we had, seems simple, but after an hour I felt blisters on my hands and cramps in my shoulders. I knew I was not the only one tired when buckets began to drop from the hands of other volunteers. Some shouted, “Be careful! Those could break!” The men tried to make us feel better, saying we were doing great work.

Meanwhile, we tried to concentrate so as not to delay the work as we watched pieces of other people’s lives go by: shoes, photographs, chairs, clothing, blankets, pictures from their walls. Objects that they surely obtained from their own efforts and dedication, and now they are nothing. A wheelbarrow, thrown aside by the masonry workers who were removing bigger pieces of the wreckage, grabbed my attention
. In the wheelbarrow was a set of brand new drinking glasses, still in their wrapped box.

As the women at the head of the ‘line of life’ withdrew, those behind them advanced. I came closer to the head of the line, and suddenly I saw a car among the ruin of the building’s parking garage: a bright-red Nissan Sentra, undamaged. Nevertheless, the garage entrance is blocked, so the car will never get out unharmed.

Memories among the wreckage. Photo courtesy La Jornada.

Nobody is taking selfies, nobody is playing music, no one talks, no one makes jokes or acts lazy. Respect is tangible. The entire area is filled with mourning. Yesterday, workers here rescued a pug dog and a cat, which tells us that there is still the possibility of life among the rubble. If we do our work efficiently, it could make the difference between life and death for someone else.

The Army, the Navy, and the engineers work tirelessly. We have a crane that operates with millimeter-sharp precision, moving walls as the driver is instructed so that the search for life can continue; when the crane is working, there is absolute silence. The Mexican flag waves on the tip of the crane as it maneuvers, and my heart expands. The military men stand shoulder to shoulder in front of us volunteers to protect us from the massive cement walls that the crane manipulates.

Once a wall is on the ground, the men take up their pickaxes and in minutes turn the wall into pieces. Our work starts again: pass the buckets as fast as possible to get the hunks of cement out fast, as fast as possible. The buckets come back with the men, the wheelbarrows come and go, the army takes the riskiest material away. My throat aches, my heart hurts even worse, my soul grows larger as I see the massive and selfless effort put forth to help others.

Photo courtesy Daniel Águilar and El Universal.

The rescue team from Chile arrives to help; they climb up to evaluate the ruins. Our activity continues hour after hour. I get used to my companions; I know that the one on the left is quick, but the one on the right is scatterbrained. I keep helping her so we don’t get behind. Because of her helmet and her face mask, it’s hard to tell how old she is, but many are much younger than I—the majority of the volunteers are younger.

After a while, one of the engineers asks what time we started work. 8:30AM. He says we need to leave, but my companion on the left and I say that we can keep working for a couple of hours longer. He says it’s almost three o’clock—I can scarcely believe it!—and that we need to stop now so that our exhaustion doesn’t cause an accident. They stop the ‘line of life’ and announce that a convoy will leave with fifteen women. We leave our buckets and head out toward Calle Escocia, in the direction of Calle Eugenia. While we are leaving, people drop what they have in their hands, take off their gloves, and start applauding us: the volunteers, the paramedics, the engineers, the masonry workers. Someone from the army shouts: “Long live our brave Mexican women!”

Among applause and cheering, with my eyes on the ground and holding back tears, I leave Ground Zero. Our group turns toward Calle Eugenia, I turn in my equipment, and people offer me fruit, food, and water as they congratulate me. With many thank yous, I continue on my way out. As I walk, I realize that I am alone: I don’t know where my companions are, but I would have liked to say goodbye to them.

Rescue dogs have been critical to the relief effort. Photo courtesy Daniel Águilar and El Universal.

Everything hurts, I’m so hungry, my face is burning and I feel dizzy. A volunteer notices and she stops me and takes me to a control booth, where they give me a banana and a soft drink. I wait a few minutes and go out through the cordoned-off area, where the volunteers who will relieve us and the police applaud me again. I’ve never gotten so much attention, and I only smile. Fame is not my thing. I take a grateful breath, I comb my dust-stiffened hair, shake off my pants a little, and keep walking toward Calle Gabriel Mancera. I think about what I have lived through, proud of my work and above all, that I didn’t cry in front of the others. This ends when I see my mother waiting for me at the first checkpoint, among the dump trucks waiting to take away more rubble.

We are so fortunate to have all that we do. The least we can do is help those who are going through such difficult times. A friend took a picture of me as I arrived at her house, so that I would never forget what I learned and felt that day. And I won’t."
__________________________________________________________________

None of us will forget, Al. Thank you and God bless you.

30 de September de 2017
Popocatépetl :: The History of a Living Volcano :: La Historia de Un Volcán Que Vive

This article about the volcano Popocatépetl, published just over four years ago, is once again appropriate. Don Goyo (the volcano's nickname) is as active today as it was in 2013.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Popoca carries his beloved Mixtli to the snowy mountains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

During volcanic activity of this kind, the world keeps turning. Residents in the several towns nearest the volcano go about their normal daily lives while keeping one eye on the top of the mountain and one ear out for the latest alerts. In Amecameca, a delightful gentleman stopped his bicycle 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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26 de August de 2017
What’s in Season in July at Mexico City’s Markets?

At the Mercado de Sonora, this gigantic freshly cut squash looks more like a huge flower. The squash, an extremely hard-shelled variety known as calabaza de Castilla (Castilian squash), was approximately two feet in diameter! Behind it are plátanos machos (plaintains). The squash, carefully cut in half to show its beautiful flesh and seeds, is resting on taro root rhizomes.

Those of you who live somewhere outside Mexico and are enjoying seasonal fresh fruits and vegetables right now might be surprised to learn that even in Mexico, where the growing season can be year-round, there are times when it's the season for (insert name of item here) and we all rush to buy what's new in our markets. Whether Mexico Cooks! shops at a tianguis (street market), at an enclosed municipal market, or at a modern supermarket, seasonal fruits and vegetables are must-haves–otherwise, they won't be back in the markets till next year.

The most recent seasonal fruit for summer 2017 is the tuna (prickly pear cactus fruit). Available by the ton from late June until sometime in September, the tuna is considered to be Mexico's national fruit. It even appears on Mexican flag! You can see how it grows: that's a nopal cactus paddle, with tunas growing around the outside edge. More are piled up in the boxes. The spiny, thick green peel encloses a marvelous fruit.

Here's a tuna that I just peeled. Peel-and-eat, seeds and all. Cut the ends from the tuna, make a lengthwise slit down one side of the skin, and with your fingers, simply pull the skin away from the flesh. Chilled, the sweet, crisp tuna flesh is as refreshing as watermelon–and similarly textured.

Can you even believe it? The cool, refreshing rainy season in central Mexico means wild mushrooms! The season is just beginning. I bought these glorious fresh morels at a municipal market where I often take touring foodies. Women from small towns in mountainous areas around Mexico City forage for these and other mushrooms (chanterelles and lobster mushrooms, anyone?) and sell them at local markets. These morels were so inexpensive that I bought a kilo (2.2 pounds) and gave half to my neighbor.

What you may know as lobster mushrooms (Hypomyces lactifluorum) are called trompa de puerco (pig snout) here in central Mexico. Contrary to its mushroom name, this is actually a fungus that attacks a kind of wild white mushroom, deforming it into the delicacy you see in the picture. These do sometimes appear at farmers' markets in the USA, but prepare to pay through the snout for them: upwards of $30.00USD per pound. Here, they're a tenth that price.

These enormous just-cut flores de calabaza (squash blossoms) appear in Mexico's markets as the plants are setting their fruit. The Purépecha indigenous woman in the photo has brought her flowers to sell on the street in Paracho, Michoacán. Tidbit of information: only the male blossoms are cut; the female flowers, notable by the spherical beginning of a squash at the base of each flower, are left on the vine to bear fruit.

Mangos! It's still mango season in Mexico, and the varieties are many. These are Paraíso: about five inches long and plump as can be, the flesh is tender, sweet, and incredibly popular as a snack. Mangos are the most cultivated fruit in the world!

Here's a ready-to-eat mango-on-a-stick, offered by a street vendor in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán. Spritzed with a little jugo de limón (juice of the Key lime), sprinkled with a big pinch of salt, and dusted with crushed, dried, red chile–absolutely marvelous. People in Mexico look forward all year long to the several months of mango season!

July is also papaya season. This variety, the usual one that we see in Mexico, is the Carica papaya–otherwise known as the Maradol. Ranging in size from about eight inches long to a jumbo-size foot and a half, the Maradol papaya has very thin orange skin, meaty, deep orange flesh and usually a zillion firm black seeds, each smaller than a pea. Eat this fruit any time: diced for breakfast, in a smoothie, or accompany your comida (main meal at midday) with a refreshing agua fresca de papaya–a papaya fruit water.

Limón criollo: Mexico's small spherical 'native' limones are known in the United States as Key limes. These limones aren't really native to Mexico; they originated in Asia and were brought here by the Spanish nearly 500 years ago. Available all year and used ubiquitously for everything from squeezing onto fresh fruit to squeezing into your bowl of caldo de pollo (chicken soup) to spritzing onto your hands for slicking down unruly hair, these green to greenish-yellow limones are available all year long. July is their peak season, though. Their flavor is completely different from either the lime OR the lemon; oddly enough, neither Persian limes (the large oval green ones) nor Eureka lemons (the large oval yellow ones) are grown for the fresh fruit market in Mexico.

Last, the sandía (watermelon). Available all over Mexico and in season right this minute, the sweetness of the fruit is as refreshing as a cool shower. Native to somewhere in Africa–there's lots of controversy about where–and over 5000 years old, Mexico's watermelon is grown primarily in this country's western and eastern coastal states.

Fresh mango, papaya, and watermelon, ready to be seasoned just the way you like them.

Here in Mexico, many tropical fruits are eaten sprinkled with salt, crushed, dried red chile pepper, and a squirt or two of limón. If you've never tried it this way, you'll be surprised at how this multi-level flavor combination changes a standard sweet fruit experience to a rush of OH MY GOODNESS! in your mouth. Many years ago, when my elderly mother visited me in Mexico, I presented her with an already-seasoned breakfast plate of fresh ripe-picked pineapple from Veracruz, ripe-picked strawberries from Michoacán, ripe-picked papaya from Chiapas, and field-ripened cantaloupe from Mexico's west coast. Always an adventurous eater, she gobbled it right down and sighed in contentment. She said, "Cristina, I've never really understood tropical fruit before. It needs all those seasonings to make it just perfect." My mother was right.

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15 de July de 2017
OAXACA: First Grand Meeting of Oaxaca’s Traditional Cooks :: Primer Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales de Oaxaca

Oaxaca hosted its first-ever Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales on April 24-25, 2017. The festivities included more than 50 traditional home cooks from Oaxaca's eight regions, plus two days of conferences and other activities. Doña Martina Sánchez is the person shown on the poster; she's making a tlayuda, a very large, thin corn tortilla that will subsequently be topped with any number of ingredients.

Indescribably delicious empanandas, prepared by doña Martina Sánchez at the Mexico City press conference prior to the Encuentro.

From 1:00PM until 9:00PM, the cocineras tradicionales (traditional cooks) sold plates and platters and bowls of both well- and little-known dishes to the hordes and throngs of avid attendees. More than 10,000 people showed up over the course of two days. The Encuentro was a tremendous success in every respect.

Señora Celia Florián, traditional cook, restaurant owner (Las 15 Letras, Calle Abasolo 300, Centro Histórico, Oaxaca), and one of the principal organizers of the Primer Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales de Oaxaca. My dear friend Celia is a truly great woman, in every sense of the word.

Oaxaca thrilled Mexico Cooks! with an invitation to an April 23-26 hosted press trip to Oaxaca, for the sole purpose of eating, drinking, photographing, and writing about the first Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales in that city. The event took place during the celebration of the city's 485th anniversary of founding, and what a celebration it was! The Encuentro, primarily organized by Señora Celia Florián and hosted by Oaxaca's city government and other organizations, the event included more than 50 traditional cooks who set up their cooking fires on the Plaza de la Danza, just in front of Oaxaca's beautiful Basílica de Nuestra Señora de la Soledad.

La Danza de los Rubios of Santiago Juxtlahuaca, Oaxaca, pounded the stage with its fiercely colorful, tremendously flashy rendition of this more than 100-year-old dance to open the Encuentro. Normally danced during Carnaval, the bailable (dance) made a wonderful festival of the Encuentro. Photo courtesy Daniel Cui, IGERS Mexico.

Just one of a huge number of whole pigs, roasted over firewood at the Encuentro. This one was almost ready to be served, together with puré de papa (mashed potato), all in the style of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, in far-southern Oaxaca.

My plate, filled with tender, juicy, wood-roasted, mouth-watering carne de cerdo (pork meat), Isthmus-style puré de papa (mashed potato), and delicious sauce. The cocinera tradicional istmeña who served the crowd wears the typical clothing of the Tehuana: a woman from the Isthmus: hand embroidered velveteen blouse coupled with a colorful skirt and typically white lacy underskirt, gold filigree jewelry, and a ribbon or flower wreath around the head. Photo courtesy Gaby Vargas.

From left to right: Rufina Mendoza Ruíz, Abigail Mendoza Ruíz, Mexico Cooks!, and Marcelina Mendoza Ruíz. The Mendoza Ruíz sisters are arguably the best-known cocineras tradicionales in Oaxaca–and probably in all of Mexico. Indigenous Zapotecas from Teotitlán del Valle, they operate Tlamanalli, their family restaurant. Abigail Mendoza has literally traveled the world educating people about Mexican and Oaxacan food. It's a privilege to be a friend of the loving Mendoza family.

Tichindas en caldo de frijol: sweet-water mussels hand-gathered from their muddy flats along the coast of Oaxaca and prepared in a slightly spicy, slightly savory, slightly sweet sauce of smoothly-ground beans that knocked my socks off. The mussels themselves, shells and all, were just over an inch long. From now on, when I think para chuparse los dedos (finger-lickin' good), this will be the dish in my mind. I ate this bowl of mussels on the last day of the Encuentro; on the first day, a friend gave me the last tiny bit of a tamal with one of these mussels, still in the shell, wrapped in rich masa (corn dough). The next day, I went looking for those tamales, but they were completely sold out. This bowl of tichinda soup was my consolation prize, but wow, a prize indeed.

Three members of a fascinating and tender round table conference; the one of the topics was "food memories from your childhood". The Tehuanas (women from the Istmus of Tehuantepec) are (left to right): Aurora de Toledo, owner of Restaurante Zandunga; Deyaniro Aquino Pineda, owner of Restaurante La Teca; and Ofelia Toledo Pineda, owner of Restaurante Yu Ne Nisa. All three restaurants are located in the city of Oaxaca.

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Tejate, one of the iconic drinks of Oaxaca, is made from corn masa, Oaxacan chocolate, canela (Mexican cinnamon), the finely ground large brown seed of the mamey fruit, and flor de cacao (also known as rosita). After those ingredients are beaten by hand (see video), water and ice are added.

Mamey fruit for sale at a market in Oaxaca. The mamey tastes very much like a baked sweet potato. The cut fruits–so beautiful!–have had their seeds removed to be sold separately.

At the top of the photo are long sticks of Mexican cinnamon. In the woven tray is flor de cacao, or rosita. At the bottom are the large brown mamey seeds, ready to be ground to a fine powder for tejate.

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In this video, the vendor has added cold water and ice to the tejate mixture–it's almost ready to serve. You can see that the surface of the tejate is foamy and thick, while the liquid she mixes from on high is thin, as it is supposed to be. Tejate is a delicious and extremely refreshing cold chocolate drink. When you're in Oaxaca, be sure to try it!

The finished product, tejate ready to be served. We thoroughly enjoyed a jícara of this one at Oaxaca's Mercado Benito Juárez.

For two full days and evenings, thousands of hungry people lined up at this event for Oaxacan regional food specialties that are rarely seen outside the comunidades (small indigenous towns) where they are made. Oaxaca residents, Mexicans from states near and far, and foreign tourists devoured anything and everything that the cocineras tradicionales prepared; everything I tasted was a thrill. The Encuentro was enlivened by constant live music and other entertainment, the city was in full fiesta mode for its anniversary, and everyone was excited and happy to be present.

As soon as the dates for the Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales de Oaxaca 2018 are announced, I'll post the news right here. You really, really need to book your trip as soon as possible! The event is a do-not-miss. In addition, I'll be offering a guided tour of the festivities!

Eager comensales (diners) pass along one of three sides of the Plaza de la Danza, where the cocineras tradicionales served food. No admission fee at the Encuentro means that one can purchase more of the very inexpensive dishes that the traditional cooks prepare and serve. Photo courtesy Marichuy Garduño.

Part of the invited Mexico City press group took a culinary tour of Oaxaca's Mercado Benito Juárez. I'd been there many times before, and nevertheless learned a tremendous amount from our guide. We're sitting for our portrait at Aguas Frescas Casilda, an institution in Oaxaca.

Over the course of many years, Mexico Cooks! has been invited to countless culinary festivals in Mexico. The Primer Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales de Oaxaca will always stand out in my mind as extraordinary: as the first in Oaxaca and as being entirely exemplary of Oaxaca's marvelous hospitality. Profound thanks to Celia Florián, to the Oaxaca city government, to the Oaxaca tourism department, to CANIRAC Oaxaca (Cámara Nacional de la Industria de Restaurantes y Alimentos Condimentados–Mexico's national restaurant association), to the cocineras tradicionales, and to all who made this marvelous event possible. Trabajar en equipo siempre es mejor (it's always better to work as a team) has never been truer. Three cheers and huge gratitude to all.

Next week, Mexico Cooks! will feature some of the restaurants where we were spoiled rotten by Oaxaca's CANIRAC. The truth is, we ate more in three days than is really conscionable. Between the traditional food at the Encuentro and our meals at Oaxaca's legendary restaurants, we all but waddled our way through the city.

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6 de May de 2017
La Nueva Viga, Mexico City :: Second Largest Fish Market in the World

Mexico Cooks!' mother, circa 1980. She tried her best to give me good advice, but I was often loathe to listen.

In November 1969, she suggested that the March on Washington, against the war in Vietnam, might be overcrowded. I went anyway, and it was packed–but the experience was entirely worth being smooshed like a sardine in a can.

Over the course of several years, she warned me about wanting to do battle with the New Year's Eve crowds in New York City's Times Square. Although the idea of squeezing in still piques my interest, I haven't been there yet.

My mother didn't know about Mexico City's wholesale fish market, La Nueva Viga, but had she known, she would have insisted that Viernes Santo (Good Friday) was not the day to go. This photo, taken on Good Friday 2017, barely does justice to the incredibly jammed aisles at La Nueva Viga, Latin America's largest fish market and the second largest fish market in the world. Only the Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo, Japan, surpasses the volume of fish and seafood sold annually at La Nueva Viga. The Tsukiji market averages 660,000 tons of fish and seafood in yearly sales; La Nueva Viga racks up around 550,000 tons. I think 549,000 tons must sell just on Good Friday, the last day of abstinence from meat during Lent.

The main entrance at La Nueva Viga is on Prolongación Eje 6 Sur, Colonia San José Aculco, Iztapalapa. The facility extends over nearly 23 acres (9.2 hectares), with 202 wholesale warehouses, 55 retail warehouses and 165 sellers in total. On any given ordinary day, the market receives between 20,000 to 25,000 customers, mostly restaurant owners in Mexico City and the areas immediately around it. On Good Friday, the clientele is mainly retail: home cooks looking for bargain fish and seafood for the Friday before Easter. Both fish and good prices abound and it seems like half the city is there to buy–what a challenge!

On Good Friday 2017, friends Rondi Frankel, Magdalena Mosig, and I made the trek to La Viga. Rondi drove and Magdalena acted as our guide; she at one time owned a restaurant and always bought fish and seafood at the market. It was a great treat–not to mention an enormous help!–to have her show us the ropes. From my street, south of Mexico City's Centro Histórico, the trip to La Viga took about 45 minutes. Because it was Good Friday, there was no traffic at all until we were close to the market–and then–yikes! Bumper to bumper, several lanes of near-parking lot, hundreds of street vendors of everything from cold bottled water to kites, partial sleeves (wrist to above the elbow) to wear while driving so your arm doesn't get sunburned, thin, crisp, sweet fried morelianas (a kind of cookie), chewing gum, single cigarettes, bags of ready-to-eat mango with chile, limón, and salt, soft drinks, straw hats–anything at all that a person might want.

The massive parking lots for La Viga were completely filled, so we drove a couple of blocks past the fish market and found a private lot. Once we were finally at the market, we sloshed through salty puddles, thousands of fish scales flying through the air, and the clang of huge knives hitting long fish-cleaning tables. Then up a few stairs and we were smack in the middle of the jostling, shoving crowds, pushing between rows of vendor stalls.

Extra-jumbo shrimp! That's Rondi's normal-size adult hand, for comparison. Each shrimp measured approximately 8" long with the head on. The price? $280 pesos (approximately $15 USD) per kilo–or $8.00 USD per pound. If I had to guess, I'd say these huge shrimp are about 5 or 6 to the pound.

Beautiful, fresh, and enormous huachinango (red snapper) were everywhere. These measured about two feet long–great big ones!–and looked fresh as the morning. According to the sign, they were caught in the waters off the state of Veracruz, on the southeastern Gulf coast of Mexico. The darker fish to the left are mojarra (sea bream), delicious but very bony.

Another vendor displayed his mojarra with the gill flap raised. It's easy to see by the condition of the gill that the fish is wonderfully fresh. This is exactly how a gill
should look when you're buying: firm and pink.

Many vendors had huachinango for sale; these were offered at a booth farther down the aisle from the first photo of huachinango. You can tell by the condition of the eye that this lovely fish was freshly caught. The eye is shiny, not sunken into the head, and full of light. My only hesitation in buying a fish was the length of time that I would be carrying it around in a bag prior to getting it home and into the refrigerator: too long in the very warm Mexico City springtime weather.

The smallest of these almeja gallo (rooster clams, at the rear) carried a sign reading, "For soup". Their price was $20 pesos (about $1.40 USD) per kilo. As the sizes increased, the prices increased. The most expensive were the ones on the right, at 35 pesos the kilo.

Look at this incredible tower of live blue crabs, tied up with reeds! Mexico Cooks! has always seen blue crabs in retail markets, always quite moribund, so it was wonderful to discover that they actually arrive at La Viga still living.

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Proof positive! Watch these babies wiggle! The first thing that crossed my mind to prepare was a big platter of Chinese blue crabs in black bean sauce.

Fresh red octopus, piled high. $245 pesos the kilo.

Spanish mackerel.

These are langostinos–where you live, they may be known as crayfish (although they are a completely different species).

Oysters: piled-up huge costales (in this case, open-weave polypropylene sacks) of oysters. Oysters are sold by the costal, or shucked in their liquid in plastic bags as long as your arm, and also in smaller containers for home consumption. Some oysters come from the southeastern Mexican states of Tabasco and Campeche; others come from the Pacific Coast states of Baja California and Sinaloa. Mexico is the fourth-largest producer of oysters in Latin America. These particular oysters were for sale at $150 pesos the sack. "Isn't that about $8.00 USD?" Why yes, it is.

Oysters, ready to eat. Served with fresh Mexican-grown limones (Key limes), a dozen cost 100 pesos at this sit-down restaurant in La Viga.

What would Mexican seafood be without a bottled table salsa to season it–along with limón and maybe a wee pinch of salt? What we see here is a small selection of the hundreds of salsas from which to choose.

And truly, it wouldn't be right to serve seafood without a splash of home-made salsa bruja: witches' sauce! I keep mine on my counter and top it off with more vinegar as needed. The salsa is a mixture of vinegar with onion, garlic, carrot strips, bay leaf, rosemary, chile (I use serrano), oregano, a couple of cloves, salt, and pepper. Stuff all the vegetables and herbs into an empty wine bottle, fill with vinegar, cork, and allow to sit for several days. Voilà, salsa bruja!

The next time I go to La Nueva Viga, I will abide by what my mother surely would have advised: go on a day when half of Mexico City isn't there! You come, too–we'll have a marvelous time!

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29 de April de 2017