Category: Recipe

Tropical Fruit, Mexican Style: A Market Primer

Ripe chirimoyas. Outside, the chirimoya skin is a dull green color. Inside, chirimoya flesh is creamy white; its seeds are large and black. The size can range from the diameter of a tennis ball to the size of your head. Photo courtesy Rawkyourhealth. All photos by Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

In Mexico, a first trip to a neighborhood tianguis can be mind-boggling—there are so many sights and smells of so many unfamiliar foods. For now, let's take a tour of some of the tropical fruits that you'll want to try.

I see so many marvelous tropical fruits on Tuesday at the tianguis (street market) where I usually shop: cherimoya, guanábana, mamey, and carambola (star fruit). There are stacks of papaya, mango, zapote (custard apple), maracuyá (passionfruit), and plátanos machos (bananas nearly the size of your forearm)—and other tiny bananas, the ones that are the size of your thumb.

Tunas (prickly pears). Since when is a tuna a fruit, not a fish?

The fruits available in season in Mexico can be confusing when we're used to the ordinary apples, peaches, oranges, pears and plums in North of the Border supermarkets. We have those "normal" fruits here too, but wait till you try the exotic produce that awaits you in Mexican markets.

The guanábana (soursop) can have a size range as wide as that of the chirimoya. Either fruit should be eaten when the fruit is very soft but not mushy. At home, I often cut a small ripe cherimoya in half and eat it with a spoon right from the skin. It makes a wonderful light dessert. The seeds are big, black, shiny, and easily discarded.

Guanábana flesh is eaten with a spoon or is used to make drinks and paletas (popsicles). Try this easy, delicious, and refreshing drink.

Agua Fresca de Guanábana
(Fresh Guanábana Juice Drink)
1 pound ripe guanábana
3/4 cup white sugar
8 cups water
1 cup milk (optional)

Cut the guanábana in half and scoop out the tender white flesh. Discard the bitter peel. Put the fruit flesh in a large bowl and reduce to a pulpy liquid, using a potato masher or the back of a large spoon. Discard the large black seeds as they appear.

When the fruit pulp is mostly liquefied, add the sugar and stir together with the fruit pulp and its juices. Put the fruit and sugar mixture in a 3-quart pitcher. Add the eight cups of water and the milk, if you wish. Stir well and chill for an hour or more.

The papaya and the mango are two of the more familiar tropical fruits available in Mexican shops and stalls.

The deep orange-red flesh of the Mexican papaya is much richer and sweeter than its small yellow Hawaiian relative. The papaya is best eaten when very ripe; the flavor and sweetness have developed beautifully just when you think the fruit might need to be thrown in the trash can.

When the papaya is super ripe—even a little moldy in spots—cut it in half and discard the seeds. Peel the papaya and cut away any small sections that might be overly soft (the overly ripe spots will be darker in color, translucent and softer than the rest of the fruit). It's delicious cut into chunks for breakfast, with a squeeze of limón criollo (the tiny round Mexican lime), a sprinkle of salt, and a dash of powdered chile if you like a little heat with your tropical fruit. For dinner, papaya slices combine with thinly sliced red onion, toasted pecans, and fresh watercress to make an exotic and refreshing salad. Try the salad with a raspberry vinaigrette dressing, either your own concoction or a bottled variety.

Mango petacón (very large mango, in this instance the variety is Hayden), Xochimilco, Mexico City.

There are nearly 2,000 varieties of mango grown worldwide. India produces more mangos than all other fruits produced in that country combined. The mango, king of fruits, is related—believe it or not—to poison ivy. Cultivated in Asia for more than 4,000 years, the growing of mangos has now spread to most parts of the tropical and sub-tropical world. The mango could well be the national fruit of Mexico.

A mango tree can grow 75 to 100 feet high and bears thousands of fruits each year. During mango season (June-August) here in the Guadalajara area, we use caution when walking under enormous mango trees; one of the heavy fruits could inflict a mighty thump to the top of an unsuspecting head.

Mangos are so wonderfully versatile that it's difficult to choose one particular mango recipe for you to try. Eaten fresh for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, the mango is unbeatable. One friend substitutes mango slices for fresh peaches when making cobbler, pie, or Brown Betty. Another makes a fantastic mango mousse, and yet another is renowned for her mango sorbet.

Cook's Tip:
Cutting up a mango can leave you with juice up to your elbows, stains on your clothing, and stringy shreds of fruit in your mixing bowl. Here's the simplest way to cut a mango with minimal mess, loss of fruit, and frustration. You'll be pleased that your mango, cut this way, will not be the least bit stringy.

Lay the mango on your cutting board with the narrowest side facing up. With a very sharp knife, cut completely through the mango along one side of the broad, flat seed. Then cut through the mango along the other side of the seed, leaving a narrow strip of skin and flesh around the perimeter of the seed. Set the seed portion aside.

Lay the two halves of the mango skin-side down on the cutting board. Cut through the mango flesh (but not through the skin) to make approximately nine diamond-shaped pieces in each mango half. Then gently flip each half of the mango inside out, so that the diamond-shaped pieces pop up. Use your knife to cut each piece free of the skin.

Next, cut the skin from the strip of mango surrounding the seed. Cut the flesh in pieces as large and as close to the seed as you can. Cut all the mango flesh into pieces the size you need.

Voilà, no strings, no shreds, and no lost juice.

My inviolable household rule is that the one who cuts up the mango gets to slurp any remaining fruit from the seed. Try to suck the seed until it's bone-white–that's how we do it in Mexico.

The banana is a familiar North of the Border favorite. Babies eat it as their first mashed fruit; older folks can eat one a day for an easy daily dose of potassium. Here in the subtropics, we have a huge variety of bananas that are just beginning to make their way north to Latin markets in the United States and Canada.

The guineo (similar to the ordinary banana), the dominico (a tiny banana also known as the ladyfinger), the manzano (the 'apple' banana), and the plátano macho (the 'macho' banana) are only four of the many types of this fruit that we see regularly in our markets.

The tiny ladyfinger banana, three to four inches long, is delicious eaten as a snack. The peel is almost paper-thin and the firm flesh is sweeter than most full-size bananas.

The manzano banana has reddish peel and a marked apple-banana flavor. These were for sale in the Mercado Medellín in Mexico City.

The plátano macho is my particular favorite, however. While it's still green and hard, it can be sliced, pounded thin, and fried into savory, salty chips called tostones. Fully ripened—the skin at this stage is dark brown or black—the plátano macho is called the maduro (mature or ripe). I don't get nervous even when I see that my maduros have a spot or two of mold on the skins. That's when they're the best, and this way to prepare them is my favorite. Be careful, they're addictive.

Plátanos machos, fried to a sweetly caramelized golden brown.

Plátanos Machos Fritos
Fried Sweet Plantains

2 very ripe plátanos machos (plantains)
vegetable oil

Peel the plaintains. Cut each plantain on the diagonal into pieces 1/4" thick.

Heat approximately 1/4" vegetable oil in a large non-stick or cast iron skillet. The oil should be quite hot but not smoking. If the oil starts to smoke, remove the skillet from the heat until the oil cools down slightly.

Put as many of the plaintain slices in the frying pan as will fit without touching one another. Fry on one side until golden brown. Flip each slice over and fry until golden on the other side. Add oil to the skillet if necessary and continue frying the plantain slices until all are done.

Drain thoroughly on paper toweling.

Serve for breakfast with fried or scrambled eggs, refried beans, and hot tortillas. The fried plantains are particularly delicious when topped with a dollop of Mexican crema (or sour cream).

Guamúchiles, available in central Mexico in April and May, just prior to the start of the rainy season.

This short series of photographs, recipes, and descriptions is just the beginning of your knowledge of the tropical fruits available season by season here in Mexico. Each harvest time brings new and different produce to our markets. We learn as we live here to anticipate certain local fruits at certain times of the year: fresas (strawberries) starting in February but available year-round; tiny orange-red wild ciruelas (plums) late in the summer; the tejocote (similar to a small crabapple) early in winter. There are other fruits gathered locally in the wild: the capulín (a kind of wild cherry) and the guamúchil (a small whitish, crisp fruit that grows on trees, in a twisted pod).

In central Mexico, strawberries are deliciously ripe all year long.

In addition, of course, we have oranges, grapefruit, pineapple, watermelon, cantaloupe, peaches, apricots, apples, pears, and tangerines in their seasons. All of these well-known fruits are generally picked in season and at the peak of ripeness here in Mexico and will cause you to lick your fingers, reach for seconds, and exclaim, "You know, I don't think I've ever really tasted one of these before!"

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6 de September de 2014
Herbs from a Mexican Garden: Old Kitchen Pals and Exotic New Friends

Fresh hierbabuena (mint) growing in a Morelia friend's garden.

The cuisines of Mexico–and there are many–are a fantastic amalgam of indigenous corn-based food preparations with a heavy overlay of Spanish ingredients, a strong influence of Moorish flavors, and a lagniappe of French artifice from the mid-19th Century. There is no one cuisine in this big country, although some popular dishes are found in every region. Not every cook prepares enchiladas with the same list of ingredients; tacos, although ubiquitous in Mexico, can be different at every crowded taco stand.

Mexico Cooks! stores garlic in this 3" diameter wire basket, hanging from a cup hook on the side of a cupboard. Circulating air keeps the garlic fresh for quite a while.

Many of the herbs and spices that you use in your own North of the Border kitchen are also used in the Mexican kitchen. Garlic, cinnamon, oregano, and thyme are in widespread use here. Cumin, cloves, tarragon, and mint show up frequently. Lemon grass, which we usually think of as an ingredient in Thai or Vietnamese dishes, is commonly grown in many parts of Mexico and is used to make tea.

A good part of the differences in the regional cuisines of Mexico is each region's use of herbs. Some of those herbs are completely unknown to those of us whose familiarity with Mexican food stops with Pepe's Taco Hut on Main Street, USA. Pepe, whose mother's family emigrated to the USA from the Mexican state of Hidalgo, prepares the restaurant's platillos fuertes (main dishes) from recipes passed down from his abuelita (grandmother), who lived for 97 years in the same Hidalgo village. He's adapted those recipes to include the ingredients he can find in the States and to the palates of his customers.

This herb, a large-leafed, strong-flavored variety of oregano called orégano orejón (big-ear oregano), is unusual even in Mexico. Mexico Cooks! once had a pot of it, but it has unfortunately gone to the great beyond. I'd love to have another pot of it.

Oregano is quite common in Mexican cooking. It can be used either fresh or dried. A small pot of oregano in a sunny spot of your kitchen garden will usually be plenty for all your cooking needs. If you live in a place where the growing season is short, harvest oregano periodically through the summer, tie the stems in small bunches, and hang upside down in a dark place to dry. It dries very fast and retains most of its aroma and flavor. Discard the stems and store the crisp leaves in an airtight, lightproof containers.

Because the growing season in most parts of Mexico is almost year-round, I can always cut a fresh sprig of oregano or two to use when making spaghetti sauce, pescado a la veracruzana, (fish prepared in the style of Veracruz) or other tomato-based sauces. I wash the sprigs and either strip off the leaves into the pot or put the entire sprig into the sauce for seasoning.

The Mexican kitchen uses a wide range of other herbs. The Spanish names read like a mysterious litany: albahaca, epazote, estragón, hoja santa, hierbabuena; comino, clavo, and romero. In English, they are (in order) basil, wormweed, tarragon, holy leaf, mint, cumin, cloves, and rosemary.

Epazote grows wild all over Mexico and in parts of the United States. Several months ago I paid ten pesos at a tianguis (street market) for a pot of it to plant in my garden. As I was carrying the pot home, my neighbor, Doña Mago, saw me and exclaimed, "Porque compraste eso?" ("Why did you buy that?").

"Well, you know" I answered, "I like it to cook in my beans, to make quesadillas, for the flavor—"

"No, no, no, amiga!" she cried, and pointed a finger toward the corner. "It grows up through the cracks in the sidewalk just down the street. You should have asked me to show you where to find it. You could have saved your money. When I want some, I just go over there and cut a piece." It's true. When I was out for a walk the next day, I noticed for the first time the epazote plant she had mentioned.

Regardless of my profligate waste of ten pesos, I do like to cook a big sprig of epazote in a pot of beans. The herb is originally from Mexico and Central America. The indigenous language name that was given to epazote is derived from the Nahuatl words 'epti' and 'zotle': the combined word means 'skunk sweat'. As you can imagine, the herb has a very strong and distinctive flavor. According to Mexican kitchen lore, epazote also has anti-flatulent properties, which is why it might be smart to add it to the boiling bean pot.
Pescado en hoja de plátano (fish cooked in banana leaf). Restaurante San Miguelito, Morelia, Michoacán.

Other plants used to give uncommon seasonings to the cuisines of Mexico are hoja de plátano (banana leaf) and hoja de aguacate (avocado leaf). You won't be able to run right out to your nearest Safeway or HEB store to find these. If you live in an area where there's a large Asian population, you'll find packages of frozen banana leaves in any well-stocked Asian food market. As for avocado leaves—well, if you or your neighbor are lucky enough to have an avocado tree, you can just go pick some. Unfortunately there's no seasoning substitute for them.

Hoja santa (holy leaf) is also known as acuyo.

Hoja santa is used extensively in Mexican cooking. It's a large, heart-shaped leaf that comes from a tall, bushy plant—a plant that will take over the garden space that it's planted in and then some, if you let it. It's a native of Mexico and has medicinal properties as well as seasoning uses. The flavor of hoja santa is reminiscent of licorice, and it combines exceptionally well with fish or chicken.

Banana leaves are used for wrapping meats to prepare barbacoa (southeastern Mexican barbecue, cooked in a pit) and for wrapping and flavoring tamales from the Yucatán Peninsula in far southeastern Mexico. Dried avocado leaves are also used as a flavoring agent; like hoja santa, they have a mild taste similar to that of licorice.

As you can see, Mexican home cooking is far more than tacos and enchiladas. The more unusual kitchen herbs of Mexican cuisine add intense flavor without adding that blast of spiciness that we so often mistake for the only seasoning of Mexico.

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

30 de August de 2014
YUCATÁN: Recipes from a Culinary Expedition, by David Sterling
The book: its 560 gorgeous pages cover everything Yucatecan from achiote to zapote. A 10-year-long labor of love, YUCATÁN is the finest cookbook, love story, history book, and–did I say love story?–of a glorious regional cuisine and its place of origin that I have seen in the last five years. Look over there on the left-hand sidebar of this page. See where the books are listed? Just click on the YUCATÁN cover and buy it, you know you want it. Photos by Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

Maybe you've read about David Sterling's YUCATÁN somewhere else, either in a print source (the New York Times) or on the Internet (Serious Eats). Maybe you've looked longingly at its page on Amazon.com. Maybe a friend of yours, a Mexican food buff, already has one. If you have seen the book, you are already craving sopa de lima (not lime soup–it's rich, deeply chicken-y chicken broth flavored with juice of the lima, a citrus fruit much different from the lime and particular to Mexico), or papadzules (tortillas stuffed with boiled eggs, rolled, and served in a tomato/squash seed sauce), or helado de crema morisca (Moorish style ice cream). Maybe you don't have a copy yet–but Mexico Cooks! does, and Mexico Cooks! is in love with it. Sterling has created a masterwork, a monumental volume that by its simple heft lets you know it's the boss–even before you open the cover. And then–ahhhh. Fabulous.

Chef David Sterling, an Oklahoma native, has deep roots in both French cuisine and Tex-Mex cooking. A culinary school trained chef, for the last eleven years he has studied, taught, and cooked in Mérida, Yucatán, México. He first traveled in Mexico more than 40 years ago, and today is arguably the single foreigner in the world who is most knowledgeable about Yucatán regional cuisine. Photo courtesy David Sterling.

The book, titled simply YUCATÁN, is as simple throughout as its title. Simple, yes, but it's not an easy book: to start with, it weighs a ton and isn't easy to read in bed (but maybe that's just me, reading cookbooks in bed). You may need substitutes for some of the regional ingredients (but chef Sterling tells you clearly what to use). Some recipes are complex (but so, so worth the trouble!). You'll be thrilled to know that YUCATÁN is incredibly well organized, with a terrific index to both recipes and ingredients. The bibliography is extensive and meticulous. Sources for ingredients include not only the street addresses of stores, but also Internet links for ease of online shopping. Kitchen techniques are clearly explained and include ample illustrations. And last but certainly not least, the book is accurate, beautiful, and a loving compendium of David Sterling's passionate relationship with his adopted people, his state, and their cuisine. The generous soul of Yucatán breathes in Sterling and dwells in his glorious book.

Click on this map of Mexico to enlarge it for a better view. At the far right of the map, the state colored yellow is Yucatán. It's easy to see that the state's location, at the tip-end of Mexico's cornucopia shape, is far from the central states. For example, the distance by road between centrally located Morelia, Michoacán and Mérida, Yucatán, is almost exactly 1000 miles. As in all regions of Mexico, seasonally available foods–many very different from those found in most of the country–shape and affect the regional cuisine.

Chaya (Cnidoscolus aconitifolius, sometimes known in English as tree spinach), originated and continues to be cultivated in Yucatán. More nutritious than spinach, chaya is used in a number of preparations, ranging from various types of tamales to a refreshing agua fresca (fresh juice drink).

Let's talk for a minute about the sweetly floral, barely acidic citrus used to make sopa de lima: the lima. What the lima is not is pictured above:&#0
160;the limón criollo–the native Mexican lime. If you absolutely cannot find limas in Mexican markets where you live, you can substitute limón criollo in your sopa de lima. It will be good, but not superb.

This, on the other hand, is the lima (Citrus limetta). The first notable difference is the color: it's nearly yellow. Second, the shape and size are more like a tangerine. Third, click on the photo to enlarge it. Look closely at the lima at the top center of the picture; you will notice what appears to be a nipple at the blossom end of the fruit. That nipple is the giveaway; Mexico Cooks! does not know another citrus other than the lima that has this design feature. If you live almost anywhere in central and southern Mexico, limas are seasonally available in many markets. In addition to being the classic ingredient for this soup, the lima is also eaten out of hand or prepared as an agua fresca.

Sopa de lima (classic Yucatecan chicken soup with Citrus limetta zest and juice), as prepared at David Sterling's internationally acclaimed cooking school, Los Dos, in Mérida, Yucatán. Photo courtesy Los Dos Cooking School.

Let's try this simple–and simply marvelous–soup at home. The links below are live and will take you to two other recipes that are included in this preparation.

Los Dos Cooking School's Recipe for Sopa de Lima
- 10 cups (2.5 liters) chicken consommé (preferably homemade or if absolutely necessary, substitute canned)
- 1/2 cup (120ml) lima juice
- One recipe Tsi'ik (with chicken; substitute lima or lime juice for the sour orange juice)
- One recipe Totopos
- Slices of lima
STEP 1 CHILL THE CONSOMMÉ. Allow it to rest in the refrigerator overnight. If any fat rises to the top, skim off, or pass through cheesecloth to remove. If any remaining particulate matter settles to the bottom, carefully pour the clear portion at the top into another pot and discard the residue.

STEP 2 ADD LIMA JUICE to the consommé and refrigerate 1 hour. Meanwhile, chill soup bowls. Just before serving, fill individual flan cups or other small molds with the tsi'ik. Invert into the center of a chilled bowl. Add soup to about 3/4 of the way to the top of the mound of salad; top salad with fried tortilla strips and slices of lima.

If I have failed to convince you that you and your kitchen need this book, the bowl of wildly delicious soup in front of you, the first spoonful of its deep flavors, and your craving for more when you've finished will convince you. Mark my words, the culinary masterpiece that is YUCATÁN will win major cookbook prizes during the course of the year. Be sure you have your copy.

Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours.
9 de August de 2014
Monica Bhide at Home: Indian Chicken with Chile Jalapeño in Vinegar

Monica Bhide in her kitchen. Monica is the author of a marvelous blog, short fiction, a book of inspirational interviews, and two cookbooks, Modern Spice and The Everything Indian Cookbook. Monica and Mexico Cooks! met–where else, in this 21st century world–on Facebook. We've known one another, in a virtual way, for several years. Writer, wife, mother, teacher, culinary lecturer, and a profoundly reflective person, she inspires me to reach beyond what I think are my limits in order to achieve something more. Photo courtesy Monica Bhide.

Several months ago, Monica gave her readers a simple recipe that sounded really good. I'm no expert in matters of the Indian kitchen, but my wife and I both enjoy its exciting mixture of flavors. Monica's recipe for Chile Chicken with Vinegary Jalapeños sounded simple, flavorful, moderately spicy, and quick to prepare. I thought you might enjoy it, too.

The original recipe calls for one chile jalapeño, thinly sliced. Because Judy and I like our food–both Mexican and Indian–quite spicy, I used the more picante (hotter!) chile serrano, and more of them than are called for in the recipe. The chiles need about an hour to take on their full flavor, so get them into the vinegar (and the refrigerator) before you start the preparation for the chicken.

To Prepare the Chile(s)

1 or more fresh chiles, either jalapeño or serrano
1/4 cup white vinegar
Pinch of salt

Add the sliced chiles and salt to the vinegar. Cover and allow to rest in the refrigerator for at least an hour before use.

Fresh garlic. Smash two cloves with the flat side of a heavy knife or the bottom of a heavy glass or metal measuring cup; once you smash the cloves, the peel slips off easily. Mince the garlic very fine.

Ingredients

1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breast or thighs
1/2 tsp salt
2 Tbsp cornstarch dissolved in 2 Tbsp cold water
1/2 tsp freshly ground black pepper (optional)
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 red bell pepper, thinly sliced
1 inch piece of ginger, thinly sliced
4 scallions, thinly sliced

2 to 3 Tbsp vegetable oil

Combine and reserve:
2 Tbsp red chili paste (sambal oelek)
1 Tbsp soy sauce (I use Pearl River Bridge Light Soy)
1/2 Tbsp sugar

Garnish:
1/2 cup skinless roasted peanuts

Dice the chicken into 1" squares. Combine the diced chicken with the cornstarch/water mixture, salt, and pepper, cover, and set aside.

Fresh ginger.

Scallions.

Sweet red pepper.

Heat a heavy pan (preferably a wok) on high heat, until the pan is extremely hot. Add two tablespoons of oil. When the oil shimmers, add the sweet red pepper, the scallions, the chiles, and the ginger. Tossing constantly, cook over very high heat for just as long as it takes the mixture to soften slightly. Don't over-cook: you want the peppers to stay slightly crisp.

Because I am accustomed to the Chinese stir frying techniques I learned many years ago, I habitually remove the vegetables from the wok before cooking the meat. Once the sweet red pepper mixture is tender but still slightly crisp, remove it from your wok and reserve.

Add another tablespoon of oil to the wok and add the chicken and its cornstarch marinade. Toss and cook over the highest heat possible until the chicken is tender and ready. Add the reserved vegetables and mix well, using a tossing motion.

Everything in the wok is cooked and ready, just waiting for the sauce!

Add the reserved sauce mixture to the chicken mixture in the wok and cook while tossing until the chicken and vegetables are thoroughly coated with the sauce. The cornstarch from the chicken marinade will thicken the sauce, leaving the dish with a shining, beautiful finish.

Sprinkle the finished dish with roasted peanuts for garnish. Serve.

We ate this chicken dish over freshly cooked white rice, served in large Chinese bowls. Preparing this chicken dish was simple and fast, and the results were delicious. You can vary the heat from the chiles to suit your family's taste buds: we like it really hot, but you might want it milder. Either way, Mexico Cooks! gives Monica Bhide's chicken and vinegary jalapeño dish two thumbs up. Enjoy!

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

26 de July de 2014
Pulque: Pre-Hispanic Drink, Gift of the Gods from the Maguey Cactus

This Mexico Cooks! article was originally published on April 24, 2010. Today, read it again to begin a series of occasional reports on the remarkable products given to us from the heart of the maguey cactus. Aguamiel, pulque, and mezcal all come to us from the abundant hand of Mayahuel, goddess of the maguey.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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5 de July de 2014
500 Years Over a Hot Mexican Stove

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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28 de June de 2014
Restaurante Jing Teng: A Taste of Hong Kong in Mexico City

Even the littlest diners love Jing Teng! This sweetheart, no more than 18 months old, is eating her vegetable steamed dumpling and taking it all very seriously.

A few Sundays ago, a group of Mexico City friends gathered at Jing Teng, a fairly recent addition to the capital's handful of Chinese restaurants that truly "valen la pena"–are worth the trouble. The restaurant specializes in serving dim sum every single day of the week from 10AM till 1PM. We had been before, but this time was really special both for the congeniality of our group and for the selection and quality of the dim sum.

Char siu bao, delicious steamed dumplings stuffed with sweet barbecued pork.

Unlike service in most dim sum restaurants, where women push steam carts through cavernous dining rooms and each diner chooses what he/she wants, at Jing Teng you go up to the steam table and pick your dim sum, still in its bamboo steamer, from the stacks. The Jing Teng space is far too small for carts! Photo courtesy Straight.com.

One small section of the steam table at Jing Teng, stacked high with bamboo steamers filled with goodies. Some of the steamers hold two, three, or four pieces of dim sum, while others hold plates filled with steamed meats or vegetables. Different dishes–vegetables, soups, rice dishes, and jook (soupy, savory rice)–are available from the menu; your wait person will bring those to you.

Chinese tamales, ready to be steamed.

Steamed sticky rice, filled with pork, chicken, and seasoning and wrapped–like a Mexican tamal–in a leaf. In this case, it's a dried and then reconstituted lotus leaf.

Dried lotus leaves. The lotus leaf is very large, approximately 18 inches at its widest; once reconstituted, cut it to the size you need for your sticky rice tamal, then tie it up with string and steam it. Photo courtesy Google images.

Steamed dumplings stuffed with vegetables. The dim sum offerings are made with a variety of wrappings. Our waiter told me that on weekends, the restaurant prepares 20 steamers of each of many kinds of dim sum–and sells out. During the week, four steamers of each variety are sold.

Fried dumplings, stuffed with Chinese chives, ginger, and another ingredient I could not identify. These were so wonderful–the filling was wrapped and fried in crisp, slightly flaky pastry–that the eight of us gobbled down several apiece.

I broke one of the chive dumplings in half to show you the filling.

Beautifully coiled plain steamed buns.

These are sheng juan bao. They came out of the kitchen just as we were leaving, so we didn't get to try them–none of us was able to eat another thing! They're made with a flour-based dough that's typically filled with a mixture of minced pork, scallions, dried mushrooms, and fresh water chestnuts. The dumplings are steamed first and then pan fried on both sides. Next time.

Beautiful and delicate har gow (shrimp dumplings). The dumpling dough is made from wheat starch, then stuffed with shrimp and steamed. The dumplings are translucent so the peachy-pink color of the cooked shrimp shows through.

Bao (steamed buns) filled with egg custard. Enlarge the photo to get a closer look at the yellow dot that marks each of these–to clue the diner about the filling.

Foreground, steamed pork. Rear, bao with a filling of sweet bean paste.

Our friend Antony ate two large plates of chicken feet, all by himself. He said they're one of his favorite foods and he hadn't had any for quite a while.

Our waitress, the only staff person in the restaurant who spoke Spanish, told us these bao were made with raspberries. The raspberry filling was the consistency of a thick gruel. The buns were sweet, but minimally flavored with the fruit.

Toward the end of our meal, I sneaked a peek into the kitchen. This yellow dough, rolled out with a dowel almost faster than I could track, would become the crust for custard tarts.

Our chef, in his unusually open jacket.

Three cooks were on duty in the kitchen. I asked if they would please write down their names so I could tell you. Yes, they did, and giggled all the while. Can someone tell me what they wrote?

Our bill. Eight of us ate until we simply couldn't eat anything else. The 680 peso charge is equivalent to approximately $52.00 USD–about $7.00 apiece, counting our generous tip.

Will we go back? Yes, yes, and YES, just name the date. Jing Teng is marvelous.

Restaurante Jing Teng, Hong Kong style dim sum and other dishes a la carte.

Jing Teng
Sur 65-A 3256 corner Calle Santa Anita
Colonia Viaducto La Piedad
Del. Iztacalco
México, Distrito Federal
Tel: 5440-2732
Dim Sum hours: 10:00AM – 1:00PM daily

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21 de June de 2014
Heads Up! Heading for Mexico’s Markets: What You Might See

If you've been reading Mexico Cooks! for long, you know that we photograph a lot of ripe and colorful fruits, vegetables, and other edibles in Mexico's markets. This gorgeous turkey, for example, was tethered with some others at the Thursday weekly market in Zaachila, Oaxaca. He didn't know it, of course, but he would soon be purchased and…well, you can imagine. This is a food market, after all.

In the interest of early and full disclosure, the rest of the photos in this article might just gross you out. It turns out that for reasons unknown even to myself, I have, in addition to taking lots of market photos of benign and lovely fruits and vegetables, made lots of head shots. Disembodied heads of animals. Be warned.

This Mexico City butcher saw me approaching with the camera and obligingly sat the pig head up straight for a portrait. He's shaving the head, which was to be sold either whole or in parts for making Jalisco-style pozole. Better he should shave it than you should have to do it!

That's a goat head at the left of the photo. To the right is a container of chinicuiles (red maguey worms). The goat head is for preparing birria, the chinicuiles are for roasting and eating as a snack.

I think this is the first pig head picture I took, years ago at Guadalajara's Mercado Libertad. All the pigs' heads I've seen have had that same charming little smile.

See what I mean? This fellow looks downright happy to have given his all for your bowl of Guerrero-style pozole.

Anyone for bouillabaise? It's been a long time since I prepared this delicious French fish stew, but Mexican markets always have the ingredients. Like pozole, bouillabaise starts its broth with heads–in this case, fish heads.

Doña Martha has taken the cooked pig head out of the broth to remove its bones and teeth. At this point, the pozole is almost-but-not-quite ready to serve.

Admit it, you would have taken this picture, too. How could I resist?

You might want to click on this photo to enlarge it, for a better view. It's barbacoa de res (beef barbecue, Mexican style), wrapped in penca de maguey (cactus leaves) and cooked for hours in a pit. You can still see the teeth in the jaw.

A raw beef head, hung upside down in the butcher shop.

Here's another beef head with the skin and fur removed from the top of the head. The butcher's gloved thumb is just about to pull the skin off the nose.

Chicken heads. I don't have a recipe nor do I know of a recipe. If you do, please let me know!

You'll be glad to know that this is the last pig head for this article. This one, thoroughly cleaned, shaven, and ready for the pot, is merely waiting for a customer. The ears, snout, and tongue are delicacies in Mexico.

Has this photo essay driven any of you into the vegetarian camp? Here's a vegetarian head: cabbage, of course.

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7 de June de 2014
Mexico’s Love Affair with Pork: Hog Heaven South of the Border

Cochinita pibil from the Yucatán (seasoned pork, slow-cooked and then shredded), a specialty of Ricardo Muñoz Zurita's Restaurante Azul/Condesa. Served in a banana leaf with a topping of pickled red onion, it's delicious.

Mexico is one of the largest producers and consumers of pork in the world, second only to China. In spite of the 'swine flu' crisis several years ago, Mexico continues to eat pork at a record-breaking pace and, every year, to export millions of tons of pork to other countries. (FIRA)

From the growers' farms to a rastro (slaughterhouse) is a speedy ride along one of Mexico's super-highways. A truck like this one, loaded with pigs, is an everyday sight throughout Mexico. Photo courtesy ROTOV.

Mexico is not nearly as squeamish as the United States in seeing where its carne de cerdo (pork meat) comes from. In fact, a stroll through just about any city market or tianguis (street market) will give ample evidence that meat–including pork meat–comes from an animal, not from a sterile, platic-wrapped styrofoam meat tray at a supermarket.

Every part of the pig is used in Mexico's kitchens. The head is ordinarily used to make pozole, a rich stew of pork meat, reconstituted dried corn, spices, and condiments.

No pork existed in Mexico until after the Spanish conquest; in fact, no domestic animals other than the xoloitzcuintle dog were used for food. The only sources of animal protein were fish, frogs, and other water creatures, wild Muscovy-type ducks, the javalí (wild boar), about 200 varieties of edible insects, doves and the turkey, all native to what is now Mexico.

Mexico has been cooking head-to-tail since long before that notion came into international vogue.  Pig tails are used here for roasting–look for recipes for rabo de cerdo asado (roast pig tail).|

No matter that just below these jolly mariachi pigs at Mexico City's Mercado de Jamaica, their once-live counterparts lie ready for the butcher's knife. These fellows play on!

Chicharrón (fried pig skin) is prepared fresh every day by butchers whose specialty is pork. Nothing goes to waste.

Just about any Mexican butcher worth his stripes can custom-cut whatever portion of the pig you need for meal preparation. In case you're not 100% familiar with the names of Mexican cuts, here are two pork cut charts, first in English and then in Spanish for comparison.

Pork cuts chart in English. Click to enlarge the image for better viewing.

Pork cuts chart in Spanish (for Mexican users). Even in Spanish, many cuts have different names depending on which country names them. Again, click to enlarge the image for a better view.

These suckling pigs were butchered at 6 weeks to 3 months old. Known in Mexico as lechón, roast suckling pig is a delicacy by any name. Many restaurants specialize in its preparation.

One of the most common and popular (and really delicious) kinds of street tacos is tacos al pastor (shepherd style tacos). Marinate thinly sliced pork meat in a sauce made of chiles guajillo, vinegar, and tomato. Next, layer the slices on a vertical spit so that they form the shape of a spinning top. At the top of the meat, place a pineapple without skin. Light the fire in the grate behind the spit and allow a portion of the meat to cook until slightly caramelized on the edges and tender within. Slice into very thin pieces, using them to fill a tortilla warmed on the flattop. With your sharp knife, flick a small section of the pineapple into the taco. Add the salsa you prefer, some minced onion and cilantro, and ahhhhh…the taste of Mexico!

Manitas de cerdo: pickled pigs' feet. The well-scrubbed feet are cooked in salted water, then added to vegetables cooked in a pickling solution of vinegar, chile, vegetables, and herbs. In Mexico, manitas de cerdo can be eaten as either a botana (snack) or a main dish.

One of my personal favorite pork dishes: carnitas from Michoacán! These carnitas in particular are the best I've ever eaten: large hunks of pork are boiled in lard until crispy on the outside, succulent and juicy on the inside. Chopped roughly and served with various salsas, they're the best tacos I know. Find them at Carnitas Aeropuerto, in Zamora, Michoacán.

Adobo huasteco, another deliciously spicy pork dish. It's been a while since this last appeared on our table–and it's high time we prepared it again. Click on the link for the recipe.

Last but not least, here's a rosy bouquet of pig heads for sale at the Mercado de Jamaica in Mexico City.

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31 de May de 2014
XIº Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales de Michoacán :: Fiesta y Comida en México: In Mexico, the Food’s the Party

Ana Pellicer and James Metcalf's handmade–by their own hands–copper pots and pans–from their own kitchen–perfectly illustrate Maestra Pellicer's Saturday morning talk explaining the history and uses of copper in the kitchen. By 1450 A.D., the Tarascan (Purépecha) kingdom in the state of Michoacán had become the most important center of pre-hispanic metalworking. Metallurgy played a significant role in the structure of political and economic power in the Tarascan Empire.

Although many people erroneously believe that Don Vasco de Quiroga brought copper work to Michoacán in the 16th century, the excavation and working of copper items predates Don Vasco's arrival by approximately 900 years. Copper was crafted for use in funeral practices, ornaments, and ritual items.

Malachite and copper. Mtra. Pellicer, an internationally renowned copper sculptor, spoke about the connection between malachite and copper ore. She and her husband, the late James Metcalf, were instrumental in developing artisan copper work in Santa Clara del Cobre, Michoacán. Santa Clara is the last home of Mexico's copper art.

A panel of highly knowledgeable judges concentrates on the presentation of a traditional dish. From left, this panel includes chef Martha Ortiz, restaurateur Roberto González Guzmán, Maestro Benjamín Lucas Ángel, and jefe de cocina Yuri de Gortari, among others.

Norma Alicia Urbina Rangel, who lives in Uruapan, Michoacán, wore her most festive finery for the Sunday closing of the eleventh Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales. Her hand-embroidered guanengo (traditional Purépecha blouse) features the Virgen María and Niño Dios on the front, back, and sleeves. I asked her if she had made the blouse herself and she laughed. "Señora, my hand is skilled in the kitchen, not for embroidery. I bought it." For this Encuentro, Sra. Urbina competed in the category platillo de rescate ('rescued' dish–one that is now seldom prepared and is at risk of disappearing) with pescado seco capeado en salsa verde (battered dried fish in green sauce).

Edmundo Escamilla (left) and Yuri de Gortari, executive co-directors of the Escuela de Gastronomía Mexicana in Mexico City, gave an extraordinary talk about the conjunction of parties and food in Mexico. The two men are a living treasure, repositories of culinary history, techniques, ingredients, art, tradition, folklore, and much, much more. Authors of nine books, they were thrilled to participate in the Encuentro this past April.

As always, Mundo and Yuri gave a marvelous talk, filled with facts, myths, folklore, and tremendous good humor. Beginning with a short history of the caste system in colonial New Spain, they taught us about the body's need for a daily ration of salt, which led to the word salario (sal+diario) (salary), the huge variety of tamales that continues to exist in Mexico (4,000!), and how tamales were prepared in pre-Hispanic days in this country: without fat of any kind, tamales were eaten to celebrate the New Year.

Casta (caste) painting from colonial New Spain. This and many other paintings of the era reflect the importance that the Spanish gave to the mixture of races in the world they had conquered. The Spanish caste system gave rise to ethnic shame in what was eventually to become Mexico. The nomenclature of the mixes is long, and sometimes shocking to our 21st century sensibilities. Click on any photograph to enlarge the image for a better view.

Tamales de zarzamora (blackberry), a sweet Michoacán specialty.

When the Spanish arrived with pigs (think lard) and Catholicism, lard became part of many recipes for tamales: with the addition of lard to corn masa, the tamal became Christian, along with its indigenous cooks. Bendito puerco, bendita manteca! (Blessed pork, blessed lard!)

In Morelia every January 6, a giant-size Rosca de Reyes (Three Kings Bread) is dished up to hungry hordes.

Mundo and Yuri pointed out that Christmas feasting includes a fusion of the indigenous Maya belief that corn is our actual flesh and bones, combined with the newly arrived and harvested Spanish wheat which forms the Communion host–in Catholic dogma, the actual body and blood of Christ, which believers (the spiritual body of Christ) consume.

[youtube=://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rABJeZGNFNs&w=420&h=315]
After conclusion of the Sunday conferences and before the prizes were awarded for the XIº Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales de Michoacán, many of the cooks, jurors, and festival attendees danced for the sheer joy of it–as the crowd cheered, "Michoacán! Michoacán!". In Mexico Cooks!' video, historian Edmundo Escamilla dances with maestra cocinera Rosalba Morales Bartolo of San Jerónimo, Purenchécuaro, Michoacán.

The next edition of the Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales de Michoacán will take place on October 4, 5, and 6, 2014. If you'd like to come with me to see it all, please let me know! Mexico Cooks!' email address is patalarga@gmail.com.

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17 de May de 2014