Category: Food and Drink

Tradition and Authenticity: What Is *Real* Mexican Food?

Originally published in a different format in 2007, this article has recently received a good bit of attention on social networks. It bears re-publishing here.

"Real" Mexican chile relleno (stuffed, battered, and fried chile poblano), caldillo de jitomate (tomato broth), and frijoles negros (black beans).

More and more people who want to experience "real" Mexican food are asking about the availability of authentic Mexican meals outside Mexico. Bloggers and posters on food-oriented websites have vociferously definite opinions on what constitutes authenticity. Writers' claims range from the uninformed (the fajitas at such-and-such a restaurant are totally authentic, just like in Mexico) to the ridiculous (Mexican cooks in Mexico can't get good ingredients, so Mexican meals prepared in the United States are superior to those in Mexico).

Much of what I read about authentic Mexican cooking reminds me of that old story of the blind men and the elephant. "Oh," says the first, running his hands up and down the elephant's leg, "an elephant is exactly like a tree." "Aha," says the second, stroking the elephant's trunk, "the elephant is precisely like a hose." And so forth. If you haven't experienced what most posters persist in calling "authentic Mexican", then there's no way to compare any restaurant in the United States with anything that is prepared or served in Mexico. You're simply spinning your wheels.

It's my considered opinion that there is no such thing as one definition of authentic Mexican. Wait, before you start hopping up and down to refute that, consider that "authentic" is generally what you were raised to appreciate. Your mother's pot roast is authentic, but so is my mother's. Your aunt's tuna salad is the real deal, but so is my aunt's, and they're not the least bit similar.

Carne de puerco en salsa verde (pork meat in green sauce), my traditional recipe.

The descriptor I use for many dishes is 'traditional'. We can even argue about that adjective, but it serves to describe the traditional dish of–oh, say carne de puerco en chile verde–as served in the North of Mexico, in the Central Highlands, or in the Yucatán. There may be big variations among the preparations of this dish, but each preparation is traditional and each is authentic in its region.

I think that in order to understand the cuisines of Mexico, we have to give up arguing about authenticity and concentrate on the reality of certain dishes.

A 200-year-old tradition in Mexico at this time of year: chiles en nogada (stuffed chiles poblano in a creamy sauce made with fresh (i.e., recently harvested) walnuts. It's the Mexican flag on your plate: green chile, white sauce, and red pomegranates.

Traditional Mexican cooking is not a hit-or-miss let's-make-something-for-dinner proposition based on "let's see what we have in the despensa (pantry)." Traditional Mexican cooking is as complicated and precise as traditional French cooking, with just as many hide-bound conventions as French cuisine imposes. You can't just throw some chiles and a glob of chocolate into a sauce and call it mole. You can't simply decide to call something Mexican salsa when it's not. There are specific recipes to follow, specific flavors and textures to expect, and specific results to attain. Yes, some liberties are taken, particularly in Mexico's new alta cocina (haute cuisine) and fusion restaurants, but even those liberties are based, we hope, on specific traditional recipes.

In recent readings of food-oriented websites, I've noticed questions about what ingredients are available in Mexico. The posts have gone on to ask whether or not those ingredients are up to snuff when compared with what's available in what the writer surmises to be more sophisticated food sources such as the United States.

Deep red, vine-ripened tomatoes, available all year long in central Mexico. The sign reads, "Don't think about it much–take a little kilo!" At twelve pesos the kilo, these tomatos cost approximately $1.00 USD for 2.2 pounds.

Surprise, surprise: most readily available fresh foods in Mexico's markets are even better than similar ingredients you find outside Mexico. Foreign chefs who tour with me to visit Mexico's stunning produce markets are inevitably astonished to see that what is grown for the ordinary home-cook user is fresher, more flavorful, more attractive, and much less costly than similar ingredients available in the United States.

Chicken, ready for the pot. Our Mexican chickens are generally fed ground marigold petals mixed into their feed–that's why the flesh is so pink, the skin so yellow, and the egg yolks are like big orange suns.

It's the same with most meats: pork and chicken are head and shoulders above what you find in North of the Border meat markets. Fish and seafood are from-the-sea fresh and distributed within just a few hours of any of Mexico's coasts.

Nevertheless, Mexican restaurants in the United States make do with the less-than-superior ingredients found outside Mexico. In fact, some downright delicious traditional Mexican meals can be had in some North of the Border Mexican restaurants. Those restaurants are hard to find, though, because in the States, most of what has come to be known as Mexican cooking is actually Tex-Mex cooking. There's nothing wrong with Tex-Mex cooking, nothing at all. It's just not traditional Mexican cooking. Tex-Mex is great food from a particular region of the United States. Some of it is adapted from Mexican cooking and some is the invention of early Texas settlers. Some innovations are adapted from both of those points of origin. Fajitas, ubiquitous on Mexican restaurant menus all over the United States, are a typical Tex-Mex invention. Now available in Mexico's restaurants, fajitas are offered to the tourist trade as prototypically authentic.

You need to know that the best of Mexico's cuisines is not found in restaurants. It comes straight from somebody's mama's kitchen. Clearly not all Mexicans are good cooks, just as not all Chinese are good cooks, not all Italians are good cooks, etc. But the most traditional, the most (if you will) authentic Mexican meals are home prepared.

Diana Kennedy, UNAM 2011. Mrs. Kennedy was at the Mexican Autonomous University to present her book, Oaxaca Al Gusto.

That reality is what made Diana Kennedy who she is today: she took the time to travel Mexico, searching for the best of the best of the traditional preparations. For the most part, she didn't find them in fancy restaurants, homey comedores (small commercial dining rooms) or fondas (tiny working-class restaurants). She found them as she stood next to the stove in a home kitchen, watching Doña Fulana prepare comida (the midday main meal of the day) for her family. She took the time to educate her palate, understand the ingredients, taste what was offered to her, and learn, learn, learn from home cooks before she started putting traditional recipes, techniques, and stories on paper. If we take the time to prepare recipes from any of Ms. Kennedy's many cookbooks, we too can experience her wealth of experience and can come to understand what traditional Mexican cooking can be. Her books will bring Mexico's kitchens to you when you are not able to go to Mexico.

Fresh Michoacán-grown strawberries, available all year in central Mexico.

In order to understand the cuisines of Mexico, we need to experience their riches. Until that time, we can argue till the cows come home and you'll still be just another blind guy patting the beast's side and exclaiming how the elephant is mighty like a wall.

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

8 de October de 2016
Corn: An Ancient Gift from Mexico to Feed the World

At first glance, these appear to be flowers–but look closely: they're actually cross-sections of different varieties, sizes and colors of maíces nativos (native corn), grown continuously in Mexico for thousands of years, right up to the present time. They're so beautiful–and delicious! Photo courtesy Tortilla de Maíz Mexicana.

A few weeks ago, CONACULTA (Mexico's ministry of culture) invited Maestro Rafael Mier and Mexico Cooks! to speak about the preservation of traditional tortillas and about the milpa (millennia-old sustainable agricultural method still used in Mexico) at the Second Annual Festival Universo de la Milpa, held this year in Santa María Coapan, Puebla. Santa María Coapan, a part of the municipality of Tehuacán, is at the epicenter of the documented-to-date 11,000 year history of corn.

Left to right in the photo: Maestra Teresa de la Luz Hilario, Regidora de Educación y Cultura de Santa María Coapan; Maestro Rafael Mier of Tortilla de Maíz Mexicana; Mexico Cooks!; (speaking) the humanitarian and life-long human rights abogada del pueblo (advocate for the people) Concepción Hernández Méndez; and at far right, Lic. Roberto G. Quintero Nava, Director General de Culturas Populares of Puebla, CONACULTA. It was an honor to be part of this event and to meet its outstanding participants in this center of Mexican corn production. Photo courtesy Rafael Mier.

In tiny Coxcatlán, Puebla (just down the highway on the road south out of Tehuacán), a main attraction is the monument to corn. The legend at the base of the recently refurbished monument reads, "Coxcatlán, Cuna del Maíz (Cradle of Corn)". All photos copyright Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

From the small town of Coxcatlán, our driver took us about five kilometers further, south toward the Oaxaca border; there's a turnoff onto a dirt road at the Tehuacán-Cuicatlán Biosphere Reserve. The September 24, 2016 Mexico Cooks! article offers some fascinating general information about the biosphere.

If you didn't know to turn onto that poorly marked, narrow, and winding dirt road, you'd just keep whizzing along the highway, saying, "Nothing to see here, just a lot of big cactus and scrub trees. The Oaxaca border is only 30 kilometers away, let's hurry so we get there before dark." But this humble dirt road twists through a portion of an internationally important site marking the origin and development of agriculture in Mesoamerica and the world. Archeological research here has provided key information regarding the domestication of various species such as corn (Zea mays sp.), chile (Capsicum annuum), amaranth (Amaranthus sp.), avocado (Persea americana), squash (Cucurbita sp.), bean (Phaseolus sp.), and numerous other plants that are with us still in the modern era. This biosphere is home to just under 3000 kinds of native flora plus the largest collection of columnar cacti in the world. In addition, the biosphere contains approximately 600 species of vertebrate animals. Let's not hurry–let's spend some time here.

Archeologist Richard S. MacNeish (April 29, 1918-January 16, 2001). In 1965, Dr. MacNeish and a group of his colleagues first uncovered the agricultural treasures in the Tehuacán-Cuicatlán biosphere. Their excavation resulted in some of the most significant agricultural finds in the world. A statue in his memory is prominent today in Tehuacán. Dr. MacNeish, one of the most outstanding archaeologists of the Americas, developed innovative field methods that allowed him and his teams of co-archaeologists, anthropologists, sociologists, agronomists, and others to use science rather than educated guesswork to locate potentially important sites for excavation. Other than his discoveries in this biosphere, which are crucial to our understanding of Mesoamerican agriculture and settlement, his greatest legacy is probably his influence on and encouragement of students, other archaeologists, and the multitude of scientific professionals with whom he worked. Photo of Dr. MacNeish courtesy LibraryThing.

My good friend and colleague Rafael Mier, founder of Tortilla de Maíz Mexicana (by all means join the Facebook group), had talked a good while with me about his desire to visit the site where, over 50 years ago, Dr. MacNeish documented the remains of ancient corn. The more we talked about going to the cave, the more my heart raced: We were going to visit one of the places in Mexico where corn was born. Where corn was born. I felt that the trip would be much more than a Sunday drive in the country: it felt like a pilgrimage, to the most basic food destination in Mexico. To the origin of everything.

The extremely ancient peoples of what is now Mexico domesticated a native wild-growing plant called teocintle, which over the course of many years became what we know today as corn. Teocintle–the photo above is a seed head of the plant, harvested in 2015 in the State of Mexico and framed in sterling silver–is a grass similar to rice in that the grains grow and mature as a cluster of individuals, on a stalk. A mazorca (seed head) of teocintle has no center structure; no cob, if you will. One of the primary features that distinguishes corn from teocintle is the cob. Scientists tracked the domestication of teocintle from the wild grain to its semi-domesticated state, and from semi-domestication to the incredible variety of native Mexican corns that we know today. The actual teocintle seed head in the photo measures approximately three inches long. What you see in my hand is the million-times-over great-grandfather, the ancient ancestor of corn.

The mouth of la Cuna del Maíz Mexicano (the cradle of Mexican corn). I grew up in the southern United States, where I knew a few caves. I had expected to see a cave along the lines of Wyandotte Caves in Indiana, or Mammoth Cave in Kentucky: huge, multi-room caverns in which a person can walk along seeing rivers, stalagmites, stalactites, and other underground cave formations. Not here; this cave is simply what you see in the photograph, a sheltering karst-formation in the limestone, a pre-historic bubble. Standing in this spot gave me chills, and simply thinking about it while looking at the photograph now makes a shiver run up my spine. Out here in the vastness of this ancient natural world, in some ways so similar to the primitive world into which corn was born, one forgets about the crowded city, one forgets about modern problems, and one returns both mentally and spiritually to another time and to a connection with those Stone Age people who gave us the gift of corn, the true staff of life in much of today's world.

This shelter, according to years-long archeological research by Dr. MacNeish and others, was used as a camp, as a shelter during the rainy season for as many as 25 to 30 people, and as a post-harvest storage place for corn and other native vegetables (corn, beans, chiles, etc). Families, bands of families, and tribes living in or traveling through the Coxcatlán area used this type shelter for 10,000 years or more, primarily during the time in Mesoamerica that is analogous to the Archaic archeological period: approximately 5000 to 3400 BCE. Dr. MacNeish's extensive research showed more than 42 separate occupations, 28 habitation zones, and seven cultural phases in this cave.

At the Museo del Maíz (Corn Museum) in Tehuacán, there is a small display of the original dehydrated corn cobs and utensils found in the cave in the biosphere. This tiny cob measures less than one inch long.

These dehydrated cobs, also found in the cave, are quite a bit larger and probably somewhat younger than the tiny one in the photo above. They measure between 2 and 3 inches long. Some ancient fingers plucked this corn from its stalk, some long-ago woman–she must have been a woman–removed the kernels from the cobs and prepared food. How similar the growing methods, how similar what they ate, those people who created corn from a wild plant. Corn, beans, chiles, squash, amaranth, avocado: all served up in some way for millennia-past meals, and all available in Mexico's markets today. What foods do you eat that nourished your Stone Age forebears? How precious it is to know and taste the flavors of eleven thousand years worth of comidas (Mexico's main meal of the day)!

In addition to the important finding of dehydrated corn cob specimens (nearly 25,000 samples) and other kinds of vegetables in the substrata of the Tehuacán cave, Dr. MacNeish and subsequent archeologists found a large number of ancient tools such as chipped-flint darts used for hunting, grinding stones, and coas (pointed sticks used for planting). The investigators also found approximately 100 samples of human feces, which were examined to document the human diet of those long-ago days. Thanks to carbon dating, a method of determining the age of organic objects which was developed in the 1940s, scientists were and continue to be able to assign dates to ancient artifacts.

Part of a mural found in ruins dating to 650-900 AD in Cacaxtla, Tlaxcala. Click on the photograph to enlarge it; you'll see that what initially appear to be ears of corn are in fact a part of Mexico's creation myth: humankind is born of corn, and corn is born of humankind. Corn, which humankind created in the domestication process, cannot in fact exist without a human helping hand to husk it, take the dried kernels from the cob, and plant those kernels for subsequent harvest. Aside from wheat and rice, corn is the single-most planted grain in the world; there are countries and regions where humans could not exist without corn.

This tiny mazorca (dried ear of corn) is maíz palomero: (popcorn, scientific name Zaya mays everta), native to Mexico, the only kind of corn in the world that pops. Maíz palomero is believed by many scientists to have been the first corn. Today, this original corn is tragically all but extinct in Mexico. My colleague Maestro Rafael Mier, who lives in Mexico City, wanted to plant it; he contacted a number of possible sources without locating any seed at all. He ultimately called a seed bank in another Mexican state to see if they had some. They did, and they took seeds out of their freezer bank so that he could sow them on his property. His goal is to begin the reversal of the extinction of this original Mexican corn. This wee ear of popcorn, the standard size for this variety, is just about four inches long. Look how beautiful it is, with its crystalline white and golden triangular kernels.

Mexico still grows and cooks with 59 different varieties of native corns, corns that are essential to the regions in which they grow. A type of native corn that grows well in the state of Tamaulipas, for example, will probably not produce as well in Oaxaca. Nor will a native corn that is easily produced in the state of Guerrero grow well in the state of Coahuila. Climates differ, altitudes differ, soils differ: all impact Mexico's native corns. If you click on the poster to enlarge it, you'll see how very, very different Mexico's 59 corn varieties are from one another. Click on any photo to enlarge it for a better view. Photo courtesy CIMMYT.

These multi-colored mazorcas are native to the Mexican state of Tlaxcala, the smallest state in the República.

These elotes (ears of freshly harvested young corn) are native to the state of Michoacán.

These large fresh ears are elotes from the State of México, for sale earlier this summer at Mexico City's Mercado de Jamaica.

And finally, these mazorcas are native to the far-southern state of Chiapas.

Mexico knows itself as 'the people of the corn'. Mexico knows that sin maíz no hay país–without corn, there is no country. Right now, Mexico is at a crisis point, the point of preserving its heritage of corn–or allowing that heritage to be lost to the transnational producers of uniform, high-yielding, genetically modified corn that is not Mexico's corn. The Chinese characters in the photo mean crisis, defined as both danger and opportunity. Which word will Mexico choose to safeguard its heritage and frame its future? I take my stand on the side of the 11,000 year history that defines us.

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

1 de October de 2016
The Astonishing Tehuacán-Cuicatlán Biosphere Reserve in Southeastern Mexico

This is a tiny part of the Tehuacán-Cuicatlán Biosphere near the town of Coxcatlán, Puebla. Many huge columnar cardón cactus are visible through the trees and shrubs. An all but unmarked entrance to this section of the biosphere is approximately five kilometers from Coxcatlán. The dirt road into the biosphere is in relatively good shape during this part of the year when it rains very little. The greenery and hills looked at first like any other part of rural Mexico, but what I saw and learned here excited me enormously.

As we wound slowly along the dirt road, we saw a roadrunner skitter across our path and into the undergrowth; even our old-hand guide to the reserve was excited! He said it was really unusual to get to see this elusive bird. I'd previously seen two or three of them near Albuquerque, but never in Mexico. The roadrunner ran across the road so fast that his legs truly looked like they were spinning in circles, just like the famous cartoon. He was far too quick for me to take his picture from the car; thank you Joe Schelling for the use of this wonderful image.

The bottlebrush-shaped flower of the senegalia greggii (uña de gato, or cat's claw acacia) bush. The plant is said to be medicinal. While walking a short, sandy, uphill trail, I slipped, fell on my posterior, and an insect stung me there several times, and quite painfully.

Leaves, branches, and cat-claw shaped thorns of the uña de gato tree. One of the men in our party cut two thin, 3" long pieces of a green branch of uña de gato and told me to put one little stick behind each ear, the way you'd put a pencil behind your ear, to take away the pain of the stings. I followed instructions and little by little the pain diminished. Would it have lessened anyway? Probably, but I've learned to say 'yes' to most possibilities in Mexico. I never want to miss anything!

Meet the cardón cactus (Pachycereus pringlei), which grows prolifically in the Tehuacán biosphere. It is the tallest cactus species in the world and an enormous specimen such as this one can weigh as much as 25 tons. The cardón bears a delicious fruit. Woodpeckers drill into its columns to make their nests and small animals also invade them for shelter. This particular columnar giant in its prime of life is approximately 20 meters (nearly 70 feet) tall. Its rate of growth? Just a smidge over two centimeters per year. Its age? You do the math. Clue: its lifespan is measured in hundreds of years.

This common ornamental–you might even have one growing in your garden–is lantana. It's so widespread that most of us don't know that it is native to Mexico, particularly to semi-arid and tropical regions. It grows wild in the biosphere. Between its orange and yellow flowers, the varied greens of bushes and trees, and the white and pink flowers of the uña de gato, the underbrush glows like the colors on an artist's palette.

The tall pochote tree, native to Mexico and sacred to the Maya, looks as if it is wearing an exotic armor of fearsome thorns, but in reality they are merely protuberances similar in texture to cork. I noticed that one of our companions, a guide to the biosphere, had hitched himself partway up the trunk and was breaking some of them off the tree; just before I asked him to take one or two for me, he slid down and put five of them into my hand. How lovely that he read my mind!

Another of our guide companions explained that the pochote is host to a kind of worm called cuetla, which is about ten centimeters (four inches) long and relatively thick through the body. The cuetlas are harvested, roasted or fried, and eaten; they are allegedly quite tasty and are thought of as a delicacy. The bulbous roots of the tree store substantial water; the roots can be dug up and chewed to quench thirst.

The five pochote spines, with some other tiliches (tchotchkes, stuff) on the top shelf of a miniature trastero (literally, dish cupboard) in my kitchen. The tallest one, far left, measures about two inches high.

The pods of the pochote, about six to eight inches long, are filled with a very light, cottony, fibrous material that can be used to stuff pillows. The pochote fibers, known in English as kapok, were at one time used to stuff life vests.

Mica, a silicate mineral found everywhere in the world, is abundant in the biosphere. Our small group noticed light glinting from what we thought were numerous but ordinary stones on the sandy paths. Our guides immediately told us that the 'stones' were mica. They seemed almost magical, reflecting the strong light of the summer sun. Photo courtesy Google Images.

Readers, you know that Mexico Cooks! ordinarily follows a path that leads to something of culinary interest. Going to the Tehuacán-Cuicatlán biosphere reserve was no exception. Be sure to come back next week, when you'll read about why we were so intent upon this particular destination. Trust me when I tell you that this was one of the most exciting days I've ever spent in Mexico. Don't miss it!

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

24 de September de 2016
Michelada! Quench Your Thirst With the Most Popular Beer Drink in Mexico.
A perfect michelada, rimmed with Tajín and topped with crunchy fresh cucumber. Spicy, salty, beery, umami-rich, and completely refreshing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Micheladas a la mexicana
- light-colored lager beer of your choice
- Clamato or V8 or tomato juice
- 3 or 4 splashes hot sauce, more or less to taste. Try Valentina, or Cholula, or use your favorite.
- 2 splashes of Worcestershire sauce
- 2 splashes of Maggi sauce
- Juice of one lime
  Fill the glass about ¼ to ? with the Clamato juice. Add the hot sauce, the lime juice, the Worcestershire sauce, and the soy sauce. If you used Tajín to salt the rim, pour any excess from the plate into the glass. Fill the rest with cold beer and top off your micheladas with sticks of celery or jícama, skewers of shrimp or olives, half-moons of cucumber, freshly-cooked octopus–really, anything within the limits of your imagination. And for good measure, add another splash of Maggi.
Clamato contains water, tomato concentrate, high fructose corn syrup, MSG, salt, citric acid, onion powder, celery seed, garlic powder, dried clam broth, unspecified spices, vinegar, natural flavors, food coloring, and ascorbic acid to maintain color. Photo courtesy Clamato.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Salud! (To your health!)

Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours.
17 de September de 2016
Mexico’s Independence Celebration: A Month of Fiestas Patrias

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

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

Another flag vendor, this time in Morelia, Michoacán. All photos copyright Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

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

But the best-kept secret in Mexico is the Independence Day party. No, the biggest deal is not on September 16th. Held every year on the night of September 15, the Gran Noche Mexicana (the Great Mexican Night), the real celebration of the revolutionary events in 1810, is a combination of New Year's Eve, your birthday, and your country's independence festivities. Wouldn't you really rather hear about the party? I knew you would!

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

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

The bandera monumental and celebratory fireworks in front of Mexico's Palacio Nacional, the zócalo, Mexico City, September 15, 2015. Press courtesy photo.

Dressed in his finest and backed up by a military or police guard, the mayor clears his throat and loudly begins an Independence Day proclamation. He pulls a heavy rope to ring the Independence bell, then he waves a huge Mexican flag. Back and forth, back and forth! In every Mexican town, the proclamation ends with Hidalgo's 205-year-old exhortations: "Long live religion! Long live Our Lady of Guadalupe! Long live the Americas and death to the corrupt government! Viva México! Qué viva!"

Father Hidalgo's 1810 banner. He carried this banner as his standard as a leader in the fight for Mexico's independence from Spain.

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

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

A number of years ago my friend, música ranchera singer Lupita Jiménez from Guadalajara, invited me to a Gran Noche Mexicana where she was performing. The event was scheduled to start at 9.30, but Mexican custom normally dictates late arrival. By ten o'clock I was on my way to the party. At the salón de eventos (events hall) the parking lot was already full, but a man was parking cars on the street just a block away. As I left my car, he said, "Could you pay me now for watching your car? It's 20 pesos. I'll be leaving a little early, probably before the event is over."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Viva México! Qué viva!

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10 de September de 2016
Chiles en Nogada for September 16: Mexico’s Independence Day: The Mexican Flag on Your Plate
Chiles en nogada (stuffed chiles poblanos in walnut sauce), Pátzcuaro, Michoacán. Photo by Mexico Cooks!.

Mexico celebrates its independence the entire month of September with parades, parties, and traditional food and drink in restaurants and at home. The traditional festive dish during the weeks before and after the Independence Day holiday is chiles en nogada, a magnificent tribute to the seasonal availability of granadas (pomegranates) and nuez de castilla (freshly harvested walnuts). From late August till early October, fresh pomegranates and walnuts make chiles en nogada possible. Spicy chiles poblano, stuffed with picadillo and topped with richly creamy walnut sauce and pomegranate seeds, flaunt the brilliant green, white and red of the Mexican flag.

This festive dish is traditionally served on September 15 or 16 in honor of Mexico's Independence Day, though it is popular anytime in the late summer and fall. During August and September in the highlands of Mexico, particularly in Mexico City and Puebla on the streets bordering the markets, village women can be seen sitting on blankets painstakingly peeling off the brown skin from each individual walnut. It is important to use the freshest walnuts possible, as they produce such a creamy, rich sauce that it is worth the effort demanded to peel them. Yes, the recipe is time-consuming…but you and your guests will jump up and shout "VIVA!" when they've licked the platters clean.

Ingredients

For the Meat
- 2 pounds beef brisket or other stew meat or 1 pound beef and 1 pound pork butt
- 1 small white onion, quartered
- 2 large cloves garlic
- about 1 Tbsp sea salt
For the Picadillo
- 4 Tbsp safflower or canola oil
- 1/3 cup chopped white onion
- 3 large cloves garlic, minced
- 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1/4 tsp freshly ground black pepper
- 1/8 tsp ground cloves
- 3 heaping Tbsp raisins
- 1 or 2 chiles serrano, finely minced
- 4 Tbsp chopped walnuts
- 4 Tbsp slivered blanched almonds
- 2 Tbsp chopped biznaga (candied cactus)
- 1 fresh pear, peeled and chopped
- 1 apple, peeled and chopped
- 4 ripe peaches, peeled and diced
- 3 large, ripe tomatoes, roasted, peeled and chopped
- sea salt to taste
For the Chiles
- 6 fresh chiles poblanos, roasted, peeled, and seeded, leaving the stem intact
For the Nogada (Walnut Sauce)
- 1 cup fresh walnuts
- 6 ounces queso doble crema or cream cheese (not fat free) at room temperature
- 1-1/2 cups crema mexicana or 1-1/4 cups sour cream thinned with milk
- about 1/2 tsp sea salt or to taste
- 1 Tbsp sugar
- 1/8 tsp ground cinnamon
- 1/4 cup dry sherry (optional)
For the Garnish
- 1 Tbsp chopped flat-leaf parsley
- 1/2 cup fresh pomegranate seeds
Method

Cut the meat into large chunks, removing any excess fat. Place the meat into a large Dutch oven with the onion, garlic, and salt. Cover with cold water and bring to a boil over medium-high heat. Skim off any foam that collects on the surface. Lower the heat and allow the water to simmer about 45 minutes, until the meat is just tender. Take the pot off the stove and let the meat cool in the broth. Remove the pieces of meat and finely shred them.

Warm the oil in a large, heavy skillet and sauté the onion and garlic over medium heat until they turn a pale gold. Stir in the shredded meat and cook for five minutes. Add the cinnamon, pepper, and cloves, then, stir in the raisins, the two tablespoons of chopped walnuts. Add the chopped pear, apple, biznaga, and mix well. Add the tomatoes and salt to taste, and continue cooking over medium-high heat until most of the moisture has evaporated. Stir often so that the mixture doesn't stick. Let cool, cover, and set aside. The picadillo may be made a day or two in advance.

Make a slit down the side of each chile, just long enough to remove the seeds and veins. Keep the stem end intact. Drain the chiles, cut side down, on paper towels until completely dry. Cover and set aside. The chiles may be prepared a day in advance.

At least three hours in advance, put the walnuts in a small pan of boiling water. Remove from the heat and let them sit for five minutes. Drain the nuts and, when cool, rub off as much of the dark skin as possible. Chop into small pieces. Place the nuts, cream cheese, crema, and salt in a blender and purée thoroughly. Stir in the optional sugar, cinnamon, and sherry until thoroughly combined. Chill for several hours.
Candied biznaga cactus, ready to be diced for the filling.

Preheat the oven to 250ºF. When ready to serve, reheat the meat filling and stuff the chiles until they are plump and just barely closed. Put the filled chiles, covered, to warm slightly in the oven. After they are thoroughly heated, place the chiles (cut side down) on a serving platter or on individual plates, cover with the chilled walnut sauce, and sprinkle with the cilantro (or parsley) and pomegranate seeds.

Chile en nogada as served at Restaurante Azul Histórico, Mexico City.

This dish may also be served at room temperature, or it may be served chilled. It is rarely if ever served hot.

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3 de September de 2016
Michoacán’s Own Soup: The Origins of Sopa Tarasca, Hidden in the Mist of Time

North-central Michoacán is frequently and with much reason called paradise on earth. Autumn's wildflowers, ripening corn, green mountains, and a partly cloudy sky combine to give you the sense that 'paradise on earth' just might be exactly where you are: in this case, near Senguio, Michoacán.

The state of Michoacán is well-known both for its lovely scenery and its even more lovely–and delicious–regional cooking. The indigenous Purépecha kitchen, in particular, is Mexico Cooks!' favorite. If you look back at the Mexico Cooks! archives (found listed on the right-hand side of this page), you'll see many, many articles about this marvelous cuisine, which dates back to pre-Hispanic days.

Misnamed "Tarascos" by unknowing 16th century Spanish invaders, the Purépecha have, just within the last 25 to 30 years, largely reclaimed their actual tribal name. Nonetheless, one of the most popular dishes in the Michoacán culinary repertoire bears the name sopa tarasca (Tarascan Soup).

Not precisely traditional, but certainly not modern, this pot of beans is cooking over a wood fire built in a deep tire rim in an open patio in Tzintzuntzan, Michoacán.

You might well ask, "Sopa tarasca must be a pre-Hispanic dish, right?" Or maybe, "Sopa tarasca was first made for her family by a long-ago Purépecha housewife, no?" Over the course of years, most people who have eaten and fallen in love with this remarkably delicious and filling soup have asked me these same questions. Much to their surprise, the answer is always, "No…but let me tell you the story I know."

Once upon a time, before Mexico Cooks! was born, the small plaza in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán looked like the above photo. Part of the two-story building with the arches, just to the right of the photo's center, became the home of the Hostería de don Felipe, which had a dining room to serve its guests. Later, the Hostería was renamed Gran Hotel. In the 1960's, Rafael García Correa was a young cook in the Gran Hotel kitchen.

When I met Rafael García Correa in 1982, he was the head of the kitchen at the Gran Hotel. The photo above, taken in 2004 by Luis Jiménez of the New York Times during an interview where I was present, is don Rafa (don is an honorific title given to a revered older man) showing us a bowl of sopa tarasca in the foreground, along with a plate of corundas (a kind of Michoacán tamal).

Don Rafa told me that in the mid-1960s, he himself, along with the hotel's then-owner and the owner's American wife, invented a dish that, once offered to the public, became an almost instant classic: sopa tarasca was born, not created in an indigenous kitchen but for a tourist hotel's dining room. Today, we'd call that cocina de autor: the cook's invention.

Sopa tarasca as served at Lu Cocina Michoacana in Morelia. Read more about the restaurant here.

Sopa tarasca as served at the Hotel de la Soledad, Morelia. Some sopa tarasca is based on beans; some, like don Rafa's, is not.

Was don Rafa the inventor? He swore his story is true. He also gave me a hand-written recipe which he promised is the original. Don Rafa passed away a few years ago, and any possible secrets of sopa tarasca's origins were buried with him.

Don Rafa reported that sopa tarasca was served for the first time as part of a Pátzcuaro wedding banquet, on May 8, 1965. Years later, he opened his own restaurant near Plaza Gertrudis Bocanegra (the plaza chica) in Pátzcuaro. If you go to the restaurant, you can still enjoy a bowl of his own sopa tarasca.

Today, sopa tarasca is a Michoacán icon, prepared in almost every restaurant around Lake Pátzcuaro as well as in further-flung establishments. It's one of those you-have-to-try-it local dishes that people who know you've been to Michoacán will ask you about: did you taste it at so-and-so's restaurant? How about at this other place, did you like it there?

Sopa tarasca as served at Pátzcuaro's Mansión Iturbe, a hotel and restaurant.
Click on any picture to see a larger view.

Fortunately, sopa tarasca is a relatively easy soup to prepare at home. The ingredients should be readily available, if not in your nearby supermarket then at a Mexican market not far from you. The recipe I offer you here is don Rafa's, but there are others (notably an excellent one from Diana Kennedy) that are available either in books or on the Internet.

Sopa tarasca as served by chef Alma Cervantes Cota at Restaurante Azul y Oro Ingeniería, UNAM, Mexico City.

Sopa Tarasca Don Rafael García

Ingredients
500 grams tomato purée
2 tortillas
5 corn tortillas, cut into very thin strips and fried until crisp
100 grams chile pasillo, cut into thin strips and fried until just crisp. Be very careful not to burn the chiles, they fry quickly and burn in the blink of an eye.
250 grams Mexican table cream
100 grams Oaxaca cheese, shredded
50 grams all-purpose flour
100 grams unsalted butter
1 clove garlic
1 small white onion
10 cups rich chicken stock
Worcestershire sauce to taste
Salt and pepper to taste
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 sprig fresh marjoram or oregano
2 bay leaves

Preparation
In a heavy pot, prepare a roux with the butter and flour, stirring constantly so that no lumps form. Allow to cook until the roux is a deep caramel color.

In a blender, liquify the two tortillas listed, some of the fried chiles, and the onion. Add this mixture to the roux and continue stirring until it is well incorporated. Next, add the tomato purée, the chicken broth, the herbs, and salt and pepper to taste. Add half a teaspoon of Worcestershire sauce and taste; if you think more is needed, add bit by bit. Allow to simmer for 15 minutes.

Put equal amounts of the soup into each of 10 bowls. Garnish with fried tortilla strips, fried chile ancho or negro, some Oaxaca cheese, and some cream. You can add some cubed avocado and a few sprigs of cilantro. Take your cues from the photos I've included in this article.

Sopa tarasca, garnished in this serving with fried shredded tortillas and fried shredded chile pasilla.

Serves 10.

Provecho!

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27 de August de 2016
Nudo Negro: Daniel Ovadía in Mexico City

Daniel Ovadía of Restaurante Nudo Negro, Mexico City. Photo courtesy Chilango.com.

During the last 10 years, Daniel Ovadía has ranked among the wunderkind of Mexico City's restaurants. Barely in his middle 30s, he has already been at the helm of more than one kitchen: initially, he and a couple of friends opened El Changarrito, which closed for financial reasons. In 2005, cocinero (cook; he doesn't claim to be a trained chef) Daniel opened award-winning Paxia, which Mexico City received to grand acclaim but which closed without explanation in 2013. Several of his restaurants have come and gone, while others continue to exist. Among the latter are the neighborhood versions of Peltre, which Ovadía defines as a lonchería (a casual and inexpensive eatery, serving good fast food).

At the dawn of 2015, Daniel Ovadía and Salvador Orozco, his restaurant partner since 2011, opened Nudo Negro (the name means 'black knot') in Mexico City's Roma Norte neighborhood. The hype about the restaurant proclaims that it's unlike any other, that Mexico City has never seen a restaurant like it, and that the fusion of Mexican ingredients with touches of China, Vietnam, Japan, Thailand, and Venezuela make for unique dishes arriving at your table.

A couple of weeks ago, a friend visited me here in Mexico City. She's extraordinarily knowledgeable about the cuisines of parts of China, Vietnam, Japan, Indonesia, and Thailand, and has ordered and eaten well in all of those countries. For a few years, I worked in New York as a Chinese chef and also have a good understanding of Vietnamese cuisine. Neither of us claims any expertise in Venezuelan cooking.

Both my friend and I love food, with its many possibilities to delight and entertain the palate. We spend a lot of time talking about food, talking about ingredients, investigating cuisines other than the familiar, and trying new foods. She adores regional Mexican food and is a lover of adventurous food; I'm always interested in trying just about anything at least once. We don't mind eating more than we normally might at a meal together that's meant to be special for both of us.

During her recent stay in Mexico City, we happily ate at street stands, at a municipal food market counter, and at restaurants ranging from delicious pozole at La Casa de Toño to a close to perfect comida (Mexico's main meal of the day) at Fonda Fina.

After researching how and what we wanted to eat on her last night in the city, we discarded a number of excellent possibilities in favor of enjoying a cena (late evening supper) at Nudo Negro. The menu intrigued us, the food sounded both delicious and fun, and friends who had recently eaten there said they had enjoyed their experience. Result: reservation confirmed. We felt the excitement of an upcoming WOW!

When we arrived, our waiter mentioned that our first stop would be upstairs in the kitchen, where we were greeted by the cooks and pinches (prep cooks) with an exuberant chorus of BUENAS NOCHES. A delightful young woman prepared two starter gorditas (little fat corn masa disks) of chicharrón prensado de pato with an adobo of chile ancho flavored with cinnamon, crumbled queso canasto, crema del rancho, and a good-sized blob of sriracha chile sauce (photo above). The savory gordita crunched, the sweet adobo was an interesting if unexpected foil, the dairy was creamy, and the sriracha tried its spicy best to bring the dish together. Eating standing up in the kitchen felt like an odd restaurant quirk, but we spooned up our gorditas and dutifully trod the stairs back to the main floor and our table.

Once we were seated, several waiters in turn talked with us about the menu (I had the Spanish version, my friend had the English version). We each ordered a cocktail from the extensive drinks list, which features classic alcoholic beverages in chronological order of their invention, plus several pages of artisanal beers. I asked for a mojito and my companion requested a Bloody Mary. My mojito was fine, if a little sweeter than they usually are. My friend's Bloody Mary was salty enough to raise her eyebrows and mine, and over-Worcestershired to the point of being undrinkable. Who sends a beverage back to the bar? We asked that hers be remade. Our antennae went up, but not up far enough.

As we discussed our preferences for other courses, we realized that our menus had some discrepancies: a dish appearing on my Spanish version didn't appear on her English menu, and vice versa. We soon realized that my menu bore the current date, while hers was dated May 2016. The waiter said that could not possibly be the case, but when he looked closely at her menu, he saw that it was indeed true. No staff member mentioned that the menu changed frequently, nor did we the clients know.

Nudo Negro recommends that dishes be shared; the two of us usually order plates to divide between us so that we can both taste as many things as possible, which made that recommendation easy for us. Ramen with matzo balls, our selection to start our dinner, comes highly touted by friends and by the restaurant's website. My companion had eaten a similar dish in a Brooklyn restaurant and was eager to try the Mexico City version; it was the first thing we ordered.

We ordered the ramen, as shown below in a photo which was posted at an earlier date by an anonymous Nudo Negro client. Our serious staff/client troubles started immediately.

Ramen with matzo balls (the two beige sph
eres on the left-hand side of the bowl). Image courtesy Twitter.

This is the ramen we received: with chochoyotes (the dark brown spheres on the left side of the bowl), small corn masa (dough) balls with a finger indent. In this case, the chochoyotes were prepared with ground black beans mixed into the masa. When I explained to the waiter that this was not what we ordered, he insisted that it was. Then he insisted that these WERE matzo balls: "Sí, señora, esferas de masa." "Perdón, pero masa no–pedimos matzo." "Sí, señora, son de masa." Irritated by this snafu in communication, we eventually gave up; the pronunciation of the two words is apparently too similar to an ear not trained to differentiate between them.

The flavor of the broth was very weak, the chochoyotes were grainy and unpleasant and fried rather than being boiled as is the norm, and the ramen (in English, noodles) were all but inedible: flavorless, pasty to the point of clumping together both in the soup and in the mouth, and without the springy texture of true ramen. The egg was correctly prepared, but the waiter offered no condiments. A nori (dried seaweed) sheet decorated the bowl, but no dashi or shoyu or pickles came with the soup. We were seriously disappointed by not receiving what we ordered. Much later, it occurred to us that ramen with matzo balls must have been listed on my companion's May menu and was not listed on my July menu. But why didn't anyone on the wait staff tell us? Waiters hovered over our table the entire evening, in an attempt to make sure that, as the headwaiter said, "your experience is exactly as you want it." Ay ay ay–would that it had been.

We requested the ostiones a las brasas (an order of six oysters, spiced and cooked over coals), but were told the oysters were only available per single oyster on the tasting menu. The waiter told us that there weren't enough oysters to prepare an order of six to share. It seemed odd, but he was quite definite. Later, after we had ordered other appetizers, he came back and said he was wrong, there were no oysters at all.

In place of the oysters, we asked for dumplings de pato (duck) and ceviche verde.

The duck dumplings, prepared with kaffir lime, almond milk, hazelnut oil, flash-cooked green beans, seta mushrooms, and smoked chile, sounded (and looked) marvelous. The truth? They weren't. The duck filling was too dense and under-seasoned; the dumpling wrapper was extremely heavy and doughy, with texture more like an uncooked empanada. The green beans were perfectly cooked, but their crunch didn't really combine well with the leaden, dense dumplings; the too-slick setas added flavor, but didn't provide fusion, just another unrelated texture and taste. The sauce was thick to the point of gloppy and added nothing to the flavor profile of the dish. I believe that the sprinkle of red atop the sauce was the smoked chile, but it brought no hint of smoked chile to the dish.

The ceviche verde consisted of tiny bits of fish marinated with slivered red onion, fresh coconut and cucumber juices, coconut, and lemon. The toppings are flowers cut from coconut meat (exactly eleven on every bowlful, according to the waiter), and sprouts. Yes, it's pretty–but most of the flavors were lost in the acidic lemon juice.

We initially tried to order three main dishes: a fish of the day, chamorro (pork shank) glazed with honey and cardamom (with dill, salted carrots and beets and mashed potatoes included) as well as the spiced fried chicken with another interesting-sounding salad, but our waiter said that we had already ordered too much food and he refused to allow us to have the chicken.

Chamorro with carrots, beets, leeks, and dill. One of the wait staff brushed glaze onto the meat at the table, but did not offer extra glaze to use as we ate. The bit of mashed potatoes was dull and flavorless. Everything on the plate, including the meat, was stone cold at the time it was served.

This pesca del día a las brasas (unidentified fish of the day cooked over coals) had a small amount of "Thai curry with chile morita" spread over it. Chile morita, which has a pronounced smoky flavor, is a smaller cousin of chile chipotle. The tiny amount of sauce had no smoky taste, and the fish was drastically overcooked. The middle object on the plate is yaki onigiri, a grilled rice cake, which in this case was grilled to the point of being tough and difficult to cut. The salad on the left-hand side is listed on the menu as fennel bulbs with a Persian lime vinaigrette. Instead, this salad was made of limp lettuce and shredded onions with halved cherry tomatoes and black olives that seemed to have come from a can; the dressing, whatever ingredients it contained, was inedible. The entire dish looked like it had been held too long under a heat lamp in a cheap cafeteria.

During the course of our meal, tension between us as clients and various members of the wait staff was palpable. My friend and I were thoroughly puzzled and frustrated by Nudo Negro's food. We talked about the difficulties in our meal with the head waiter, with another waiter who seemed to be at that level, and with our server. It was extremely disappointing to see that Daniel Ovadía was sitting on the terrace with another group of clients, within easy view of our table. At no time did we see any of the wait staff approach him to let him know of our problems. At no time did he look our way or show any interest the dining room. When I finally did hand one of the waiters my card to give to him, he immediately came to greet me with a kiss and a hug and offered a handshake to my friend–but at no time did he ask either of us if we were enjoying our meal, if everything had been to our liking, nothing of the sort. It was as if he didn't care at all. He talked with me about a business aspect of his business (a new restaurant in the offing), but not about the most crucial part of any restaurateur's business: the dining pleasure of the client. After only a few minutes with us, he returned to the group on the terrace.

My friend and I were tired of and more than annoyed by the evening's incessant struggle to dine, neither of us wanted dessert, and we asked for the check. Rather than bring the check, one of the wait staff brought us a dessert, courtesy of the house: cheesecake baklava with ground nuts and a pretty egg-shaped serving of normally subtly flavored rose petal ice cream, plus smears of jamaica reduction meant to have the appearance of rose petals. The baklava was edible, but the ice cream fragrance and flavor mimicked exactly the extremely strong scent of one of Mexico's iconic soaps: Rosa Venus. We laughed and left it on the plate after a taste.

Our server brought the check in its folder, laid it on the table, and immediately took it away again. The head waiter came to the table and said, "There is no check. There is no check. We apologize for everything." It was definitely the right thing to do and we truly appreciated the gesture.

Two thumbs down, readers. This is a first for Mexico Cooks!.

Restaurante Nudo Negro
Calle Zacatecas 139
Between Calle Jalapa and Calle Tonalá
Colonia Roma Norte
Mexico City
011-52-5564-5281

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30 de July de 2016
Zarzamora or Tzitún? In Michoacán, They’re All Blackberries and All Delicious!

Blackberries are one of the staples of the Mexico Cooks! kitchen. In season nearly year-round, Mexico's blackberries are commercially grown primarily in the state of Michoacán. I'm crushing this bowlful of delicious blackberries with Splenda® and a pinch of salt to add to breakfast yoghurt. Wild blackberries (in the Purépecha language, tzitún) still grow in the oak and pine forests of Michoacán.

In 1994, the commercially cultivated blackberry first arrived in the area around Los Reyes, Michoacán. High in the mountains, Los Reyes offered a perfect climate for the Brazos variety of erect blackberries. Originally, the commercial growers planted only three hectáreas (about 6 acres) of berries. Developed at Texas A&M University and introduced in 1959, 'Brazos' has been the Texas standard for years and is still a great variety. The berries are large and the plants produce heavily. In Michoacán, this variety starts ripening early in May. The berries are a little acid and are better for cooking and canning than fresh eating. This variety has more thorny plants and larger seeded fruit than many of the improved varieties. In fact, the blackberries offered in Mexico's markets are huge, about an inch long by half an inch in diameter–as big as the ball of my thumb.

Brazos blackberries 'on the hoof'.

Since those 1994 beginnings, local growers have learned a tremendous amount about the cultivation of blackberries. Today, the fruit fields cover more than 4,500 hectáreas in the area of Los Reyes, Tocumbo, and Peribán–almost all in the west-central highlands of Michoacán. The 2009 production reached a weight of 30,000 tons of blackberries–tons! Ninety percent of those were exported to the United States, the primary foreign market. The rest of those exported went to Europe and Japan. This quantity of blackberries represents 95% of those grown in Michoacán and 90% of those grown anywhere in Mexico. This rinconcito (tiny corner) of Mexico produces more blackberries than anywhere else in the world. Fortunately, enough of Michoacán's blackberries stay in Mexico to satisfy its population.

Recently Mexico Cooks! was unable to find unsweetened, unflavored yoghurt in our neighborhood shops–and there was nearly a kilo (2.2 pounds) of blackberries in the refrigerator that needed to be eaten immediately. They had been destined for a week's worth of breakfasts, but one morning se me prendió el foco (the light bulb went on in my brain) and I thought: COBBLER! In the bowl is the entire amount of berries, mixed with sugar, the juice and some grated zest of a limón (key lime), and a bit of cornstarch.

Blackberry cobbler, as you might have guessed, is not in the standard Mexican food repetoire. However, when all of the ingredients are grown or made in Mexico, maybe it should be. In the photo are salt, baking powder, an egg, two limones, standard-grade sugar, milk, and freshly rendered pork lard. Lard, so shoot me!

Pre-heat the oven to 425ºF and butter a baking dish. In this instance, I used an 8" square glass baking dish.

Scoop the blackberry mixture into the pan and gently even it out.

Measure the shortening (you can use solid vegetable shortening if you prefer not to use lard). I always use the displacement method to measure solid shortening: for this 1/4 cup of lard, I started with 1 3/4 cups of cold water in this clear measuring cup. I added lard until the water rose to the two-cup level, then emptied out the water. Bingo, 1/4 cup of lard and no mess.

The flour mixture that will become the dough for topping the cobbler. You see the lard on top of the flour mixture, ready to be worked into it.

The flour mixture should look like this when you finish working the lard into it.

Break an egg into the milk and beat with a fork till blended.

The cobbler, topped with raw dough and ready for the oven. Sprinkle the raw dough with sugar to give it a finished look after baking. The cornstarch that I mixed with the raw blackberries and sugar thickens the juices as the cobbler bakes.

Bake the cobbler for about half an hour, or until the dough is light golden brown. Your house will smell heavenly!

Here's the entire recipe:

Blackberry Cobbler
Ingredients
4-6 cups fresh blackberries
3/4 cup sugar, divided use
1 Tbsp lemon juice
zest of 1/2 lemon
1 Tbsp cornstarch

2 cups all-purpose flour
1/4 tsp salt
1 Tbsp baking powder
1/4 cup shortening–in this instance, lard
4 Tbsp butter
1 whole egg
1/2 cup milk

Preparation
Preheat your oven to 425ºF.

Butter the glass baking dish. Mix blackberries, 1/2 cup sugar, cornstarch, lemon juice, and lemon zest in a large mixing bowl. Reserve.

In a separate bowl, mix the flour, salt, baking powder, and 1 or 2 Tbsp sugar. Add the shortening and butter and work them into the flour with your fingers, until the mixture looks like fairly coarse corn meal.

Measure 1/2 cup milk into a large measuring cup; break the egg into the milk. Beat with a fork until well blended. Pour the milk/egg mixture into the flour/shortening mixture and stir until smooth. The dough should not be sticky; if you need to add more flour, start with just an additional tablespoon. When the dough is smooth but still quite damp, it's ready.

Pour the blackberry mixture into the glass baking dish and gently even out the berries with your fingers. Put large spoonfuls of dough all over the berries, leaving some small spaces on top for the juice to bubble through. Flatten the dough a little–use your fingers, and don't worry about how it looks. Sprinkle the top of the dough with a tablespoon or two of sugar.

Bake until golden brown, about 30 minutes. A serving of your cobbler, topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, will look like this–truly a thing of beauty.

The finished product: blackberry cobbler, hot out of the oven and topped with rich real-cream vanilla ice cream.

What could be better for dessert–a taste of Mexican blackberries, from a recipe straight out of your grandmother's kitchen!

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23 de July de 2016
A Simple Mexican Classic :: Rajas con Crema, Chile Poblano Strips with Cream

The chile poblano is one of the most commonly used fresh chiles in Mexico's kitchen. A very large, fleshy chile, it can measure as much as seven or eight inches long. The stem end is much wider than the point, and the color ranges from dark green to almost black-green. Shopping tip: if you buy chiles poblano that are flat on all sides, they will roast more quickly than if they are deeply creased in spots. The flat sides will evenly touch the roasting surface.

The chile poblano is commonly used for preparing main dishes such as chiles rellenos, including the seasonal and festive chiles en nogada. It is also used for making rajas de chile poblano con crema (strips of chile poblano with cream), a marvelously flavorful vegetable side dish. All photos by Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

To prepare chiles poblano for use in any recipe, wash and roast them. Don't try to use them with the peel on; the peels will be as tough as trying to chew through plastic. Mexico Cooks! uses a cast iron comal (griddle) placed over a high flame to roast as many as four to six chiles at a time. Other cooks prefer to roast these chiles one at a time over an open flame, or on a broiler pan in a slightly open oven. No matter which roasting method you use, the roasted chiles should look like the ones in the above photo. Photo courtesy Maura Hernández.

Once the chiles are roasted, put them in a plastic bag, twist it shut, and allow the chiles to 'sweat' for 10 to 15 minutes. You'll easily be able to remove the blackened peels. It's best not to rinse them–or rinse them only a little–as rinsing removes a good bit of the delicious chile poblano flavor.

After you have peeled your roasted chiles, they will look like this. If just a bit of toasted peel sticks to the chile, it will simply add another layer of flavor to your dish. Click on the photo to enlarge and better see the remaining blackened bits of peel.

Make a slit down the full length of each chile and cut off its stem end. Remove the seeds by brushing them into a trash receptacle.

Chiles poblano, roasted, peeled, and laid flat on a cutting board. The next step is to slice them into strips–rajas, in Spanish.

Rajas, ready to prepare and serve. For this meal, Mexico Cooks! used three large chiles to prepare a side dish for two people.

The ingredients include half a white onion, sliced very thin, and about one-third of a large sweet red pepper, diced. Sauté in hot oil until soft and translucent. Mexican cooks normally use fresh corn kernels in this recipe; I happened to have part of a sweet red pepper that needed to be cooked, so I used that instead.

Peppers and onions, ready for the addition of the chile strips!

Continue to sauté the vegetables until the chiles are soft. Because the chile strips are already roasted, the sauté process will not take long. You do not want your rajas to be over-cooked; they should still be bright green at the end of cooking.

Add about half a cup of crema para la mesa (Mexican table cream or creme fraiche–NOT sour cream) to the vegetable mix. Stir until well incorporated.

The cream will become a thick sauce for the vegetables. Salt to taste. The chile poblano is generally quite mild and flavorful, but once in a while you will come across one that is surprisingly spicy. There's no way to tell by looking at them whether they are mild or hot, and either way they're delicious and not overly 'hot'.

Mexico Cooks! served the rajas de chile poblano con crema alongside strips of a very large chicken breast, lightly dusted with salted flour and sautéed in olive oil seasoned with a smashed clove of garlic. This chicken breast half, which weighed nearly a pound, made ten strips and was plenty for the two of us for our main meal of the day. This simple meal was easy and delicious.

Provecho! (Good eating!)

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16 de July de 2016