Category: Mexican Markets

Mexico Cooks!’ Anniversary: Grateful for Eight Years with YOU.

This is the very first photo published by Mexico Cooks! on February 2, 2007: multicolor woven sonajas (rattles) for sale at a Michoacán artisans' fair. Wouldn't you love to work a jigsaw puzzle made from this picture?

The first week of February 2015, Mexico Cooks! joyfully celebrated its eighth birthday. In March, 2007, only weeks after our first publication, one of our articles was titled, 'From That Little Beginning', quoting the owner of the original producer of Salsa Cholula in speaking of his own business. Today, we echo his thoughts: who would have thought that after Mexico Cooks!' initial article on Candlemas Day 2007–that 'little beginning' article read out of the goodness of their hearts by an audience of 2 or 3 friends–that our 2015 readership would number nearly three and a half million faithful followers? Who would have thought that the London Times would name Mexico Cooks! the number one food blog in the world? And who would have thought that at ten o'clock every Saturday morning for eight years, a Mexico Cooks! article would be ready for you to read? Trust me, not us!

In February and March 2008, Mexico Cooks! published several articles about our travels to the southern Mexican state of Chiapas. Many of our readers asked if this photo of ciruelas criollas (native Mexican plums), taken at the San Cristóbal de las Casas indigenous market, were for sale or if it would be part of a calendar.

September 2009 featured Ana Pellicer and James Metcalf, internationally-known copper artists from Santa Clara del Cobre, Michoacán. This large and utilitarian French-style tinned copper pot with hand-forged iron handle, although not representative of the artists' fine sculptural works, is part of a popular baterie de cuisine–a set of kitchen pots designed and sold by the couple. Mexico Cooks! featured Ana Pellicer again in November 2010 when she received the illustrious Michoacán Premio Estatal de las Artes Eréndira (Eréndira State Arts Prize of Michoacán). She is the first woman ever to receive the award.

Tortita de calabacita (little squash fritter) from the sorely missed Restaurante Los Comensales in Morelia, Michoacán. Mexico Cooks! featured the restaurant (the name means 'The Diners') in October 2009. Less than a year from the date of our interview with her, Señora Catalina Aguirre Camacho, the owner of Los Comensales since 1980, became too elderly and incapacitated to continue to operate her wonderful restaurant. Sra. Aguirre has since gone to cook for God's angelitos in heaven.

And of course there has always been food at Mexico Cooks!: recipes, history, and mouth-watering photographs have filled our pages since the beginning. If these few memorable articles leave you hungry for more, our archives contain nearly 500 articles, each with six–or eight–or ten–or more photos. In January 2009, we featured the first retrospective of the prior year's highlights of some of your favorite articles about Mexican food.

Over the last eight years, we have frequently featured Mexican ingredients and how to use them in your home kitchen. Some of the most popular articles showcased fresh and dried chiles, and some of Mexico's exotic fruits. This fruit, the wild ilama (Annona diversifolia) from Michoacán's Tierra Caliente (hot lands), is all but unknown outside its home territory. Its skin color is ashy green tinged with pink on the outside. The flesh is rosy pink; the flavor is a little like a cross between a peach and a pineapple.

If you had to guess, which of Mexico Cooks!' nearly 500 articles do you think would be the most searched for on Google? Think of the ultimate comfort food. Yes: it's caldo de pollo, Mexican-style chicken soup. The article is so popular that once a year, we publish it again!

Another enormously popular article features the preparation of Mexico Cooks!-style frijolitos refritos (refried beans). Prepare them this way once and you may never eat them any other way.

Mangos on the street in 2011–cut to look like flowers, soon to be spritzed with jugo de limón (lime juice), salt, and a dash of powdered red chile. Served like this, a mango is sweet, tangy, salty, spicy, and altogether delicious!

A marvelously textured guajolote (turkey) at a rural Oaxaca market, 2014.

It's almost always a party here at Mexico Cooks!, and you are always invited. Join us at ten o'clock every Saturday morning. Look at the right-hand side of the page to click on "Subscribe to this blog's feed' and receive each new week's Mexico Cooks! article and photos via email.

And what might be Mexico Cooks!' favorite part of this eight-year-long party? It's not the food, nor the travels, nor the fascinating cultural insights to this marvelous country that I can share with you, the country for which I fell hook, line, and sinker in 1981. Nope. The best part of all is you.

Mexico Cooks! met a number of fellow food writers in Mexico City in 2010. What did we do? Oh puh-leeez! We met for lunch, of course.

Many of you have written to me to talk about your joy at discovering Mexico's traditions, including its traditional foods. Many of you have written to me for advice about travel, restaurants, and the use of various Mexican ingredients. Many of you have written to me, like this person, to share a memory: "Thanks. I cried and remember my family. We always ate corundas with pork and chile. It has been many, many years since I visited my family's town in Mexico. Your articles always take me home to my beloved Mexico."

It has been particularly wonderful to meet some of you when you have visited Mexico–whether in Jalisco, Michoacán, Oaxaca, or Mexico City–to take a Mexico Cooks! culinary tour designed especially for you. Mexico Cooks! looks forward to welcoming more of you–our tours are always, as one faithful reader and tour participant says, "DIVINE". Come soon!

Be assured that knowing that you are out there reading about Mexico's food and cultures–wherever you are in the world–you are the reason that Mexico Cooks! continues. Thank you for eight years of support, trust, and confidence.

Teaching about exotic fruits (the one in my hand is a mamey) during a Pátzcuaro, Michoacán market tour with faithful readers, 2011.

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14 de February de 2015
Mercado de Flores, Guadalajara–Guadalajara’s Wholesale Flower Market

When I lived in Guadalajara, it was my great pleasure to wander the city's wholesale flower market, talking with the long-time vendors and taking more pictures of glorious blooms than will fit on these pages.

I confess that on the day I went on my investigative trip to the wholesale flower stalls, I was in a funk and would have preferred to stay at home. I scowled my way through traffic to the Mercado Mezquitán in downtown Guadalajara and barely managed a brief smile when I found a handy parking place near the flower stalls. And then I was on the street, the flower-filled street, and my bad mood vanished in a heartbeat. How could my funk hang on when the sight and fragrances of literally millions of blossoms were all around me?

It was hard to know where to look first. The narrow old market street, clogged with belching pickup trucks, beat-up flower-crammed cars, overloaded handcarts and people carrying enormous bundles of flowers, runs parallel to super-busy, super-modern Calzada Federalismo. I smiled as the blatant contrasts of Mexico once again showed me that I was definitely not north of the border.

A scruffy yellow dog sniffed the greenery in his path as he hunted for something more promising than flower trimmings for his almuerzo (late breakfast). What looked like a moving tower of bright red roses jostled me as I stood in the street. It was a workman, hurrying along with dozens and dozens of paper-wrapped bundles of beautiful blooms on his shoulder.

Mounds of multi-colored statice wait on a hand truck.

For two city blocks, tiny Calle Mezquitán is a sea of blooms. I've often driven along Federalismo and noticed the market building; it's just across from a municipal cemetery. But the actual flower market, a small enclosed building of perhaps 30 stalls, is insignificant compared to what happens in the street.

I walked along asking permission to take pictures and marveling at the variety of flowers. My eye was caught first by girasoles (sunflowers), then by leticia (statice), then pompones (pompom chrysanthemums).

The vendors greeted me as I strolled past. "Qué va a llevar, señora? Hay de todo." (What are you buying, lady? Everything's here.) Over and over again I asked permission to take photographs. The quantity of flowers was completely overwhelming, their fragrances perfuming the air.

This basket of at least four dozen roses, asters, and assorted greenery cost 250 pesos, less than $20.00 USD at today's exchange rate.

I stopped to ask one of the vendors about the cultivation of flowers in Mexico. Flowers, he told me, are grown commercially primarily in one area of the small State of Mexico, both for export and for use here in the República. Flower business is big business in that fertile valley not far from Mexico City. Flower-growing land sprawls over more than five thousand hectares. That's well over 12,000 acres. In addition, the cultivation of flowers provides either direct or indirect employment to more than 225,000 people in that state.

Gerbera daisies and stargazer lilies.

In the State of Mexico, flower growing generates a yearly economic bounty of $2,700,000,000 pesos: two billion seven hundred million, folks. It's not a typo. The brief selling season just prior to the Day of the Dead in November generates $617,000,000 pesos—in only a few days. The profits from just those late-October flower sales represent nearly one-fourth of the economy produced in the State of Mexico's fields.

Here's just one small example of Mexico's Day of the Dead flower power. In 2003, growers planted ninety hectares of roses which were to be harvested in the last week of October. Those roses produced 11.3 million stems, which were bundled 25 to a package. Each package of 25 roses sold at wholesale for 37 pesos. Total earnings for the brief October rose harvest were 17 million pesos.

In addition to roses, the flower growers of the State of Mexico also cultivate huge numbers of chrysanthemums, vast quantities of gladiolas, millions upon millions of carnations, and most of the rest of the flowers that are available in wholesale markets all over this country and the world. Many, many of the flowers that you who live North of the Border will purchase or be given on Valentine's Day and Mother's Day come from the sunny lands South of the Border.

Claveles (carnations) are among the most popular flowers for sale at the market.

Everywhere I looked, I was tempted to buy. Huge bundles of pink, red, candy-striped or white carnations, each bundle containing 60 or more flowers, sell for 40 pesos–less than $3.00 US dollars. Gorgeous, enormous ready-to-sell flower arrangements, perfect for a banquet table centerpiece, sell for 250 pesos–less than $20.00 US dollars. Bundles of 25 roses sell for 70 pesos.

After walking along the market street for an hour and then investigating the market itself, I stopped to ask a young vendor how long the market had been operating on Calle Mezquitán. She admitted that she wasn't sure and encouraged me to ask Dr. Roberto Avila, the owner of the business where she worked. He was busy taking a large wholesale order on the telephone. "Dr. Avila knows everything about the market, from the time it began until today," she assured me. I waited and watched the action on the street as hundreds of thousands of flowers glowed in the morning sun.

Dr. Avila graciously took the time to answer my questions. "This flower market has been here for more than 50 years," he began. "I'm 57 years old and I was born two blocks from here. My grandmother and my father brought me here to work with them when I was seven. I've had this business for 25 or 26 years now.

Long-stemmed roses sell in bundles of 40 for 70 pesos, about $5.00 USD.

"Look across the street, right over there." He pointed to a small house on the corner. "That house is made of adobe–sun-dried bricks made of mud and straw. All the houses along here were made of adobe, that's how old this section of Guadalajara is. Over the years, they've fallen down because of the rains, but people build them right back up again.

"Some years ago, Calzada Federalismo was widened to accommodate all the traffic that comes this way. Before the street was widened, the market building was more than twice the size it is now. The market building back then wasn't just for flowers. There were meat markets, tortillerías, and plenty of stands where you could eat. The government took most of the market to build the street. Now there's no tortillería there at all, the meat markets have mostly moved out, and there are only a couple of food stands left." He shook his head. "There used to be a kindergarten here. And there were frontón (a ball game played with a kind of basket-shaped racquet) courts." He smiled. "There are many other frontón courts in the city, but the ones right here are gone."

Fronton paddles. Photo courtesy Google Images.

"There are more flower markets in Guadalajara, you know. One is right in front of Parque Agua Azul, on Calzada Independencia near González Gallo. Another is at the corner of Manuel Acuña and Contreras Medellín, just about ten blocks from here. But none of those markets sells the amount of wholesale flowers that we sell here."

I thanked Dr. Avila and walked up and down the street once more. The flower market had lightened my mood and I knew I'd come back on other days just for the lift. Although I was determined to buy a bundle of carnations, my eye suddenly lit on a huge bucket of tight yellow Siberian iris buds. "Cuánto cuestan?" I asked the vendor. "How much do they cost?" Thirty-five pesos for ten long stems! I bought two bunches and strolled happily to my car.

Back home, after I arranged the flowers in a tall vase, I checked my favorite online florist for the price of Siberian iris in the United States. Suffice it to say that I would never have been able to afford them. If you go to Guadalajara, be sure to make a field trip to the wholesale flower market, where you can afford to buy all the flowers you could possibly want.

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31 de January de 2015

The Tianguis: Mexico’s Prehispanic Street Market in Today’s World

Fresh red corn at a Pátzcuaro, Michoacán tianguis (street market).

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

Beautiful Mexican papaya, sold year-round at almost every tianguis. It's beautifully cut to show the ripe, sweet flesh to prospective buyers.

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

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

Seedless red grapes, ready to be weighed at a small tianguis in Morelia, Michoacán.

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

There are usually several fishmongers at any good-sized urban tianguis. A fishmonger's booth is usually large and filled with a variety of fish. Dorado (mahi mahi), huachinango (red snapper), lenguado (sole), robalo (sea bass), mackerel, crabs, shrimp, octopus, tilapia, and a full assortment of others fresh from the sea compete for space on a bed of ice.

You can request your fish entero (whole), filete (fillete), or even molido (ground, for ceviche). If the fish is small, expect to pay by weight for the whole fish even if you ask for it filleted. If the fish is very large, like a dorado, you'll be charged only for the fillets. Occasionally it's possible to make an advance order for a special request. I've asked for fresh sea scallops when they're in season. If you're making a request for a party menu, it's always best to have an alternative in mind: sometimes the special item you want isn't available.

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

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

The first time I shopped for meat at a tianguis, I requested a kilo (approximately two pounds) of maciza (solid boneless leg of pork) that I could use to prepare carne de puerco con chile verde. You can also have maciza ground for albóndigas (Mexican meatballs) or to mix with ground beef for a meatloaf or Italian meatballs. While I was waiting for my maciza, I noticed a beautiful bone-in lomo (in this case, pork loin) and made a mental note to add it to my shopping list another week.

Browned cubes of pork in salsa verde (green sauce). All of the ingredients for this dish (pork, lard, tomate verde [tomatillos], chile serrano, cilantro, and onion) came from my local tianguis. It's ready to go into the oven.

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

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

A whole Mexican chicken. It weighs approximately three kilos (about six and a half pounds). This one was destined for the soup pot.

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

Fresth pata de pollo (chicken feet).

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

Part	Price In Pesos per kilo
Breast (skinless, boneless)	$120
Breast (with skin and bone)	$90
Leg (with thigh, back portion attached)	$40
Leg (with thigh, no back)	$45
Wings	$25
Whole chicken	$40
Chicken livers	$15
Chicken feet	$15

The vendors also sell a variety of cheeses, thick crema (Mexican table cream, similar to French creme fraiche), requesón (Mexican-style cottage cheese, similar to Italian ricotta), and corn or flour tortillas. All of the dairy products are kept fresh and cold in coolers during the selling day.

Products	Price in Pesos
Yogurt	$25/liter
Queso Panela (Mexican fresh cheese)	$35/per cheese 650-700 grams
Queso Oaxaca (Oaxaca-style cheese)	$60/kilo
Crema (Mexican thick cream)	$26/kilo
Queso Cotija (Mexican sharp cheese)	$60/kilo
Queso Asadero (Mexican melting cheese)	$25/half kilo
Requesón (Mexican cottage cheese)	$30/kilo
Flour Tortillas	$20/packet

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

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

Santiago smiled when I asked how long he had been selling at the tianguis. "Altogether, it's been more than 28 years." He gestured with his index finger held straight up near his waist to indicate the height of a small child. "I used to help my Dad when I was no taller than this." The dairy and other products are kept cold in coolers throughout the day. The products kept out for sale on the tables are also covered with cheesecloth to protect them from flies.

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

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24 de January de 2015

Puros Tamales: For Christmas in Mexico, It’s All About Tamales

Sweet tamales de zarzamora (fresh blackberry tamales) are a specialty of the Meseta Purhépecha, Michoacán.

When I was a child, my mother would sometimes buy a glass jar (I have conveniently forgotten the brand name) packed with what we called "hot tamales". Wrapped individually in parchment paper, covered in a thin, brackish, tomato-y fluid, these slippery travesties were all I knew of tamales until I moved to Mexico.

The first Christmas season I that I lived South of the Border, my neighbor came to my door to deliver a dozen of her finest home made tamales, fresh from the tamalera (tamales steamer). I knew enough of Mexican culture to understand that to refuse them would be an irreparable insult, but I also was guilty of what I now know as contempt prior to investigation. I did not want tamales. The memory of those childhood tamales was disgusting. I smiled and thanked her as graciously as I could.

A three-compartment tamalera: bottom left, Oaxaca-style tamales wrapped in banana leaves. Right, central Mexico-style tamales, wrapped in corn husks.

"Pruébalos ya!" she prodded. "Taste them now!" With some hesitation I reached for a plate from the shelf, a fork from the drawer (delay, delay) and unwrapped the steaming corn husk wrapper from a plump tamal she said was filled with pork meat and red chile. One bite and I was an instant convert. My grin told her everything she wanted to know. She went home satisfied, wiping her hands on her apron. I downed two more tamales as soon as she was out of sight. More than 25 years later, I haven't stopped loving them.

[youtube=://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QUWjZTAWMQU&w=350&h=315]
The 'official' voice of the ubiquitous Mexico City tamales oaxaqueños vendors. One visits our street every night at about ten o'clock.

Christmas in Mexico is a time for special festive foods. More tamales than any other food come from the Christmas kitchen. Tamales of pork, beef or chicken with spicy red chile, tamales of rajas con queso (strips of roasted poblano chiles with cheese), and sweet pineapple ones, each with a single raisin pressed into the masa (dough), pour in a steady, steaming mountain from kitchen after kitchen.

I asked my next door neighbor what she's making for Christmas Eve dinner. "Pues, tamales,que más," she answered. "Well, tamales, what else!"

I asked the woman who grooms my dog. "Pues, tamales, que más!"

I asked the woman who cuts my hair. "Pues, tamales, que más!"

And my gardener. "What's your Mom making to eat for Christmas Eve, Jorge?"

I bet by now you know what he replied. "Pues,tamales, que más?"

Obviously there are other things eaten on Christmas Eve in Mexico. Some folks feast on bacalao a la vizcaína (dried salt codfish stewed with tomatoes, capers, olives, and potatoes). Some women proudly carry huge clay cazuelas (rustic casserole dishes) of mole poblano con guajolote (turkey in a complex, rich sauce of chiles, toasted spices, and chocolate, thickened with ground tortillas) to their festive table. Some brew enormous ollas (pots) of menudo (tripe and cow's foot soup) or pozole (a hearty soup of prepared corn, chiles, pork meat, and condiments) for their special Christmas Eve meal, traditionally served late on Nochebuena (Christmas Eve), after the Misa de Gallo (Midnight Mass).

Doña Martha Prepares Tamales for Christmas

As an exceptional treat, we're sharing part of a photo essay by my good friend Rolly Brook. It's all about tamales, their ingredients and preparation. Rolly's friend Doña Martha cooks a whole pig head for her tamales; many cooks prefer to use maciza—the solid meat from the leg. Either way, the end result is a marvelous Christmas treat.

Doña Martha begins to take the meat off the cooked pig head.

Doña Martha mixes the shredded meat from the pig head into the pot of chile colorado (red chile that she prepared earlier in the day).

Doña Martha needs a strong arm to beat lard into the prepared corn for the masa.

Doña Martha's daughter spreads masa (corn dough) on the prepared hojas de maíz (corn husks).

Corn husks with masa, ready for filling.

Doña Martha fills each masa-spread corn husk with meat and chile colorado.

Folding the hojas de maíz is an assembly-line process involving the whole family.

Tamales in the tamalera, ready to be steamed. Steaming takes an hour or so.

The photos only show part of the process of making tamales. You can access Rolly's entire photo essay on his website. Rolly graciously allowed Mexico Cooks! the use of his wonderful pictures.

Can we finish all these tamales at one sitting? My friends and neighbors prepare them with leftovers in mind. Here's how to reheat tamales so they're even better than when they first came out of the steamer.

Recalentados (Reheated Tamales)

Over a medium flame, pre-heat an ungreased comal (griddle) or heavy skillet. Put the tamales to reheat in a single layer, still in their corn husk wrappers. Let them toast, turning them over and over until the corn husks are dark golden brown, nearly black. Just when you think they're going to burn, take them off the heat and peel the husks away. The tamales will be slightly golden, a little crunchy on the edges, and absolutely out of this world delicious.

Provecho y Feliz Navidad!

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27 de December de 2014
Seven Points of Tradition: The Piñata in Mexico

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

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 celebrates her 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. 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). 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 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.

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.

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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20 de December de 2014
There’s Always Room for…Gelatina!

My friend Sra. Abundis prepared this clear gelatina. It's approximately 15" in diameter and stuffed with fresh red and green grapes, canned pineapple, and peaches.

Whether you're having a midday meal at a traditional Mexican restaurant anywhere in the República or celebrating at a private party at the home of Mexican friends, you can be almost 100% sure that a prominent item on the dessert menu will be gelatins. As you browse the produce at any town's tianguis (street market) or elbow your way through the crowds at a fiesta patronal (patron saint's celebration), you'll see vendors selling plastic cups and glasses of—you guessed it, jewel-colored gelatin desserts. Gelatina is a shimmering sweet fact of life in Mexico, popular with young and old alike.

What is this Mexican obsession with a food that smacks of 1950s Middle America? Delight in gelatin desserts has been prevalent in Mexico for years; marketing experts here report that it's eaten daily in nearly 90% of Mexican homes. Mexicans consume more gelatin desserts than nearly any other country in the world—three times the quantity of gelatin consumed in the United States alone. In restaurants, the dessert tray will almost always include a variety of gelatin desserts. When Señora Fulana (Mrs. So-and-So) is invited to a party at the home of her best friend, it's very traditional for her to take along a gelatin dessert, all fancied-up and ready for the admiration of the rest of the attendees. At a birthday party, the dessert of preference is rarely cake and ice cream. It's almost always a plate of cake and a jiggling serving of gelatin, which requires no refrigeration to maintain its shape.

There are far more ways to prepare gelatin desserts in Mexico than your mother's Jell-O™ mixed with fruit cocktail or shredded celery and carrots. Some of the desserts are prepared with water, some with milk, and some are prepared as a layered combination of both. Some are major productions involving hours of labor intensive preparation time.

Sra. Abundis and Cristina prepared and painted this marvelous tiger gelatina for a child's birthday party.

Several months ago it was my task to prepare individual serving cups of gelatin for a two-year-old neighbor's birthday party—it seemed like I made hundreds. I thought it would be a complicated and difficult project, but it turned out to be quite a lot of fun. After asking another neighbor's advice, I learned that it's possible to buy powdered gelatin at any dulcería (candy store) or grocery store. The variety of available flavors is amazing: in addition to the ordinary strawberry, lime, and orange, I also found pistachio, almond, tamarindo, and peach.

While I could have kept my project simple, I decided to get fancy. No single-flavor cups of gelatin for this party! I read the directions printed on each bag and learned to prepare this flavor with water, that one with milk. I combined a layer of strawberry (prepared with water) with a layer of pistachio (prepared with milk). Recklessly, I disregarded the instructions to use water to prepare the peach flavor and used milk instead, combining an opaque peach-flavored layer with a clear orange-flavored layer.

Commercially made in Guadalajara for sale in supermarkets, this three-layer single-serving gelatina includes a fruit layer (complete with a prune and its pit), a milk-based layer, and a clear layer. The gelatina comes with its own tiny yellow plastic spoon. These 200 gram gelatins are prepared with preservatives and artificial coloring. Each one costs 7.1 pesos, or 65 cents US.

It's so simple. Of course you can do this at home, even North of the Border. Just buy two different flavors of your favorite brand of gelatin dessert powder, some four-ounce plastic glasses, and have at it. Prepare one flavor and fill each glass to the half-way point. Refrigerate and allow that flavor to set. Prepare the second flavor, using either milk or water, pour it on top of the already jelled flavor, and refrigerate until set.

One traditional recipe is for Mousse de Rompope (eggnog-flavored gelatin dessert). It is so delicious that it bears repeating now.

Rompope (rohm-POH-pay) Mousse with Strawberry Sauce

The mousse:
2 envelopes of unflavored gelatin
1/4 cup water
1 cup heavy cream
2 cups rompope (Mexican eggnog flavored liqueur)
1/4 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 egg whites

In a small bowl, sprinkle the gelatin onto the water and let stand until absorbed, about five minutes. Meanwhile, heat the cream slightly in a small saucepan. (Do not boil.) Remove from heat and stir in the gelatin, mixing well to dissolve. Strain into a bowl; add the rompope and vanilla and mix well. Set aside.

In a large bowl, beat the egg whites until they form stiff peaks. Fold in the eggnog mixture, and then pour into a lightly greased 1.5 quart ring-mold, bowl or specialty pan. Refrigerate at least four hours, preferably overnight.

Strawberry Sauce:
1 pound strawberries, stems removed
2 tablespoons sugar
1 tablespoon almond extract, anisette or Frangelica (hazelnut flavored liqueur)

Place strawberries, sugar and flavoring in a bowl and let stand for two hours. Purée in a blender, strain and set aside.

Just before serving, remove the mousse from its mold and drizzle with strawberry sauce. Garnish with slightly sweetened whipped cream. If desired, the mousse can be molded with a graham cracker crust.

The preparation of gelatin desserts has been raised to a fine art in Mexico. Special classes in gelatin preparation fascinate housewives and give rise to thriving cottage industry here. Recipes metamorphose from the relatively simple preparations in the preceding recipes to the most elaborate of flavor and design combinations. Recently, the craze for making individual clear gelatin desserts which contain flowers also made of gelatin has hit Mexico like a bombshell.

Flower gelatins like this one, made and copywrited by the Abundis family, are called gelatinas encapsuladas. The flowers are made with a syringe. Neither Sra. Abundis nor Cristina took classes in making the flowers, although many handicrafts schools and individuals offer those courses.

This week I was fortunate to spend some time with Sra. Abundis and her daughter, Cristina, who operate a small home-based business in Guadalajara. The Abundis family invited me to come watch and take pictures as they prepared special gelatinas for a child's birthday party. Mother and daughter have worked together for the last two to three years, preparing made-to-order gelatins for birthdays, baptisms, girls' fifteenth birthday parties, baby showers, engagement parties, and weddings.

The gelatina personality of the day was Spiderman. Cristina explained that the gelatin for the Spiderman mold and many more are milk-based, while other gelatins are water-based. Milk gives the gelatina a more nutritious aspect than does plain water and also makes Spiderman's features show up better after they're painted.

In the Abundis kitchen, Spiderman is fresh out of the mold. A selection of milk ingredients is lined up behind him, along with a small plate full of individual-serving Spiderman heads.

Sra. Abundis showed me the basic ingredients for the dessert; once the basics are assembled, they're flavored with vanilla. Spiderman is prepared with powdered milk. Other gelatinas are made with sweetened condensed milk or with evaporated milk. The Abundis family uses pure cane sugar and unflavored gelatin for its desserts. No preservatives are added. These home-prepared gelatinas must be consumed within 48 hours of their preparation.

Many fancy gelatinas are painted once they're chilled and set. Spiderman is no exception. The paints are special vegetable food coloring gel, manufactured here in Guadalajara.

Sra. Abundis watches closely as Cristina paints Spiderman's red base coat.

While Cristina painted, Sra. Abundis told me that when her relatives moved from Mexico City to Guadalajara in 1940, there was no gelatina in the city. Finally the relatives found a source–one stall at the Mercado Corona in Guadalajara's Centro Histórico sold it.

Cristina starts the initial work with black gel food coloring, outlining Spiderman's eyes. She holds a licenciatura (bachelor of arts) in graphic design from the University of Guadalajara.

"The gelatina has to be very cold in order to paint it," Cristina commented. "If it's not as cold and firm as possible, the paint will run." Spiderman stayed briefly in the freezer between coats of food coloring gel.

Spiderman's intricate thread work is complete.

I asked Sra. Abundis and Cristina which molds are most popular for parties. "Right now, Spiderman is the one all the kids want. Of course they also like Buzz Lightyear, Sponge Bob, all the Disney princesses, and Barbie. The old favorites like Winnie the Pooh, Mickey Mouse, and Tweetie Bird are always popular."

Josua Isai Abundis Linares, Cristina's nearly six year old nephew, participated eagerly in the time I spent with his family. He and I both anticipated our dessert: one of the individual Spiderman heads.

Cristina added, "For adult parties like weddings and baby showers, people want gelatinas encapsuladas, the ones with the flowers, to accompany their special cakes. And it's funny, the kids gobble down their gelatinas, but the adults want to save theirs. The flowers are so beautiful."

Cristina shows off the finished product: Spiderman in person! Sra. Abundis painted the blue base. The cost of this fantastic super hero is 130 pesos, approximately $11.50 USD.

"The people who ordered this Spiderman for their child's party will pick it up late this afternoon. The party is tomorrow." Cristina was happy that she finished the painting with no smears.

For dessert after your midday meal, for a snack or for a light supper, sweet wiggly gelatina satisfies every time. Cooling and slithery, a gelatina is just the ticket when you need a little something, but you don't want too much.

They knew what they were talking about, way back then, when they said, "There's always room for…"

If you happen to be in Guadalajara and need a gelatina for a special party, contact the Abundis family:

            Tiny Gelatinas
            Calle Ciprés #1819
            Colonia del Fresno
            Guadalajara, Jalisco
            Tel: 3812-8426 or 044-33-3815-1917

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22 de November de 2014
Calabaza en Tacha: Mexico’s Winter Squash, Cooked in Thick Syrup

Calabaza de Castilla, the squash Mari brought us, seen here with a charming artisan-made cloth figure of a Purépecha woman with her miniature pottery. The squash was about 8" high and weighed about three pounds.

Mari, the woman who spoiled Mexico Cooks! by doing all of our housework in Morelia, once gave us a squash. She brought two home from her rancho (the family farm) out in the country, one for her and one for us. The squash wasn't very big, as winter squash go, but it was plenty for us. Mari's first question, after we had happily accepted her gift, was whether or not we knew how to cook it. "Con piloncillo y canela, sí?" (With cones of brown sugar and cinnamon, right?)

Even though we knew how to spice the squash and knew how to cut it apart, knowing and doing these things turned out to be worlds apart. Faced with the project, we waffled and hesitated, intimidated by a large vegetable. The squash sat on the counter for several days, daring us to cook it before it molded. Then Chepo (one of the cats) toppled it over and rolled it around the counter, so we moved the squash outside onto the terrace table and gathered our nerve.

On Sunday, I finally decided it was Cook the Squash day. I chose pots, knives, and gathered the rest of the simple ingredients for a mise en place.

The squash with the first section cut out.

Cutting the squash in sections was the only difficult part of preparing it. The shell of the squash is hard. Hard. HARD. I was careful to keep the knife pointed toward the wall, not toward my body. With the force I needed to cut the squash open, one slip of the knife could have meant instant and deep penetration of my innards. Later that night, our friend Araceli told us that her mother usually breaks a squash apart by throwing it out a second floor window onto the concrete patio below! The next morning, Mari told us that her husband had cut their squash apart with a machete. I felt really tough, knowing that I'd been able to cut it open with just a knife and a few choice words.

The squash, cut into sections and ready for the pot. On the counter behind the squash is a 1930's Mexican covered cazuela (casserole), the top in the form of a turkey.

Once I had the (few choice words) squash cut open, I scooped out the seeds and goop and cut it into sections more or less 4" long by 3" wide. I did not remove the hard shell.

Meantime, I had prepared the ingredients for the almíbar (thick syrup) that the squash would cook in. Mexican stick cinnamon, granulated sugar, and piloncillo (cones of brown sugar) went into a pot of water. I added a big pinch of salt, tied anise seed and cloves into a square of cheesecloth and tossed the little bundle into the water. The pot needed to simmer for at least three hours, until the syrup was thick and well-flavored.

Clockwise from left: Mexican stick cinnamon, anise seed, piloncillo, and cloves.

Several hours later (after the syrup thickened well), I added the pieces of squash to the pot. Cooking time for this very hard squash was approximately an hour and a half over a low-medium flame.

As the squash cooks in the syrup, it softens and takes on a very appetizing dark brown color. Calabaza en tacha is one of the most typically homey Mexican dishes for desayuno (breakfast) or cena (supper). Well heated and served in a bowl with hot milk and a little of its own syrup, the squash is both nutritious and filling.

Squash for breakfast! On Monday morning, Mexico Cooks! served up a bowl of squash with hot milk, along with a slice of pan relleno con chilacayote (bread filled with sweetened chilacayote squash paste).

Calabaza en Tacha estilo Mexico Cooks!

Ingredients
One medium-size hard shell winter squash (about 8" high)
6 cups water
14 3-oz cones of dark piloncillo (coarse brown sugar)
2 cups granulated sugar
4 Mexican cinnamon sticks about 2.5" long
1 Tbsp anise seed
1 tsp whole cloves
Cheesecloth and string

Preparation
Heat the water in a large pot. Add the piloncillo, the granulated sugar, and the cinnamon sticks. Tie the anise seed and the cloves into a cheesecloth square and add it to the pot. Cook over a slow flame until the liquid is thick and syrupy, approximately three hours.

While the syrup is cooking, prepare the squash. Cut it into serving-size pieces as described above. If the squash shell is very hard, take adequate precautions so that you do not hurt yourself as you cut it in sections. You can always throw it onto the patio!

Add the squash pieces to the thickened syrup and simmer until the squash is soft and takes on a deep brown color. Cool for 15 minutes or so before serving.

Re-heat for desayuno (breakfast) or cena (supper). Serve with hot milk poured over it.

Makes about 16 servings.

¡Provecho!

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15 de November de 2014
Bread, the Staff of Life: Pan Dulce (Sweet Bread) in Mexico

Here's a steaming hot glass of café con leche (expresso with lots of milk), served with a basket of Mexico's pan dulce (sweet bread).

When my mother, may she rest in peace, visited me here in Mexico, one of her dearest wishes was to visit a Mexican bakery. For more than 40 years, Mother baked every crumb of bread that she consumed: white, rye, whole wheat, pumpernickel, sourdough, French baguette, and esoteric ethnic loaves that she just had to try. Mother wanted to see how it was done in Mexico. She even arrived with her baking apron, hoping to push her hands deep into some yeasty dough.

In those years, there was a tiny bakery just a block from my house. Shortly after Mom's arrival, I took her to meet Don Pedro, the master baker, and his helpers. For two hours, Don Pedro and my mother swapped bread stories—conversation about oven temperatures, yeast, flour densities, and tales of experiments, successes and failures.

Don Pedro spoke no English and my mother spoke no Spanish, but I interpreted between them and they discovered that they were soul mates. The day before Mother was to leave for home, she went to say goodbye to Don Pedro. They both cried and insisted that pictures be taken before they exchanged farewell hugs. Such is the bond of bread.

Bread fresh from the oven: the evocative aroma brings back timeworn memories of Mom's kitchen, filled with the yeasty perfume of twice-raised, golden-crusted hot bread. Here in Mexico, that redolent scent wafts through the air from bakeries scattered like hidden treasures through many neighborhoods. At certain hours of the early morning and mid-afternoon, barrio ovens disgorge mountains of pan dulce (sweet bread) destined for tiny corner mom-n-pop stores or for sale to individuals.

For a few pesos, an early breakfast of bread served with milk, juice, hot chocolate, or coffee gets Mexico up and off to work or school. For a few pesos more, the same sort of late supper rocks Mexico to sleep.

In the history of the world, bread has its own record and development. The making of wheat bread has evolved with the progress of world civilization. Particularly in gastronomic Mexico, bread has deep roots in the evolution of the República. The Spanish brought wheat, along with the flavors and recipes of all Europe with them to the New World. The 1860s era of Emperor Maximilian and his French wife, Charlotte, imposed a giddy 19th Century French influence—with puff pastries, whipped cream fillings, and sticky glazes—on the already extensive assortment of Mexican breads.

Tasty sugar-swirled conchas are ubiquitous throughout Mexico.

During the Mexican Revolution, soldiers from every region of Mexico came to know the foods of states far from their homes. When they returned to their own areas after the fighting, they took the recipes and flavors of other regions home with them. The south of Mexico incorporated northern bread recipes into its repertoire, the west took from the east, the north from the south.

Today, most panaderías (bakeries) in Mexico prepare similar assortments of pan dulce, along with a sampling of their own regional specialties.

Puerquitos (little pigs, on the right) taste very much like gingerbread.

It's been said that Mexico, of all the countries in the world, has the broadest and most delicious selection of breads. As a result of the mixture of cultures and regional flavors, today in Mexico you will find more than 2000 varieties of breads, and all will tempt your palate.

Pan dulce is just one variety, but there are hundreds upon hundreds of different sub-varieties. The great mosaic of Mexican bread making, inventiveness, and creativity is such that every variety of pan dulce has a name, usually associated with its appearance. That's why you'll see names of animals, objects, and even people gracing the breads on bakery shelves. Puerquitos (little pigs), moños (bowties or neckties), ojo de buey (ox eye), canastas (baskets), conchas (seashells), cuernos (horns),
chinos (Chinese), polvorones (shortbread), hojaldres (puffpaste),
empanadas (turn-overs), and espejos (mirrors): all are names of specific and very different sweet breads. My current favorite name for a pan dulce is niño envuelto (it means wrapped-up baby and it looks for all the world like a slice of jellyroll).

If you've never visited a Mexican bakery—a bakery where the breads are baked right on the premises—you have a real treat in store. One of my favorite bakeries is owned by the Rojas family. When the bolillos (crusty white rolls) come out of the oven in the early mornings and again when the roles (cinnamon rolls—they're addictive) are ready at about 12:30 PM, you'll find lines of locals waiting to carry home a bag of hot, fresh goodies.

At the Rojas bakery, the bakers will help you select the breads you want. There are no bakers' shelves at Rojas, and the selection of items is usually small. Most of the breads are delivered to shops and stores shortly after they're taken from the ovens. Larger Mexican bakeries can be a little intimidating when you first push that front door open and enter a warm, fragrant world of unfamiliar sights and smells.

Unsweetened biscochos are very similar to biscuits.

My most recent bakery excursion was to Panadería Pan Bueno, located at Avenida Vallarta #5295 in Guadalajara. The owner, Sr. Roberto Cárdenas González, graciously allowed me to take photographs with the assistance of his employee, Edith Hernández González.

When you go inside Pan Bueno–or for that matter, any Mexican bakery–take a minute to look around first to orient yourself. Right there by the door are the big metal trays and the tongs you need to gather up the breads you want to buy.

Edith shows off a huge rosca de reyes, a specialty bread for Día de los Reyes (Three Kings Day, January 6).

Flaky rings of sweet bread filled with figs.

As Edith and I made the rounds of the bakery, I asked her if she knew the origin of any of the names for pan dulce. With a charming smile, she admitted that they were just traditional inventos—made up titles. When I asked her if she ever got tired of eating the sweet breads, she shook her head emphatically. "Oh no, señora, we always love the pan."

You will always love the pan as well. And now, if you'll excuse me, a slice of niño envuelto is calling to me from my kitchen. How could I have resisted buying a pan dulce or two as I made the bakery tour? All right, it was four—but who's counting?

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25 de October de 2014
Mercado Libertad, Guadalajara: Enormous, Exciting, and Enticing

In the history and urban development of Guadalajara, the church and neighborhood named San Juan de Dios are the incandescent center. Just to the east of the Historic Center of Guadalajara in the heart of the San Juan de Dios neighborhood is the intersection of Calzada Independencia and Calle Juárez.

Since the founding of the city on this very spot, a river (in truth little more than a stream) called San Juan de Dios has run under the intersection, which for hundreds of years has been a place of meeting, work, and relaxation.

The first church consecrated in then-newborn Guadalajara was the Chapel of the True Holy Cross, built on the spot where today we find the church of San Juan de Dios. At one time a hospital bearing the same name also functioned at the same location.

Around 1885, Jalisco Governor Francisco Tolentino began public works projects in the San Juan de Dios neighborhood. These projects included building potable water and sanitation systems, the first in Mexico to be made of fortified concrete. The concrete tube was 12 feet in diameter—so enormous that the street above it was built as a beautiful promenade. To complete the roadway project, a median walkway was added, with flying buttresses used to strengthen the structure. Stunning benches, great monuments, and leafy trees completed the lovely Calzada Independencia project.

Under the auspices of Tolentino's successor, Governor José Guadalupe Zuno Hernández, a small marketplace—then known as San Juan de Dios—was added.

Fast forward 50 years—to 1955. The neighborhood surrounding the church of San Juan de Dios had changed from a verdant, relaxing walkway to the dirty backyard of Guadalajara, swarming with traffic jams, dive bars, hustlers, prostitutes, and including a huge, permanent, and partially covered tianguis (street market) on its outskirts. In addition, every day enough garbage was generated in the area that the neighborhood was always filthy and reeked of vegetable, animal, and human waste. San Juan de Dios had become the most visible stain on the beautifully burgeoning young metropolis.

By luck (good as well as bad), a raging fire destroyed the majority of that old market. Jalisco Governor Agustín Yañez authorized construction of a new and permanent covered market, the enormous building we know today as the Mercado San Juan de Dios, or Mercado Libertad.

Last remodeled in 1981, the Mercado has a surface area of nearly 500,000 square feet, or slightly less than the entire area of the old Green Bay Packers football stadium in Wisconsin, including its shops and administrative offices.

It's big. Really big. Housed on three floors, it has 70 entrances and is open 365 days a year from 7 AM till 9 PM. Its enormity houses approximately 3,000 vendors. It is the largest enclosed market in Latin America and the largest of its type (housing multiple-product vendors) in the world.

Don Silverio, the market's administrator with whom I talked, said that there are larger markets in Asia and other parts of the world, but that those larger markets sell only fish, flowers, meats, or some other single item—while the Mercado Libertad sells untold thousands of different categories of merchandise.

The Mercado Libertad has been the silent witness to urban and commercial development in Guadalajara. The old Plaza de Toros (bull ring) came down to make room for Guadalajara's beautiful downtown walking area, the Plaza Tapatía; Line Two of the Metro has been installed; the central bus station was moved—and still the market looms along the skyline.

The giant market continues to be the favorite shopping place for many tapatíos (residents of Guadalajara) as well as the people from outlying towns who fill thousands of buses streaming daily into the city. In spite of the opening of Guadalajara's numerous modern malls and supermarkets, the Mercado Libertad remains a center of commerce.

The Mercado Libertad has preserved for its vendors and its shoppers some of Mexico's best traditions even as it has followed the advances in world commerce. Guadalajara's identity is tied to this market, just as the market's identity is tied to Guadalajara.

If you're visiting Guadalajara and would like to spend a fascinating day investigating all the sights, sounds, smells, and tastes of the market, wear comfortable shoes and plan to spend several hours taking in as much of it as possible. The best option? Tour the market with Mexico Cooks!.

When you finally find yourself in 'overwhelm' mode, enjoy a shrimp cocktail, a taco or two, or just a soft drink at one of the many restaurants on the second floor. Rest your weary feet and refresh yourself until you're ready to head back to your hotel.

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18 de October de 2014
Cold Drinks, Mexican Style: Tuba, Tepache, Tejate, and More!

If you've shopped at any of Mexico's thousands of tianguis (street markets), you may have wondered what certain vendors were ladling out of their frosty glass jugs. Those are aguas frescas, made in every fresh fruit flavor you can imagine. In general, these aguas are made from purified water and are safe to drink.

In addition to aguas frescas, there are numerous fresh or fermented drinks along Mexico's way. At various hole-in-the-wall supper restaurants, pineapple tepache is the order of the day, served fizzing with a pinch of bicarbonate of soda. And on the outskirts of one small town as you drive toward Guadalajara, a sign hangs from a guamúchil tree. It reads "Aquí Se Vende Pajarete" (Pajarete Sold Here) and advertises yet another unusual beverage.

Along many highways and byways, you'll regularly see someone selling aguamiel and pulque, the ancient drink of the Aztecs, from large jars positioned on a tiny table. By the same token, pulque, both unflavored and curado (flavored with fruit, vegetables, or nuts) is a favorite in bars called pulquerías.

Tuba

Tuba vendor, Puerto Vallarta, Jalisco.

If you've wandered along the magical beaches bordering Mexico's western coastlines, you may have noticed a man with a yoke-like pole across his shoulders, a red painted gourd suspended from the pole by a rope. His cry is "Tuba! Tubaaaaaaaaaaa!" and his hands are full of plastic cups.

In Mexico, tuba is primarily a coastal drink. Several years ago I was surprised to see a tuba vendor at a tianguis in Guadalajara. Now I've been seeing the same man selling tuba in Tlaquepaque and at the Thursday and Sunday artisans' tianguis in Tonalá. If you happen to be in the area, look for him—he's easy to spot, with his bright-red gourd of tuba suspended from a pole across his shoulders.

A glassful of tuba, served with freshly chopped apple, salted peanuts, and ice.

Coconut palm sap is fermented to make the clear, white, sweet wine called tuba. To collect the sap, workers climb the palm tree in the morning and evening and bruise the coconut flower stalk until it starts to ooze its liquid. The stalk is tied with bamboo strips into a special bamboo container to catch the sap. Crushed tanbark from the mangrove tree is dropped into the container to give the sap a reddish color and to hasten its fermentation. As many as three flowers from one coconut tree can be made to yield sap. Each flower produces tuba for two months, after which it dries out and is cut from the tree.

The liquid actually begins to ferment while still in the bamboo container on the tree, but the alcohol content increases considerably with longer fermentation. Tuba quenches the thirst, is good for indigestion, and makes conversation flow easily.

I don't expect you to whip up most of these six popular drinks in your home kitchen, but I thought you'd love knowing about some of Mexico's really unusual cold drinks.

Tejuino

Since long-ago times, cooling tejuino has refreshed Mexico. It's made from the same corn masa (dough) that's used for tortillas and tamales. The prepared masa is mixed with water and piloncillo (cone-shaped Mexican brown sugar) and boiled until the liquid is quite thick. It's then allowed to ferment slightly—but just slightly. I've never known anyone to get so much as a buzz from sipping a cupful of cold tejuino.

Tejuino vendor, Tlaquepaque, Jalisco.

Once the tejuino is thickened and fermented, it's mixed as needed with freshly squeezed jugo de limón (key lime juice), a pinch of salt, water, ice, and a big scoop of lemon sherbet. Just about everywhere in Mexico, it's sold in plastic glasses—small, medium, and large—or in a plastic bag with the top knotted around a drinking straw.

Some people say that tejuino is an acquired taste. I acquired the taste for it the very first time I tried it and often crave it on hot afternoons. There is nothing more refreshing. Fortunately, there was a tejuino vendor just a block from my house in Guadalajara, so I could buy a glassful when the spirit moved me. Cup after cup of freshly prepared tejuino is ladled out to customers every day. Although tejuino is only a slightly sweet drink, the masa base makes tejuino very filling. A small glass is usually very satisfying.

Tejate

Tejate, a cold and foamy nixtamal-ized corn and chocolate drink, is particular to Oaxaca, especially found in the city's markets and in the small towns all around the area. Tejate is very refreshing on a hot day at the market–in this case, at the weekly market in Zaachila, Oaxaca. Compare the size of the jícara (the red enameled bowl afloat in the tejate) to the size of this very large clay vessel.

Tepache

I've found tepache in several cenadurías (restaurants open for supper only, usually from 7:30 PM until midnight) in Mexico, as well as at street stands and, occasionally, market stands. Tepache is simple to make and the ingredients are readily available whether you live North or South of the Border. You might like to try this at home.

Tepache (teh-PAH-cheh)
1 whole pineapple (about 3 pounds)
3 quarts water
1 pound piloncillo or brown sugar
1 cinnamon stick, approximately 3" long
3 cloves

Wash the skin of the pineapple well. Cut off the stem end and discard. Leave the skin on the pineapple and cut the entire fruit into large pieces.

Place the pieces of pineapple in a large container and add two quarts of water, the piloncillo or brown sugar, the cinnamon, and the cloves. Cover and allow to rest in a warm place for approximately 48 hours. The longer you allow the liquid and fruit to rest, the more it will ferment. If you let it sit for longer than 48 hours, taste it periodically to make sure it is not overly fermented, as it will go bad.

Strain the liquid—the tepache—and add the last quart of water.

If you prefer, do not add the last quart of water. Instead, add one cup of beer and allow to rest for another 12 hours.

Strain again and, if you have used the beer, add three cups of water.

Serve cold with ice cubes.

Tepache vendor, Zihuatanejo.

At any cenaduría, you can ask for your tepache with a pinch of bicarbonate of soda. You can also add it at home, just before you're ready to drink a glassful. The addition makes the tepache fizz and bubble, and it's said to be extremely good for the digestion. An elderly neighbor of mine swears by it as a heartburn remedy.

Pajarete

In the Mexican countryside, tequila drinking starts as soon as the sun comes up. If you drive Mexican highways early any morning—early, please, when the air is still chilly and cool gray bruma (light fog) clings to the flanks of the mountains of the Central Highlands—look for a small hand painted sign. "Aquí Se Vende Pajarete" (pah-hah-REH-teh) is all it says. The sign may hang from a tree, it may be tacked to a fencepost, and you won't see any indication of a cart or stand.

Aqui se vende pajarete: Pajarete sold here!

Away from the road, behind the trees, past the bushes, just over there by those old wrecked cars, a dairy farmer milks his cows. As he milks the patient cows and they snuffle their hot breath into the misty morning, groups of men (sombrero-wearing men who are real men) gather around the cow lot, each man with his large clay mug. Into each mug go a stiff shot of either charanda (a sugar cane alcohol), mezcal, or tequila, a bit of sugar and some cinnamon-laden Mexican chocolate grated from a round tablet. The mug is then filled with warm milk, freshly squeezed directly into the mug–straight from the cow. More a body-temperature drink than a cold drink, that's pajarete: breakfast of champions.

There are many more interesting and unusual drinks South of the Border, everything from A (acachú, a drink that sounds like a sneeze, made near Puebla from the wild cherry) to Z (zotol, made in Chihuahua from the sap of wild yucca). Wherever you are in Mexico, you'll find something fascinating to quench your thirst, make you feel more at home in the culture, and give you a story to tell.

A toast to each of you: Salud, dinero, y amor, y tiempo para gozarlos. Health, money, and love, and time to enjoy them.

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27 de September de 2014