Category: Mexican Tourism

Deliciously Spicy Picadillo, Ideal for Your Winter Table

Elisabeth Lambert Ortiz (1915-2003), a proper British woman married to Mexican diplomat César Ortiz Tinoco, learned Mexican cuisine in Mexico City, her husband's home town. She published her wonderful The Complete Book of Mexican Cooking in 1967, which introduced the English-speaking world to some of the regional cuisines of Mexico. I've cooked from this ever more raggedy, taped-together, yellowing, food-stained, still-magical paperback edition since the middle 1970s, starting years before I moved to Mexico. The first truly Mexican recipe I ever prepared was picadillo, from Elisabeth Lambert Ortiz's book. It's Mexico's traditional home-style hash.

The ingredients for picadillo are available in almost any supermarket. Starting with the bowl of ground beef and pork at lower left in the photograph and moving clockwise, you see the raw meat, Mexican cinnamon sticks, bright orange carrots all but hidden in the dish, chiles serrano, Roma tomatoes, white potatoes, a Red Delicious apple, raisins and dried cranberries, freshly dried hoja de laurel (bay leaves), a whole white onion, and, in the little dish in the right-center foreground, freshly dried Mexican oregano. I dried the bay leaves and the oregano myself, but you can make substitutions: use ground cinnamon rather than the cinnamon sticks, store-bought bay leaves, and the oregano you normally use instead of the Mexican type; the rest of the ingredients are commonplace.

Minced chile serrano and diced white onion.

Hash of all kinds is one of the most comfortable of comfort foods, and the hash called picadillo (the word means 'a little something chopped-up') is simply Mexico's slightly more rambunctious cousin. This picadillo recipe is always forgiving, always flexible. Prepare it with ground beef, ground pork, or a combination of the two meats. Use more potatoes, fewer carrots, an extra tomato (or two, if the ones you have are quite small). Don't care for olives? Leave them out. But by all means do try picadillo: it's a far cry from your mother's canned corned beef hash.

More ready-to-cook raw ingredients, left to right: diced tomatoes; peeled, diced apple; peeled, diced carrots. For size comparison's sake, the knife blade is 10.5" long.

Ingredients
1 kilo (2.2 lbs) ground pork, ground beef, or a combination of the two
3 large, ripe Roma tomatoes, diced
3 fresh chiles serrano, minced (Use less chile if your tolerance for picante (spiciness) is low.)
1 clove garlic, minced
1 medium-large white onion, peeled and diced
4 medium carrots, peeled and diced
1 or 2 large Red Delicious apples OR 1 or 2 large, ripe Bartlett pears OR one of each, peeled and diced
4 medium white potatoes, peeled and diced
1 cup large green olives, with or without pimento, sliced
3/4 cup raisins, I like to use sultanas, but dark raisins are equally delicious
1 tsp dried oregano, Mexican if you have it
3 large bay leaves
2" piece of Mexican cinnamon stick OR big pinch of ground cinnamon
1 dried clove, pulverized
Freshly rendered pork lard OR vegetable oil, as needed
Sea salt to taste
Beef, chicken, or pork stock, or water, as needed

Sliced large green pimento-stuffed olives. Each of these olives measures a bit more than one inch long prior to slicing. Slice them in thirds or quarters.

Equipment
A large pot with a cover. I use a 4-quart enameled casserole.
Cutting board
Sharp knife
Large wooden spoon

Preparation
Heat 3 Tbsp lard or vegetable oil in your cooking pot until it shimmers. Add the onion and chile and sauté over medium fire until the onion is translucent. Add the ground meat and continue to sauté over medium fire until the meat is no longer pink. Break the meat into bite-size chunks as it sautés. Add the rest of the ingredients.

After sautéeing the onion, chile, and meat, add the rest of the solid ingredients to the pot and stir to incorporate them all. Then add stock or water; the liquid should come to about 1/3 of the way up from the bottom of the pot. Enlarge any photo for a bigger view; you'll be able to see that I used a combination of raisins and dried cranberries. I had about a quarter cup of dried cranberries on hand; a neighbor loaned me the raisins to make up the difference in measurement. The section at the bottom of the photo is blurred due to rising steam.

Cover the pot, leaving the cover just slightly ajar. Lower the heat to its lowest. Set your kitchen timer for 30 minutes and go do something else! When the timer rings, check the pot for liquid. If the picadillo has absorbed most of the original liquid, add the same amount again. With the cover ajar, continue to cook over a very low flame for another 30 minutes and correct for salt. Voilá! It's picadillo, ready to serve!

Picadillo, ready to serve after an hour's cooking. This amount of picadillo will serve 6 to 8 hungry people when served over steamed white rice or Mexican red rice. I like to prepare the picadillo recipe, serve it as a main meal, and save the rest to re-heat and serve the next day. If anything, it is even better after a night's rest–but then, aren't we all? After the second day, whatever picadillo is left freezes beautifully.

Delicious, spicy picadillo, served over rice. You and your family will love this traditional Mexican meal. By all means let me know how it goes over at your house. A huge thank you to Elisabeth Lambert Ortiz.

Provecho! (Good eating!)

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20 de November de 2021
Carne de Cerdo en Salsa Verde (Pork in Green Sauce) :: Wonderful For Cold Weather

This recipe, initially published in 2008–13 years ago–by Mexico Cooks!, continues to be the most popular of all our articles. Any time of year, but especially in the winter months in frigid climates, you and your family and guests will relish the warmth of this delicious dish. Enjoy!

Tomatillos with their husks and fresh chiles serrano.

If you are like most cooks–Mexico Cooks! included–there are times when you want to astonish your guests with your intricate culinary skills by preparing the most complicated and time-consuming recipes you know. A seven-course Szechuan dinner that I prepared several years ago comes immediately to mind; it took me several days to recover from a full week of preparations.

Then there are other times when you want to prepare something relatively quick but still completely delicious and which will inevitably win raves from your companions at table. This recipe for pork in green salsa absolutely satisfies both requirements. It's my never-fail dish for many company dinners.

Although there are other ways to prepare the dish (griddle-roasting rather than boiling the vegetables for the sauce or leaving out the steps of flouring and browning the meat, for example), this is my favorite method.

Carne de Cerdo en Salsa Verde (Pork in Green Chile Sauce)
Six generous servings

Ingredients
Salsa verde (Green sauce)
1 pound tomatillos (known in Mexico as tomate verde), husks removed
4 or 5 whole chiles serrano, depending on your tolerance for picante (spiciness)
1/2 medium white onion, coarsely chopped
1 clove garlic (optional)
1 medium bunch fresh cilantro, largest stems removed
Sea salt to taste

Fresh cilantro.

Carne de cerdo (Pork Meat)
1 kilo (2.2 pounds) very lean fresh pork butt, cut into 2" cubes
White flour
Salt
Oil or lard sufficient for frying the pork

Preparation
Salsa verde
In a large pot of water over high heat, bring the tomatillos and chiles (and garlic, if you choose to use it) to a full rolling boil. Boil just until the tomatillos begin to crack; watch them closely or they will disintegrate in the water.

Let the tomatillos and chiles (and garlic, if you like) boil until the tomatillos begin to crack.

Using a slotted spoon, scoop the cooked tomatillos, salt, and chiles into your blender jar. There's no need to add liquid at first, but reserve the liquid in which the vegetables boiled until you see the thickness of your sauce. You might want to thin it slightly and the cooking liquid will not dilute the flavor. Set the vegetables aside to cool for about half an hour. Once they are cool, cover the blender, hold the blender cap on, and blend all the vegetables, including the chopped onion, until you have a smooth sauce.

Be careful to allow the tomatillos and chiles to cool before you blend them; blending them while they are fresh from the boiling water could easily cause you to burn yourself, the hot mixture tends to react like molten lava exploding out of the blender. (Note: don't ask me how I know this.)

In the blender, the boiled and cooled tomatillos and chiles. The cilantro goes in last.

While the blender is running, remove the center of its cap and, little by little, push the cilantro into the whizzing sauce. Blend just until smooth; you should still see big flecks of dark green cilantro in the lighter green sauce. Taste for salt and correct if necessary. Reserve the sauce for later use.

Golden brown pork cubes.

Carne de Cerdo (Pork Meat)
Preheat oven to 170°C or 350°F.

Pat the 2" pork cubes as dry as possible with paper towels.

Put about 1/4 cup flour in a plastic grocery-size bag. Add 1/2 tsp salt. Melt the lard over high heat in a large heavy oven-proof casserole. While the lard is melting, shake about 1/4 of the cubed pork in the salted flour. When the oil or lard begins to smoke, add the floured pork cubes, being careful not to dump the flour into the pan. Cover the pan. As the pork cubes brown, shake another 1/4 of the pork cubes in flour and salt. Turn the pork cubes until all sides are golden brown. Remove browned cubes to a bowl and reserve. Add more floured pork to the hot lard. You may need more oil or lard as well as more salted flour. Repeat until all pork cubes are well browned. Reserve the browned pork in the same pan, scraping the crispy bits from the bottom.

Add the sauce to the pork cubes in the casserole, making sure that all the cubes are immersed in sauce. Cover and put the casserole into the oven, reducing the heat to 160°C or 325°F. Bake for two hours. Add cooking liquid from the vegetables if necessary to keep the sauce relatively thick but not sticking to the casserole. The pork will be fork-tender and the green sauce will take on a rich, deep, pork-y flavor and color.

The browned pork cubes and green sauce, ready to be baked. This particular batch of carne de cerdo en salsa verde was a little more than double the recipe included here. The recipe is very forgiving and can easily be doubled or tripled to fit the number of guests on your dinner party list. If a whole recipe is too much for your needs, make it anyway: it freezes very well.

Serve with arroz blanco (steamed white rice) or arroz a la mexicana (red rice), refried beans, a colorful, contrasting vegetable, and fresh, hot tortillas. Mexico Cooks!' money-back guarantee: everyone will come back for seconds.

Provecho!

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13 de November de 2021
Sugar Skulls, Sugar Angels, Sugar Cats, Sugar Fish, and More: Day of the Dead Traditions in Michoacán, Mexico

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

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

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

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

Sugar skulls mounted in a special Día de Muertos display.

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

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

These life-size fruits are made entirely of sugar.

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

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

Sweets to the sweet: "For My Sweetheart".

Sugar fish!

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

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

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6 de November de 2021
Remember Me As You Pass By :: Noche de Muertos, Michoacán, 2013

Mexico Cooks!' full body bone scan, 2009.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Over the course of the last 30-plus years, Mexico Cooks! has been to countless Noche de Muertos events, but none as mystical, as spiritual, or as profoundly magical as in 2013. Invited to accompany a very small group on a private tour in Michoacán, I looked forward to spending three days enjoying the company of old and new friends. I did all that, plus I came away with an extraordinarily privileged view of life and death.

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

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

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

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

At the grave: candlelight to illuminate the soul's way, cempazúchitl (deeply orange marigolds) for their distinctive fragrance required to open the path back home, smoldering copal (frankincense) to cleanse the earth and air of any remnants of evil, covered baskets of the deceased's favorite foods. And a low painted chair, where the living can rest through the night. This tumba (grave) refused to be photographed head-on. From an oblique angle, the tumba allowed its likeness to be made.

Waiting through the night.

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

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

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

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

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

Next year, come with me.

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30 de October de 2021
October in Michoacán :: Wildflowers and Fresh Produce at Pátzcuaro’s Municipal Market

The area around Lake Pátzcuaro, in the state of Michoacán, bursts into wildflower bloom in late September, just as the rainy season is ending here. The flowers are naturalized wild cosmos, known here as mirasoles ("look-at-the-sun"). Entire fields fill with swaths of these delicate flowers, turning our green countryside into a temporary sea of pink. Behind the mirasoles is a milpa, a field of native Michoacán corn, beans, and squash.

These beautiful blossoms, selling now at the municipal market in Pátzcuaro, are called estrellas del campo (stars of the field). From the tops of the flowers to the bottom of their thin, tender stems, they measure about two and a half feet long. Each multi-petaled bloom measure about 1.5" in diameter. I've lived in Michoacán for a long time, but this is the first year I've seen these for sale. We took three large bunches as a gift to a friend–at 15 pesos the bunch. The total for a big armful of beauty was the Mexican peso equivalent of about $2.25 USD.

Available throughout the year, the native Mexican nanche fruit is in full-blown season right now, piled high on stands around the perimeter of the Pátzcuaro municipal market and on numerous street corners all over the town. Sold in clear plastic cups (as seen in the photo, courtesy of Healthline) or by the plastic bagful, the vendor will slather these 3/4" inch diameter fruits with jugo de limón (fresh-squeezed Key lime juice), a big sprinkle of salt, and as much highly spicy bottled salsa as your mouth can handle. The biological name of the nanche is Byrsonima crassifolia.  The fruit is slightly sweet and mildly musty-flavored, a combination that most people love and that I regret to say is not a taste I enjoy at all. Nanches are packed with nourishment, though–a half-cup of them will give you nearly 60% of your daily Vitamin C requirement, 41 calories, and only 9.5 grams of carbohydrates!

These are jocotes (native Mexican plums), also in season now in central Mexico. The fruit measures about two to three inches long; the flesh is bright orange and the flavor is marvelous. Unfortunately the stone of this plum is almost as big as the entire fruit, and although you could eat it out of hand, the delicious jocote is most often made into an agua fresca (fresh fruit water) that is only available for the fruit's short season. This little plum is replete with Vitamins A and C, phosphorous, iron, and calcium, and is said to work wonders with gum problems.

A bucket of freshly made agua fresca de jocote, with whole peeled plums floating on top. It's my favorite agua fresca, and only available when these plums are in season: right now!

Who wants to take a guess at what each of the green herbs (and the vegetable) is? The elotes (tender fresh Pátzcuaro red corn) at the bottom of the photo were part of a small daily harvest brought to sell on the outdoor periphery of Pátzcuaro's market. Just to the left of the corn, at the bottom of the photo, are some mint branches that the same vendor brought for sale. But above the mint? Click on the photo to enlarge it and you'll be able to tell that these are home-grown spiny chayotes. You are probably familiar with the paler green smooth-skinned chayotes (mirliton in Louisiana, pear squash in other English-speaking locations). The chayote has an interesting growing habit: unlike most squash, which grows as a vine along the ground, the chayote is airborne–its vines grow on overhead trellises and remind me of grapevines; the small squash hangs down from the vines. It's an extremely versatile vegetable, taking on the flavors of what you cook it with. Be sure to eat the soft, tender, flat, white seed–it's considered to be the prize part and is as delicious as the chayote itself.

To the right of the chayotes is a big bunch of wild anise, known in Pátzcuaro as anisillo. Used to make the Pátzcuaro regional specialty atole de grano, this herb is tremendously flavorful. In case you find some anisillo where you are, here's a recipe for atole de grano.

Atole de Grano
(Fresh Anise-Flavored Corn Kernel Soup)

Ingredients
2 fresh ears of tender young corn
2 cups fresh corn, cut from the cob
1 bunch wild anisillo
3 liters water
2 whole chiles perón (or substitute chiles poblano)
1/2 pound recently ground corn masa (dough)–ask at the tortillería near you
Salt to taste

Garnishes
1/2 medium white onion, minced
Chile serrano or chile perón, minced
Fresh Key limes, cut in half
Sea salt

Preparation
1. Clean the ears of corn, remove the silk and cut off the ends. Cut each ear into three pieces.

2. Boil the corn on the cob AND the corn kernels in enough water, for an hour and a half or until the corn is tender.

3. Cut the stem away from the chiles, take out the seeds and veins. Cut the chiles into small pieces.

4. In the blender, liquify the chiles, the anisillo, and the masa with two cups of water. Strain and add to the pot where the corn on the cob is cooking.

5. Allow to boil gently for about 10 to 15 minutes, until the liquid is slightly thickened.

To serve
1. Place sections of the cooked corn ears into bowls.

2. Ladle soup and corn kernels into the bowls.

3. Serve with the minced onion, minced chile to taste, sea salt, and Key lime halves to squeeze into the soup.

Serves 2 people as a main dish, 3 as a first course. This soup is both vegetarian and vegan, and gluten-free.

Atole de grano, made in a cazo (large copper kettle).

The vendor at this small booth at the Pátzcuaro market had an interesting variety of things for sale. Bottom right are fresh guavas, just now coming into season. To the left of the guavas are chiles perón (aka chiles manzano), arguably the most-used chile in this part of Michoacán. Above the chiles perón are fresh, green chiles de árbol. To the right are wild mushrooms known as patita de pájaro (little bird foot). These mushrooms, growing wild in Michoacán's woods and foraged during the rainy season, make a wonderful mushroom soup.

These are home-grown loquats, known in Mexico as nísperos (NEE-speh-rohs). Nísperos are local and are plentiful in markets right now.

Gelatin–this large cupful is called "mosaíco"–mosaic, because of its many colored cubes. More gelatin is eaten in Mexico than in any other country of the world! A cupful this size is usually an eat-while-you-walk snack food. This one was made and sold from a tiny cart with no name, just to one side of the Pátzcuaro market. The young woman selling the gelatins said her name was Yesi–I said her cart was now dubbed Gelatinas Yesi, and she laughed.

Just at the corner of the market, we bumped into don Rafael, who was selling–you guessed it–cotton candy. Cotton candy HAS no season, it's always available here. Get the blue, it will turn your lips and tongue blue as a blueberry, but just for a while.

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23 de October de 2021
Pan de Muerto :: Bread of the Dead. Now In Season at a Bakery Near You

Pan de muerto! This seasonal bread starts making an appearance in Mexico bakeries as early as the end of August, but the majority is made and sold between mid-October and the first week of November, just in time for one to enjoy for breakfast (with a cup of hot chocolate, or an atole, or an herbal tea–or for supper (with a cup of ditto that list), or just because you want one and you want it now! At the end of the article, I've added a photo of my all-time favorite pan de muerto, produced here in Morelia, Michoacán, where I have been living for the last several years.

Pan de muerto (a special bread for Day of the Dead), almost ready for the oven at Panadería Maque, Calle Ozululama 4, at the corner of Calle Citlatépetl, Colonia La Condesa.

Late in October, a bread baker I know suggested that in honor of Mexico's Día de los Muertos (Day of the Dead), we go poking around in bakeries. Pan de muerto is one of the traditional treats set out on altars to entice the spirits of the dead back for a visit with the living, and every bakery has its own recipe. As it happened, neither of us had a lot of time on the appointed day, so we made a list of eight spots to visit in Colonia La Condesa. We set off on foot with high hopes of finding sublime breads.

The family-size pan de muerto at Panadería Maque, wrapped in cellophane and ready to go home with you. We calculated that it would serve eight or more people, with a good-sized slice or more for each person. A few years ago, this size cost just under 400 pesos.

Our first stop–we arranged our bakeries in a big oval starting with the one closest to Mexico Cooks!' home and ending as near as possible to the same spot–was at Panadería Maque. Maque is a several-bakery/coffee shop chain open from 8AM breakfast to 10PM, when it serves a light supper. We were impressed by the big crowd at the outdoor and indoor tables, the long line waiting to be seated, and the bustling wait staff whizzing by with coffee, great-looking sandwiches, and lots of pan de muerto. We took some photos and made a note to return for breakfast another morning when we both had more time.

Not on our list but in our path, at the corner of Calle Ozululama and Av. Amsterdam: Louis Robledo's Tout Chocolat, where the pan de muerto was made with chocolate. Jane bought one hot out of the oven to take home. She also bought each of us a delicious macarrón. They were very nearly as good as the ones I tried last spring in Paris.

Next on our list was Panadería La Artesa, at Alfonso Reyes 203, corner Calle Saltillo. Mexico Cooks! often stops at La Artesa for baguettes and pan de agua, both of which are good but not spectacularly so. The owner noticed that both my companion and I had cameras with us; he started berating us loudly with, "No photos! No photos! Put the cameras away!" We opted to leave without an interview and obviously without photos.

As we strolled along, we noticed this sign: MANDUCA. Recently opened at Calle Nuevo León 125-B, this terrific bakery was also not on our list–but what a find! Trendy but not precious, all its bread is baked on the premises.

Real bread! Manduca's delightful manager, Alejandra Miranda Medina, told us that the baker is German.

We couldn't leave; hunger suddenly overcame our need to step lively. My friend ordered a pan de muerto and coffee; I asked for one of the pretzel bread individual loaves and butter. The pretzel bread was marvelous, the heavily anise-flavored pan de muerto a little less so. The outside seating (there are also tables inside) was comfortable and pleasant.

Manduca's pan de muerto enticed us to stay, but each of us prefers this bread with more orange flavor and a lighter touch of anise.

We continued to meander down Calle Nuevo León, looking for Panadería La Victoria, our next destination.

La Victoria, at Calle Nuevo León 50 (almost at the corner of Calle Laredo), bills its style as Rioplatense (from the River Plate area that lies between Argentina and Uruguay) rotisserie and bakery. The chef is from Uruguay. These little sweet breads, called vigilantes (watchmen), are filled with a sweetened creamy cheese and topped with ate de membrillo (sweet quince paste). In Uruguay, these are said to be the favorite sweet bread of policemen–hence vigilantes.

Pan de muerto available at La Victoria. These mini-breads (compare them with the ordinary size of the tongs at the right of the photo) are just the right size for two or three bites.

We spent a few minutes looking for Panadería Hackl (Calle Atlixco 100, between Calles Campeche and Michoacán, but realized distance and our rapidly disappearing time meant that we would have to come back another day.

We walked through Fresco by Diego (Fernando Montes de Oca 23, near the corner of Calle Tamaulipas), which offers some breads but is primarily a restaurant.

Our last stop was Pastelería Suiza, at Parque España 7 (between Calles Oaxaca and Sonora). It's a 70-year-old Mexico City institution with several sucursales (branches); this location is the original. Mention this bakery to almost anyone in the city who loves pan dulce (sweet bread) in and the response will be a sigh of blissful longing.

On November 2, the only bread for sale at Pastelería Suiza was pan de muerto, and the only pan de muerto left, in several sizes, was split horizontally and stuffed with a huge schmear of nata (thick sweet cream). It looked like the Holy Grail of pan de muerto. I could not resist buying two individual-size panes de muerto to take home.

You choose your bread, take it to the wrapping station, pick up your ticket, pay at the cashier, and then go back for your bread. The wrapping staff put the pan on a tray, then surrounded it with a cardboard collar.

Wrapped up in paper and string, the package has a come-hither look equal to the bread itself.

We could hardly wait–the Pastelería Suiza pan de muerto and a cup of hot tea would be our cena (supper) that night.

The verdict? The thick mound of nata was quite honestly an overkill of creamy sweetness. And the bread itself? The texture was wrong, more like a dry, crumbly, unpleasant muffin than like traditional pan de muerto. The bread had no flavor–not a drop of orange, not a drop of anise, nothing. It was a tremendous disappointment. Big sigh…but not blissful in the least.

So, you might ask: you walked all over Colonia La Condesa, you sniffed breads, you tasted breads, and nothing really satisfied Your Pickiness. What now?

A few days prior to Mexico's Día de los Muertos, another companion and I stopped at what is essentially a corner bakery, located at the corner of Av. Insurgentes and Av. Baja California, hard by the Metro station a couple of blocks from my apartment. Panificadora La Espiga (the Spike of Wheat breadmaker) is large but ordinary, with not much to recommend it other than its proximity to the house. A seasonal craving for pan de muerto had us by the innards, though, and we bought two small ones. They looked generic, with the traditional sprinkle of sugar: no nata, no chocolate, nothing special at all.

Pan de muerto, La Espiga.

When I tasted the pan de muerto, I was surprised. My exclamation was, "A poco!" (Are you kidding me? I don't believe it!) The texture was dense, slightly layered, and moist. The not-too-sweet flavor leaned toward the orange, with just a hint of anise. Who could have guessed! It was perfect. My friend and I had wandered far afield, spent time and money in all those uppity Condesa bakeries, and even before our pan de muerto crawl, I had already tried the best bread of the bunch.

Now for the 2021 update, direct to you from Morelia, Michoacán! A week or so ago, we went to visit our wonderful friend Beto at Beto Chef Michoacano–and lo and behold, he and Lalo had at least two trays of pan de muerto, just about ready to take out of his wood-fired beehive oven. We sat down to wait for a minute and he set a plate of two hot-from-the-oven chocolate conchas (a sweet bread crowned with a sweet chocolate topping) in front of us–just to keep us happy until the pan de muerto finished baking. We split one, eating two would have been truly sinful. The concha was excellent, the crown made from chocolate de metate (local stone-ground chocolate) and the bread itself outstanding. And then…and then…pan de muerto, hot from the oven, to take home! We were too full from the concha to eat the pan de muertos right then and there, but we ate one for breakfast the next morning and I am here to tell you, it was PERFECT. The flavor was just the right delectable combination of orange and anise and yeast, the bread was just the right texture and consistency. There's a saying in Mexico: como Dios manda–it means "the way God intends–and this was 100% IT for pan de muerto. If you're in or near Morelia, head on over to see Beto and buy pan de muerto for you and your family and friends. Beto charges $15 pesos for one of the panes in the photo below; that's about the US dollar equivalent of 75 cents apiece. Buy a dozen, buy two dozen! Give some to your pals! Freeze some! And please give Beto a hug from Mexico Cooks!.

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16 de October de 2021
Three Thousand Years of the Traditional Mexican Kitchen :: Tres Mil Años de la Cocina Tradicional Mexicana

A drawing from the 16th century Florentine Codex showing the pre-Hispanic making of tortillas. The utensils the woman uses for the preparation of tortillas de maíz (corn tortillas) are the same utensils that are used today–3000 years from the time tortilla-making was begun. That's not a typo: 3000 years. Tamales came first, about 4000 years ago, and after them came tortillas, their younger relations. The olla (clay pot in the foreground) was used for nixtamaliz-ing corn (processing dried corn kernels in a hot water and calcium hydroxide bath). The woman is using a metate (volcanic rock grinding stone) and its metlapil (like a rock rolling pin) to grind the nixtamalize-d corn (and some of its water) into dough. To the right in the drawing is a comal (clay griddle), used to cook the tortillas over an open wood fire; the three circular items around the comal are, as far as I know, supposed to represent the rocks that support the comal above the flames. Drawn above the comal is a molcajete (volcanic rock round grinding bowl, like a mortar) and its mano (the pestle used to do the grinding). ALL of these utensils continue to be used in today's traditional Mexican kitchen.

This 1924 painting by Diego Rivera represents the same activities drawn in the Florentine Codex–plus the indigenous man tending a corn plant–that show us the preparation of a tortilla from its beginnings as a plant through the grinding of the dried, nixtamalize-d corn, to the woman wearing a head covering patting the testal (the round ball of masa (corn dough) from which a tortilla is formed, to the woman toasting tortillas on a comal.

The clay comal that I bought from its maker and use in my modern kitchen. Its diameter is fourteen inches, plus the slightly elevated sides. Compare it with the comal shown in the painting above.

A Mexican kitchen circa 1830s, painted by the French artist Theubet de Beauchamps. Note that the woman grinding corn on the metate is kneeling on a woven palm mat known as a petate. A small-ish petate was used as a kneeling mat, a larger one was used as a sleeping mat in lieu of aa different kind of bed. At the end of life, a person with very few financial resources would be rolled up and buried in his or her sleeping petate. In the center of the painting, behind the tall clay jug, you can see the fire built in a fogón (the circle of rocks) and the comal where the tortillas are toasting.

I took this photo approximately 10 years ago. The style of clothing has changed, but the rest remains the same.

This Mexican kitchen photo dates to circa 1850. The artist is unknown, although prints of the painting are widely available today (even at Walmart, to give you an idea of how well-known and commonplace it is). This is a typical kitchen of the period, one that would have been in the home of a fairly well-off family. I would wager a guess that both of these women are indigenous servants, not members of the home's family. These kitchens are still in use today, in some homes; friends of mine here in Morelia have a close-to-identical 19th century kitchen in their home.

The arches at ground level are for storing firewood; the square holes beneath the stove's surface are for burning the wood to cook the food. The clay pots, all of which have rounded bottoms, fit into the holes on the surface of the stove; today, stoves in modern homes have gas or electric burners. The woman standing at the stove and wrapped in a rebozo (long rectangular shawl used for warmth and a multitude of other things) is wielding a ventilador–the typical hand-woven palm fan used to blow air into the fire.

The shelf above the woman kneeling on the floor can be lowered and raised by a primitive pulley; that shelf is used to store staples like dried ears of corn, wheat flour, sugar, salt, chunks of cal (calcium hydroxide), chunks of tequesquite (a naturally-occurring leavening agent), and some other things that one would want small rodents to access. The large clay vessel on the floor to the left of the painting holds potable water; the small clay jar next to it is used to take water
out of the large jar. The woman grinding corn at the metate is kneeling on a petate, which is hidden by her voluminous skirts. At the time this painting was made, there was usually no ventilation (flues, chimneys, etc.–and usually no windows) for removing wood smoke from a kitchen. These middle-19th century kitchens in well-off homes had actual STOVES, a new-fangled convenience compared to cooking directly over a wood fire on the ground. In poor homes and/or in rural areas, open-fire cooking was done both outside in a patio and inside on the kitchen's dirt floor. Obviously huge amounts of smoke billowed everywhere, including into the cocinera's (cook's) eyes and lungs. These circumstances are still very common today in rural zones.

A Mexican kitchen dating to the end of the 19th century. The household collection of hand-hammered copper cazuelas (cooking pans) hangs on the wall above the table, and there's one on the floor, center stage. The two women on the right are handling a live turkey–native to Mexico–and the kitchen cat is peering around the corner of the stove. This kitchen is remarkable for its ventilation and light.

Two cocineras tradicionales (traditional cooks) from the state of Michoacán, where I live, are cooking on a wood-burning stove built of adobe (mud and straw) with an outer coating of yeso (plaster), in this case a thick layer of plaster, and painted with the oxidized brick color that was as far as I have seen the most common color used for this type stove. Alberto Ríos Szalay took this photo within the last ten years.

This kitchen still exists in Casa Zuno, which was built starting in 1923 in Guadalajara, Jalisco. This elaborate and elegant home belonged to José Guadalupe Zuno Hernández, who was governor of the state of Jalisco at the time the house was built. He and his wife donated the house to the University of Guadalajara. From 1993 until today, it has been the seat of the Historic Archives of the city and state. Above the stove are typical pottery decorations that are common in a kitchen of the era. All photos by Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise credited.

The kitchen at Casa Azul, the Frida Kahlo museum in Mexico City. The home was built in 1904 and opened as a museum in 1958, retaining the family furnishings and decorations. Above the stove (blue painted with yellow diamond shapes), you can see tiny pots forming the names "Frida" (to the left) and "Diego" (to the right). Above the window are doves stretching a large ribbon between their beaks.

Here's an early 20th century addition to one Mexican kitchen: a wood-burning beehive oven tucked into the corner. Most kitchen work in this era continued to be done on the floor, rather than at a table or a counter. Most ovens were built outside the kitchen, in the patio, to avoid the intense heat they generated.

Above is the room dedicated to the traditional Michoacán kitchen at the Museo de Artes y Oficios (Museum of Arts and Trades) in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán. The stove is free-standing in the middle of the room, rather than having been built against a wall. Above the shelves at the end of the room, you can see a banner made of little pots (and again held by doves).

The kitchen in the family home of the painter Rodolfo Morales (RIP). Morales lived in this house in Ocotlán, Oaxaca, from his birth in 1925 until his death in 2001. It's one of my favorite Mexican kitchens–filled to bursting with pots ranging from the tiniest to the largest. Click on the photo to enlarge it; you can see that the stove burners have been converted from wood to gas.

Finally, here is an outdoor kitchen in a rural area of Michoacán. Built to use for cooking in the heat of spring (the hottest time of year in this part of Michoacán is from late March until late May), you can click on this photo (or on any of the photos on Mexico Cooks!)
to get a better look at their detail. At the left of this photo, you will see the steam in the air from a pot of cooking beans. When I took this picture, about 13 years ago, I knew this was soon to be a vestige of an earlier time, a beautiful remnant of Mexico's past and present.

I hope you have enjoyed this time travel, from the beginning of the recorded history of Mexico's traditional kitchen right up until today. If you'd like to tour with me, take a look at the link below and let's make a plan.

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9 de October de 2021
Healing the Body, Healing the Soul in Concepción de Buenos Aires, Jalisco

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

The road to Concepción de Buenos Aires.

The drive deep into the mountains was long, more than two hours from my home in Guadalajara. Many kilometers of the twisting road were rough, pocked with deep potholes. I got stuck behind a slow-moving slat-side truck full to the brim with plastic bags of raw chicken, huge crates of vegetables and fruits, bags of bread and other foods. I was in a hurry to reach Concepción de Buenos Aires, a tiny town well off the beaten tourist path, where I was to meet Sr. Cura Manuel Cárdenas Contreras, the pastor of la Parroquia de la Inmaculada Concepción—the parish of the Immaculate Conception. I'd heard a little about him and his healing work from an acquaintance, but I really couldn't imagine what lay in store for me.

When I arrived, I discovered that it was tianguis (street market) day in Concepción de Buenos Aires. The streets around the town square were closed, blocked by vendors' booths. Rock music blared and the dusty cobblestones were crowded with men in jeans and cowboy hats, women in red-checkered aprons buying vegetables for the day's comida (dinner), and little children tugging at their older siblings' hands as they pleaded for a candy or toy. I squeezed into a parking space and navigated through booths of bolis (a frozen treat), flower arrangements, and DVDs to get to the parish steps.

I made my way through the church to its inner courtyard, where there was a great deal of bustle. A big truck—the very loaded-down truck I had followed along the road to town—was being emptied. One of the women helping with the truck explained to me that all of its contents had been donated for the poor of the town. The food was being divided into bags for individual families. "We do this every week," she beamed. She led me to the entrance to the parish office. "He's in there, just go on in," she encouraged me.

La Inmaculada

Religious pamphlets, candles, and pictures crowded sales shelves in the dim anteroom. What I assumed to be the secretary's desk was unoccupied. I waited a moment for a prior visitor to come out of the priest's office. When the visitor left, a gravelly voice welcomed me. "Come in, come in."

Padre Manuel rose to greet me and we chatted for a bit. A steady stream of townspeople arrived to schedule Mass intentions. "I'll close the office at 12:30," he said, "and we'll go over to the house to talk further. We can have some privacy there."

Just then a tiny elderly woman wrapped up in a shawl came into the office. She was looking for the church secretary, who was indeed taking the day off. Padre Manuel said, "What do you need?"

She said, "I'm looking for a hand."

Father Manuel held up one of his, fingers spread apart. "Here's one."

"Ay, padre, not yours, no no no. It's that I fell and broke my hand, and I promised the Virgin if it got well I'd hang up a hand to say thank you." She wanted to purchase a small milagro, a metal token that she'd hang near an image of the Virgin as a way to say thank you for her healing.

Detail above the altar of La Inmaculada.

He asked to see her hand, which from where I was sitting looked bruised and still a bit swollen. He started rubbing her hand a little and she winced. He said, "You have sugar, don't you?"

"Sí, padre." She nodded her admission of diabetes.

"And I can tell that your hand still hurts. Who were you fighting with?"

"Ay, padre, I fell down!" She giggled. "I guess I was fighting with the ground. The doctor just took the cast off and yes, it still hurts."

He prodded at her hand with his big fingers and then yanked her little finger. Then he prodded around her thumb and yanked a bit. "Move your hand." She tentatively moved her fingers. "No, really move it, bend it, make a fist, wiggle your fingers."

She did, and a slow beautiful grin spread across her face. "It doesn't hurt!" He grinned and nodded.

Milagros mexicanos, including human body parts, animals, and other symbols.

Then he said, "How's your hearing?"

"Ay, padre, since my husband died three months ago I can't hear, my ears are stopped up." He put an index finger into each of her ears and snapped them out again in an abrupt motion. Then he tapped one of his index fingers, hard, on the crown of her head. And again. Then he whispered, "What is your name?" No reaction. A little louder. No reaction. And again, this time very loud.

"Consuelo Álvarez Martínez, padre."

He repeated his ministrations, and from behind her, whispered very softly in her ear again. "What is your name?" She answered instantly.

Then he said, "You have trouble with your blood pressure, right?"

"Sí, padre." He put his hand high on the bony part of her chest and pressed hard. Then he asked her if she got dizzy when she bent over.

"No, padre, but after I bend over and then stand up, I get dizzy."

He said, "Try it."

She did. "A little, padre."

He pressed on the bony part of her chest. "Again."

"Ay padre, still a little."

"Now try." And she said she was fine, no dizziness.

It was all very matter of fact. There were three other people in the room, including me. She went happily on her way, saying she'd be back the next day to pay her debt to the Virgin.

In just a few minutes, Padre Manuel finished writing up the Mass intentions and ushered me through the church, down the sacristy steps, and into the spacious office where he receives people who are looking for his help. Settled at his desk, he began talking about his life.

"I was born in 1931 in Valle Florido, a rancho that's part of the municipality of Concepción de Buenos Aires, to Manuel Cárdenas García and Petra Contreras Cárdenas. I never knew my father. He was killed by eight men just six months after he married my mother. She never remarried, so I was an only child. When I was seven years old, I started primary school out in the country.

"By the time I was thirteen, I had started thinking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. In those days, there were only a few options. The diocesan seminarians from Guadalajara came out to the rancho on vacation in August that year, and I began to be interested in knowing more about God. I liked the catechism and I decided to go ahead and enter the junior seminary.

"For the first two years, I studied in Tlaquepaque to finish school. Then I entered Señor San José Diocesan Seminary in Guadalajara. After I studied three years of theology in the diocesan seminary in Mérida, I finished my theology studies in Guadalajara and then was sent to the state of Tabasco. I was ordained a priest in Tabasco on July 9, 1961, by Archbishop Fernando Ruíz Solórzano."

Padre Manuel paused and tapped a finger on his desk. "How long were you in Tabasco, Padre?" I asked.

"Sixteen years, all told. Then at the request of the bishop of Ciudad Guzmán, I came back to the archdiocese of Jalisco."

I was puzzled. "How is the archdiocese of Jalisco divided, Padre? I didn't know there were other diocesan divisions."

He smiled. "Yes, we have the archdiocese, with its base in Guadalajara. Then we have three other diocesan seats within the archdiocese: Ciudad Guzmán, San Juan de los Lagos, and Autlán." He ticked the names off on his fingers. "So I was called to the diocese of Ciudad Guzmán and came back to Concepción de Buenos Aires on April 30, 1973. Then in May, I was called to Tuxpan to help with the fiestas of Nuestro Señor del Perdón. On June 13, 1973, I was named pastor at the parish of Teocuitatlán de Corona, in Jalisco.

"I was there for nearly ten years, and then I was asked to be pastor at another parish in Jalisco.

"Finally, in 1994, I was named pastor here at La Inmaculada, in my home town of Concepción de Buenos Aires. And I've been here ever since, eleven years now." He shook his head incredulously at the rapid passage of time.

El Señor Cura Manuel Cárdenas Contreras

"Padre Manuel, many people have told me about your remarkable ability to bring about miraculous cures. Tell me something about how that started."

He leaned forward and looked intensely at me. "I don't cure. God cures. I'm only the means. As a human being, I don't really understand what happens.

"More than twenty years ago, I suffered a lot from terrible back pain that affected my right leg. For eleven months, the pain was intense, day and night. I went to many different doctors, different specialists, as I looked for a cure, but the pain wouldn't leave me and the doctors weren't able to cure me. I was desperate.

"In one of God's mysteries that we as human beings can't understand, I was sent to a doctor, a specialist, in Guadalajara. He was a trained medical specialist, but he also used alternative healing methods. He utilized an alternative energy, he did some things that I can't explain even now. In twenty minutes the pain was gone and I could stand up straight. I went back twice more, and I was cured." Padre Manuel held out his hand and drew in his breath.

"The doctor told me that I also had the gift of healing. I told him no, no I didn't. He said yes, yes I did, and that he would teach me how to use the gift. I refused, over and over again.

"Then one day the doctor said to me, 'So, you wanted to be healed, but you don't want to be an instrument of healing? You wanted to receive, but you don't want to give back?' That stopped me in my tracks. How could I continue to refuse?"

I felt a chill run through my body as I listened to Padre Manuel tell his story. "Please go on," I encouraged him.

"The doctor asked me to come back four times a week, four hours a day, for four months. He said in that length of time he could teach me to use the power for healing that he felt in me. He taught me about the positive energy that comes from women, the negative energy that comes from men, and how they complement one another, the yin and the yang. He taught me about chakras and auras, he showed me how to use ordinary scissors to effect healing.

"I've talked to thousands of people since then, from all social classes. People with health problems come here from everywhere, eager to be healed. Now I'm only able to see people on Fridays and Saturdays. Working in this way is extremely draining, very tiring.

"Recently a family brought one of their daughters to me, all the way from Texas. When she came, she was walking with crutches, with great difficulty. The girl had just had an operation that cost $40,000 USD, an operation that the doctors told the family would allow her to walk again. The operation was a failure." Padre Manuel pointed to my left. "Look, those are her crutches. When she left here, she could walk as well as you can."

I felt the sharp sting of tears in my eyes. "A friend of mine came to you a few years ago, with terrible back pain. Maybe you remember him—Eufemio García?" Padre Manuel nodded.

I reminisced about his story. "Eufemio had rescued an enormous old crippled dog that had to be bathed frequently to keep her from smelling bad. He used to strip down and hose her off in his patio so he wouldn't make such a mess in his house. One evening he bathed her, let her in the house onto the tile floors, and she slipped and couldn't get up. Eufemio tried to lift her and he slipped, doing the splits on the tiles. Not only had he pulled his muscles, but he developed a bad back injury that prevented him from taking anything but baby steps. He couldn't walk up a flight of stairs and he couldn't step up onto the high curbs we have here. Some other friends brought Eufemio up to Concepción de Buenos Aires to see you."

Padre Manuel took up the thread of the story. "You know, I cure using scissors. Of course the scissors never touch the person, but they draw energy and cut pain and—well, we don't know exactly how it works, but it does. If I remember your friend, he's a big man, right?"

"Yes, Padre, he's well over six feet tall. Not as tall as you are, but tall."

Padre Manuel nodded. "I would have had him stand in front of me while I passed the scissors over his head, his neck, and down his back. It doesn't sound so impressive or important, but what did he tell you happened to him?"

"He told me that he could have sworn you pressed the scissors against his body as you worked with him. He said he felt their pressure, but one of his friends who was here that day insists that the scissors never touched him. He felt them move over his body in just the way that you described."

The priest nodded again. "She's right, the scissors never touched him. What else did he tell you?"

I thought for a moment. "He said that the pain lessened immediately. He said you told him to bend and touch his toes. He could do it, and there was no pain. Then you asked him to do some knee bends, and again there was no problem. He said he could take normal steps right away, and in about ten minutes he was completely back to normal. He told me he took some teas that you'd prescribed to supplement the healing. He said his pain never came back and he's had no problem with his back since then."

Once again Padre Manuel nodded. "That's excellent, I'm so glad to hear it. Tell your friend to treasure his health.

Blue agave–tequila–fields near Concepción de Buenos Aires

"You know, a Japanese woman, a chemist in Tapachula, brought her daughter to me because she couldn't raise her arms or use them. Now that she has been here, she can. In Spanish, we have a dicho (saying): Querer sanar es media salud (to want to be healed is half of health). I can't explain the mysteries of God in curing people of their problems, but I know it is God who cures. What I do is work with God's energy and the energy of the person who has the illness. That woman you saw in my office earlier today? With God's help, her problems will be healed.

"Just tell people that it is God who heals, it's not me." Padre Manuel clasped my hands and walked me to the door of the church. "Remember, I'm the instrument." He bent down and hugged me. "Vaya con Dios."

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

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2 de October de 2021
Pan Dulce (Sweet Bread) for Breakfast, Pan Dulce for Supper

Steaming hot café con leche (expresso coffee mixed with hot milk), served with a basket of Mexico's pan dulce (sweet bread). I took this photo many, many years ago–so long ago I don't remember when–in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán at Restaurante Don Rafa, when don Rafa was still living and had served me and my companion cafe con leche and a basket of pan dulce to start our breakfast. I still miss him, and may he rest in peace.

In early 2000, when my mother visited me here in Mexico, one of her deepest wishes was to visit a Mexican bakery. For more than 40 years, Mother baked every crumb of bread that she and her guests consumed: white, rye, whole wheat, pumpernickel, sourdough, French baguette, and esoteric international loaves that she just had to try. Mother wanted to see how bread baking was done in Mexico. She even arrived with her baking apron, hoping to push her hands deep into some yeasty Mexican dough.

In those years, there was a tiny wholesale bakery in a garage just around the block from my house. The owner, don Pedro, the master baker, and I had become good friends. Shortly after Mom's arrival, I took her to meet him and his helpers. For two hours that afternoon, don Pedro and my mother swapped bread stories—conversation about oven temperatures, yeast, flour densities, protein content, and tales of experiments, successes and failures. My mother was amazed that don Pedro used a big clay oven with no temperature gauge. He tested the temperature by sticking his hand into the oven, and he just knew from experience when it was right.

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, I took her 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-to-late afternoon, barrio (neighborhood) 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 desayuno (breakfast) of pan dulce served with milk, juice, hot chocolate, or coffee gets Mexico up and off to work or school. For a few pesos in the evening, 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 to Nueva España to make communion hosts for the Catholic churches they established here, and to prepare the white bread to which they were accustomed. Soon followed the flavors and recipes of all Europe, arriving with the Spanish to the New World. The 1860s era of Hapsburg Emperor Maximilian and his French wife, Charlotte, imposed a giddy 19th century French influence on our more rustic breads—with the advent of puff pastries, whipped cream fillings, and sticky glazes, the already extensive assortment of Mexican breads expanded even more.

Tasty sugar-swirled conchas (shells) are ubiquitous throughout Mexico. Take a good look at the curved form of the top of the concha and then look at the photo below.

This is the baker's mold that makes the curved lines in the sugar topping. Gently pressed into the sugar, it leaves its design. I purchased two of these as a gift to my Mother; they hung in her kitchen until she passed away. When my sister and I cleaned out her home, I brought them back to Mexico as a memory of her; since then, they have hung in my own kitchen.

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 (also called marranitos, 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 or marranitos (little pigs), moños o corbatas (bowties or neckties), ojo de buey (ox eye), canastas (baskets), conchas (shells), cuernitos (little horns), chinos (Chinese), polvorones (shortbread), hojaldre (puff paste), empanadas (turnovers), and espejos (mirrors): all are names of specific and very different sweet breads.

My all-time 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 Vargas family in Ajijic, Jalisco. When the bolillos (crusty white rolls) come of the of the oven in the early mornings, and again when the roles (cinnamon rolls) are ready at about 12:30PM, you'll find lines of locals waiting to carry home a bag of hot, fresh goodies. The Rojas family bakery used to be called "the secret bakery", because its only identifying sign was a tiny wood rectangle painted with the word "PAN", hanging from a nail on a house at the entrance to a dead-end alley–well, that and the incredible fragrance of baking bread, wafting down the street to lure you in.

Meet the Rojas brothers, longtime bakers in Ajijic. In the center of the photo is José Luis Rojas Vargas, who passed away in November 2020. Way back when, the Rojas brothers ran the bakery and also had a trio called "Los Flamingos". The old-time boleros they sang were as delicious as their bread.

The incredibly delicious cinnamon rolls made by the Rojas brothers.

At the Rojas bakery, the bakers will help you select the breads you want. There are just a few 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. Lately, most of these are being prepared with sugar as an ingredient. I prefer them without, and I'm sorry to report that can't find those now.

Panadería El Resobado in Coatepec, Veracruz, has been baking bread for over 130 years. Truly, 130 years! Two friends and I were there, at the recommendation of another friend, about three years ago. We took our tongs and trays and gathered up bags and bags full of pan dulce, more sweet bread than we could have eaten in a week!

These are just the conchas at Panadería El Resobado–and just some of them, not all. The multi-level shelves stretched across two long rooms.

Two of us sneaked into the back room at El Resobado–we thought we had heard a 'meow', and sure enough! Cats! These were only two of the several kitties who live in the back, near the ovens.

Another 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, 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. With tray and tongs in hand, it's good to take a tour of the racks of pan dulce so you can decide what you want.

Polvorones de Nuez are an old standard Mexican recipe that many of you in English-speaking countries know as Mexican Wedding Cookies. They're easy to make and are absolutely melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Somehow they always manage to disappear first from any tray of assorted homemade cookies. Photo courtesy tucson.com.

Polvorones de Nuez
Mexican Wedding Cookies

Preheat oven to 275ºF

Ingredients
1 1/2 cups (3/4 pound) butter (room temperature)
3/4 pound powdered sugar
1 egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup finely chopped almonds or pecans–or walnuts, or macadamia nuts
3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

Beat the butter until it is light and fluffy. Then beat in 2 tablespoons of the powdered sugar, the egg yolk, vanilla, and your choice of nuts. Gradually add the flour, beating after each addition to blend thoroughly. Pinch off pieces of dough the size of large walnuts and roll between your palms into round balls. Place the dough balls 1 1/2 inches apart on ungreased baking sheets. Flatten each ball very slightly.

Bake in a 275 degree oven until very lightly browned (about 45 minutes). Remove from the oven and place the baking sheets on wire racks. Allow to cool on the baking sheets until lukewarm.

Sift half the remaining powdered sugar onto a large sheet of waxed paper. Roll each cookie gently but firmly in the sugar. Place cookies on wire racks over wax paper. Allow the cookies to cool completely and again dust generously with more powdered sugar.

If you make these cookies ahead of need, store them in airtight containers, layered between sheets of waxed paper, for up to three days.

Makes approximately three dozen cookies.

This is Edith, who walked with me to make 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 pan dulce, 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?

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

25 de September de 2021
Mezcal Uasïsï, Michoacán’s Special Gift from Mayahuel, the Goddess of Mezcal

Updated information about Mezcal Uasïsï :: Where to purchase this top-of-the-line mezcal in Mexico!

Close to the northern edge of the Tierra Caliente, outside Etúcuaro, Michoacán, there's a well-hidden vinata (mezcal-making setup)–it's just beyond this field of cupreata maguey. To get there, you need to go with someone who knows how to find it. The mezcal producer, Ignacio Pérez Scott, is the fourth generation of his family to dedicate himself to production of the liquor. He produces traditional mezcal which he then sells to select bottlers for branding. We're visiting the vinata with Maira Malo Hernández, owner of the mezcal brand Uasïsï (wah-SHEE-shee), and her daughters, Viridiana and Mayra Méndez Malo. Sra. Malo's daughters and her sons, Juan, Carlos, and Jorge Méndez Malo are also part of the Uasïsï team.

In the shade of the vinata, mezcal producer Ignacio Pérez Scott shares an affectionate moment with his long-time friend, Maira Malo Hernández.

[youtube=://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gprCMwmaKKc&w=640&h=360]
Uasïsï, the name Sra. Malo chose for her mezcal, is the Purépecha word for bat. It's this bat that pollinates the cupreata maguey, among other magueys.

Don Nacho ("don" is an honorific title, used with great respect, and "Nacho" is the Mexican nickname for Ignacio) told me that his cupreata maguey (seen here with its quiote (spike) of yellow maguey flower) takes eight to ten years to mature. Once it matures and throws up the flower spike, the plant can be harvested.

When the producer harvests the maguey plant, the first task is to remove the quiote (flower stem); the pencas (leaves) are removed next. The pencas were removed from the places where you can see the diamond shapes on the outside of the hearts. The pencas can be used in cooking, particularly in making traditional barbacoa and mixiote. The corazón (heart) also known as piña (pineapple) of each maguey plant is then chopped into smaller pieces for baking. In the photo above, Mezcal Uasïsï owner Maira Malo Hernández pitched in to chop some of the piñas. Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH (Maira Malo Hernández).

Here you can see the size of the chopped piñas de maguey. Each piña can weigh as much as 80 to 100 pounds. Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH.

Pine logs, stacked firmly into the fire pit. Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH.

Don Nacho is tamping the volcanic rock evenly into the pit, on top of the pine logs. Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH.

The fire in the pit is red hot and smoking. Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH.

The fire is burning evenly now, and the piñas are ready to be placed in the baking pit. The pit will be loaded with approximately 150 piñas weighing a total of about four tons. Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH.

The burning pit is covered with petates (woven reed mats) and then with mounded earth. The piñas need to bake for a full week. Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH.

After a week, the piñas are thoroughly baked and are now uncovered. At the bottom right-hand corner of the photo, you can see some petates (woven reed mats). Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH.

The more than six foot long pine-lined trench where the baked piñas are hand-chopped and smashed with axes.

The vinata crew has moved some of the baked piñas to the trough and are hand-smashing them with axes so that they can be placed into the fermenting tanks. Don Nacho and his crew use no machinery during any stage of their mezcal production. Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH.

These are the tinacos (covered storage tanks) where the baked and smashed piñas are fermented. The fermentation process, like the baking process, takes an entire week.

Post-fermentation, the process of double-distillation begins. This is the alambique (still), made of pine. As the mezcal distills, the metal top allows condensation to drip back into the still.

The other side of the alambique. Don Nacho explained that the wooden still will last for about one year; after that, the wood will be replaced.

This is the fire hole, where a pine wood fire actually cooks the fermented maguey piña mash to distill it. Above the metal arch of this fire hole are several inches of concrete, the top of which you can see in the photo just before this one. No fire actually touches the wooden still.

The finished product: Uasïsï Mezcal Joven. Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH.

Both sides of the bottle. The front label, on the right, tells you that this is joven (young, unaged) mezcal with 48% alcohol content. The back label, on the left, gives all the pertinent information about the mezcal: the number and lot of the bottle, the exact provenance (village or state) of the mezcal, as well as the type of maguey used. Photo courtesy Uasïsï MMH.

This tasting of Uasïsï mezcal was held at UNLA (Universidad Latina de América) in Morelia, Michoacán.

And what, you ask, does Uasïsï joven actually taste like? To start with, if you have tasted other mezcales, you probably and immediately think smokey. Uasïsï is not in any way smokey. To my palate, Uasïsï joven tastes fresh, like the green of the maguey. It has tiny lingering tones of Michoacán pine. It carries a hint of wildflowers. Because the alcohol content is high, the first sip feels strong in the front of the mouth. As it moves to the back of the tongue, it mellows. And the moment you swallow that first drop, filled with the flavors of Michoacán, you immediately want another. Uasïsï is an extraordinary drink, destined to be a star in the world of mezcal.

Now that you know you want a bottle (or two or three) of Uasïsï mezcal, where can you get it? The Uasïsï sales base is currently in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, about an hour from Morelia. Let me know when you'll be here and we'll go to the source!

My good friend Maira Malo Hernández and I (pictured at Morelia en Boca 2014 with Mexico City chef and chocolatier Luis Robledo Richards) invite you to buy Uasïsï at:

La Jacaranda Cultural Pátzcuaro
Art Gallery, Restaurant, Coffee Bar, Artisan Work, Music, and Cultural Space
Calle Doctor José María Coss #4, Centro Histórico
Pátzcuaro 61600, Michoacán, México
Hours: Noon until 9:00PM Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday
10:00AM – 10:00PM Thursday, Friday, Saturday
Teléfono: 434-342-0758

It's entirely possible that Uasïsï mezcal will be coming soon to a liquor store near you. Check back with Mexico Cooks! from time to time and we'll keep you up to date on the possibility of export to countries outside Mexico. And if you're planning to be in Mexico and would like to visit the vinata, Mexico Cooks! can make that dream come true. The experience is magical.

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

18 de September de 2021