Category: Recipe

Pozole Estilo Jalisco, in Memory of doña María Medina

Doña María López viuda de Medina, Tijuana, Baja California. In front of her house, 1983. We met at Mass in early 1981 and became fast friends over a pot of her home-made pozole.  Doña is an honorific for an older, respected woman–don is the masculine counterpart.

Traditionally, pozole starts with the head of a pig. The head is always smiling as it hangs on your butcher's hook, waiting to go in the pot. If you can't get a pig head from your butcher, use pork shoulder, pork butt, really meaty pork neck bones, or a combination of all three.

In early 1981, I tasted pozole for the first time. My soon-to-be-dear friend, doña María Medina (RIP), who owned a five-stool working-man's food counter restaurant in Tijuana, invited me to her tiny kitchen to dine. Doña María was originally from Jalisco and was shocked that I'd been in Mexico for all of three or four months and had never eaten the thick, rich, pork, chile and corn soup that I soon learned was pozole. I was such a neophyte that until she asked me if I'd eaten it, I'd actually never heard of pozole, but I couldn't let doña María know that. Because I knew doña María, I knew I was in for a treat, even though I had no idea what it was going to be. We set a date for me to eat pozole at home with her.

The day arrived. Doña María escorted me into her kitchen and sat me down at her table for two. Large pottery bowls were at our places, ready for the dishing-up. Meat, already sliced, lay on the counter next to a huge aluminum pot. Next to the pot she had laid out bowls of thinly sliced radishes, onion diced small, shredded cabbage, whole dried Mexican orégano, and powdered chile de árbol. She put several slices of meat into each of our bowls, ladled what seemed to me a bathtub of rich-smelling, steaming soup on top, and garnished each bowlful with the condiments. Smiling proudly, she put the bowls on the table. I thought she was ready to sit down with me, but no.

Instead, she looked at my bowl. "Te falta carne." (You don't have enough meat.) She put my bowl on the counter again and picked up an extra-extra long two-tined fork. Down into the soup pot it went, and up it came again. To my horror, impaled on the fork was a huge pig head. My eyes were the size of big white Mexican onions. She sliced meat from the cheek and piled it into my bowl. "Ahora sí, provecho!" ("Now then, bon appetit!") She sat down, and we dug in.

It's nearly thirty years and a lot of pozole later, but I still can't get the image of that first pig head out of my mind. If you've toured with me in a market in Mexico, you've already heard that story.

Readers who are familiar with the southwestern United States might be confused by the Spanish word pozole. In New Mexico and other parts of the southwest, the word is spelled "posole" and is the word used for the corn prepared for the soup. Here in Mexico, the words for the corn are the Náhuatl words cacahuatzintle and/or nixtamal, while the soup itself is called pozole (with a 'z').

My good friend Rolly Brook (RIP) has once again given me permission to use some of his excellent photos to illustrate the preparation of pozole. He photographed his friend Doña Martha (RIP) as she prepared this marvelous soup.

Rolly and doña Martha lived in Lerdo, in the northern Mexican state of Durango. Her pozole is slightly different from that of the central state of Jalisco, above all in its condiments, but the basic recipes are sisters.

Doña Martha puts the cleaned pig head into the pot with the spices and flavorings. The prepared cacahuatzintle and the chiles go into the pot last.

Dried red corn kernels for making Jalisco-style pozole rojo.

Traditional Pozole from Jalisco State

Ingredients

1 cleaned pig head. Leave the teeth and eyes in the head. Ask the butcher to clean it for you. At home, you simply have to wash the pig head well in cold water.

12-15 liters of water for cooking the broth, etc.

3 kilos (about 7.5 lbs) espinazo (pork backbone), shoulder, or butt, or a combination of the three meats.

1 kilo (about 2.2 lbs) nixtamal-ized cacahuatzintle (dried field corn, preferably red for Jalisco-style pozole), or an equal amount of corn for pozole, already prepared and preferably red. You'll find prepared corn in the refrigerator section of many Latin grocers. In a pinch you can use canned hominy, but it's not the same. It's much too soft and bland.

10-12 chiles guajillo
6 chiles ancho
One large whole white onion, peeled
An entire large head of garlic, peeled
Cumin seeds, not too many as you don't want cumin to overwhelm the flavors of the pozole
Bay leaves
Sprigs of fresh orégano
Sprigs of thyme
A clove or two
A splash of vinegar
Sea salt to taste

Garnishes
Finely shredded cabbage
Thinly sliced radishes
Minced white onion
Avocados, to be sliced and added to the pozole by each diner
Limón criollo (key lime) to squeeze into the pozole
Salsa roja muy picante (really hot red sauce, preferably home made)
Mexican orégano to crumble into the pozole
Sea salt to taste

Serve with tostadas.

Preparation
Two days ahead of serving, begin to prepare the dried corn for the pozole. This process results in nixtamal.

Clean the dried corn kernels by picking through them and removing any stray corn husk pieces, rocks or other field rubble from them. Rinse the kernels well and drain.

Put the water in a large pot over a high flame. Add a tablespoon or two of calcium hydroxide (builder's lime) to the water.

Put the corn into the water/calcium hydroxide mixture and bring to a simmer. Allow to cook for about 45 minutes. Do not boil, boiling will ruin the corn. Remove from the pot from the heat and allow cool overnight in its liquid.

When the corn is cool, rinse it well under running water and rub it in a heavy towel (or in your bare hands) to remove the skin from the kernels. The cooked kernels should be white or pale yellow.

OPTIONAL: Use your thumb nails or a small sharp knife to remove the hard pedicel (the little piece of the corn kernel that holds the kernel to the cob) from the narrow end of each kernel. This step is hideously time-consuming and mind-numbingly boring, but removing the pedicel allows the kernels to "flower", or open up. Many cooks in Mexico have stopped doing this part, but you might want to try it at least once. I did this the first time I made pozole, in spite of the fact that my housekeeper said, "You're not really doing that!" and laughed at me the whole time I struggled at the job.

Put the cleaned kernels back in the pot and cover with water to about 3" above the kernels. Cook over medium heat until the kernels flower, about three hours. Do not stir the corn while it cooks, but you might want to skim the top of the water from time to time.

Once the corn kernels are tender, add salt to taste. Many cooks don't add salt until the kernels are soft, saying that they will toughen.

Reserve the now-nixtamal-ized cacahuatzintle for later use in the pozole.

Grind all the spices except the chiles, the garlic, and the onion until they are fine powder. Put the pig head into a large pot and add water to cover. Add the fresh garlic, the ground spices and the whole onion. Reserve the chiles and the corn for pozole for later use.

Trim the espinazo and pork butt or shoulder into large pieces. Add this meat to the pot along with the whole onion. Simmer the meats for approximately an hour and a half.

Prepare the dried guajillo chiles by slitting them open and removing the stems and the seeds. The guajillo is not spicy at all, but adds wonderful flavor and color to pozole broth.

Simmer the chiles while the pork meats cook. The chiles need to cook for an hour or slightly more. When the chiles are soft, put them in a blender and purée them with some of their cooking liquid until they are very, very smooth.

Doña Martha eases the nixtamal into the pot.

When the meats are tender, remove the head, the espinazo, and the other meats from the pot and reserve. Add the prepared corn kernels and the puréed chiles to the pot and continue to simmer over low heat for another hour.

While we wait for the meats to cook, here's a list of the parts of the pig that people really like in their pozole:
—Oreja, slices of ear
—Cachete, slices of cheek
—Trompo, slices of snout
—Lengua, slices of tongue
—Ojo, the eyeballs

You can have your pozole with maciza (just the meaty pork butt or spine) or surtido (a selection of all the meats on this list plus some maciza).

This is not a fish. My favorite butcher removed an eye from a pig head and laid it on a piece of maciza (raw pork shoulder). He's a big jokester, and you know me–I'm a little weird.

While the pot of nixtamal-ized corn simmers, slice the meat off the head–the cheeks are particularly delicious!–and slice the rest of the meats into serving-size pieces. Reserve the eyeballs for your guest of honor.

The finished product! Serve with a pile of crunchy- tostadas on the side.

Just before serving, put a big ladle-full or more of corn kernels and broth into individual large pozole bowls. Add several slices of meat to each bowl, on top of the corn kernels. At table, each eater adds his or her own condiments according to taste. I like mine with crumbled orégano, a soup spoon of minced onion, a big squeeze of limón, a fistful of sliced radishes, some sea salt, a lot of shredded cabbage, a couple of slices of avocado, and a spoonful or two of salsa roja–in other words, a little of everything!

Espérate, te falta carne! Ahora sí, provecho! (Wait, you need more meat! Okay, now, enjoy!)

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

27 de April de 2019
Pan Dulce in Mexico :: Take Two, They’re Small

Steaming hot café con leche (espresso coffee mixed with a generous portion of hot milk), served with a basket of Mexico's pan dulce (sweet bread).

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

In those years, there was a tiny and excellent bakery just a block from my house. In a room to the side of his house, through a semi-secret door at the back of his garage, don Pedro turned out hundreds of pieces of pan dulce every day. Shortly after Mom's arrival, I took her to meet don Pedro, the master baker, and his helpers.

Don Pedro spoke no English and my mother spoke no Spanish, but I interpreted between them and they discovered that they were soul mates. For two hours, don Pedro and my mother swapped bread stories—conversation about oven temperatures, yeast, flour densities, and tales of experiments, successes and failures. The day before Mother was to leave for home, she asked to go back to the bakery to say goodbye to don Pedro. They both wept because she was leaving and insisted that pictures be taken before they exchanged farewell hugs. Such is the bond of bread. Don Pedro and my mother have both passed away, and I hope they've had a chance to hug one another again in the más allá (the great beyond).

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

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

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

If you've never visited a Mexican bakery—a bakery where the breads are baked right on the premises, not brought in from a central bakery—you have a real treat in store. One of my favorite bakeries is owned by the Rojas family in Ajijic, Jalisco. When the bolillos (crusty, dense, white rolls) come out of the oven in the early mornings and again when the roles (cinnamon rolls—they're addictive) are ready at about 12:30 PM, you'll find lines of locals waiting to carry home a bag of hot, fresh goodies.

The Rojas brothers, long-time bakers at Panadería Rojas in Ajijic, Jalisco. Photo courtesy Semanario Laguna.

At the Rojas bakery, the bakers will help you select the breads you want–if you don't know the bread by name, you just point and tell them how many. There are no bakers' shelves at Rojas, and the selection of items is usually small. Most of the breads are delivered to shops and stores shortly after they're taken from the ovens.

Larger Mexican bakeries can be a little intimidating when you first push that front door open and enter a warm, fragrant world of unfamiliar sights and intoxicating yeasty, sugary smells.

One of my favorite bakery excursions 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, let's take a tour of the racks of pan dulce.

Very lightly sweetened biscochos are similar to biscuits.

Tasty sugar-swirled conchas are ubiquitous throughout Mexico.

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

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

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

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

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

Niño envuelto on the left, besos on the right.

The loaded shelves at the Panadería El Resobado, in Coatepec, Veracruz. On this trip, my companions and I bought quite a bit of pan dulce and even though it had been highly recommended to us, we decided we really didn't care for it. The bread is baked in wood-fired ovens and tasted extremely heavily–and unpleasantly–of wood smoke. What a disappointment!

Mexican Wedding Cookies (Polvorones de Nuez). Photo courtesy Storethisnotthat.

Here's a familiar and delicious recipe for a traditional Mexican sweet bread.

Polvorones de Nuez

Mexican Wedding Cookies

Preheat oven to 275 degrees.

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
3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

Procedure
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 un-greased baking sheets. Flatten each ball very slightly.

Bake in a 275 degree oven until very lightly browned (about 45 minutes). 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.

As Edith and I made the rounds of the bakery, I asked her if she knew the origin of any of the names for pan dulce. With a charming smile, she admitted that they were just traditional inventos—made-up titles. When I asked her if she ever got tired of eating these sweet breads, she shook her head emphatically. "Oh no, señora, we always love the pan." Here, Edith is holding a huge rosca de reyes, the bread eaten on January 6, the Feast of the Three Kings.

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.

6 de April de 2019
Special Lenten Foods in Mexico :: Lent (Cuaresma), March 6 Until April 18, 2019

One year during Lent in Chiapas, Mexico Cooks! ate tortitas de papa (potato croquettes, left) and frijoles negros (black beans, right), ideal for a Lenten meal.

Catholic Mexicans observe la Cuaresma (Lent), the 40-day (excluding Sundays) penitential season that precedes Easter, with special prayers, vigils, and with extraordinary meatless meals cooked only on Ash Wednesday and during Lent. Many Mexican dishes–seafood, vegetable, and egg–are normally prepared without meat, but some other meatless dishes are particular to Lent. Known as comida cuaresmeña, many of these delicious Lenten foods are little-known outside Mexico and some other parts of Latin America.

Many observant Catholics believe that the personal reflection and meditation demanded by Lenten practices are more fruitful if the individual refrains from heavy food indulgence and makes a promise to abstain from other common habits such as eating candy, smoking cigarettes, and drinking alcohol.

Atole de grano, a Michoacán specialty made of tender corn and licorice-scented anís, is a perfect cena (supper) for Lenten Fridays.

Lent began this year on Ash Wednesday, March 6. Shortly before, certain food specialties began to appear in local markets.Vendors are currently offering very large dried shrimp for caldos (broths) and tortitas (croquettes), perfect heads of cauliflower for tortitas de coliflor (cauliflower croquettes), seasonal romeritos, and thick, dried slices of bolillo (small loaves of white bread) for capirotada (a kind of bread pudding).

This common Lenten preparation is romeritos en mole.  Romeritos, an acidic green vegetable, are in season at this time of year. Although romeritos look a little like rosemary, their consistency is soft and their taste is relatively sour, more like verdolagas (purslane).

Here are raw romeritos that I saw recently at the Mercado de Jamaica in Mexico City.You can see that they do look like rosemary, but the thin leaves are soft, more like a succulent.

You'll usually see tortitas de camarón (dried shrimp croquettes) paired for a Friday comida (midday meal) with romeritos en mole, although they are sometimes bathed in a caldillo de jitomate (tomato broth) and served with sliced nopalitos (cactus paddles).

During Lent, the price of fish and seafood in Mexico goes through the roof due to the huge seasonal demand for meatless meals. These beautiful huachinango (red snapper) come from Mexico's Pacific coast.

Chef Martín Rafael Mendizabal of La Trucha Alegre in Zitacuaro, Michoacán, prepared trucha deshuesada con agridulce de guayaba (boned trout with guava sweet and sour sauce) for the V Encuentro de Cocina Tradicional de Michoacán held annually in Morelia. The dish would be ideal for an elegant Lenten dinner.

Capirotada (kah-pee-roh-TAH-dah, Lenten bread pudding) is almost unknown outside Mexico. Simple to prepare and absolutely delicious, it's hard to eat it sparingly if you're trying to keep a Lenten abstinence! This photo shows capirotada as served by Carmen Titita Ramírez Degollado at the El Bajío restaurants in Mexico City.

Every family makes a slightly different version of capirotada: a pinch more of this, leave out that, add such-and-such.  Mexico Cooks! prefers to leave out the apricots and add dried pineapple. Make it once and then tweak the recipe to your preference–but please do stick with traditional ingredients.

A huge pile of piloncillo for sale at the Mercado de Jamaica. On the left are large cones of light brown piloncillo, in the middle are small cones, and on the right are large cones of dark brown piloncillo. You choose which you want!

CAPIROTADA (Mexican Bread Pudding)

Ingredients

*4 bollilos, in 1" slices (small loaves of dense white bread)
5 stale tortillas
150 grams pecans
50 grams prunes
100 grams raisins
200 grams peanuts
100 grams dried apricots
1 large apple, peeled and sliced thin
100 grams grated Cotija cheese
Peel of one orange, divided for two uses
*3 cones piloncillo (Mexican brown sugar)
Four 3" pieces of Mexican stick cinnamon
2 cloves
Butter
Salt

*If you don't have bolillo, substitute slices of very dense French bread. If you don't have piloncillo, substitute 1/2 cup tightly packed brown sugar.

A large metal or clay baking dish.

Preparation

Preheat the oven to 300°F.

Toast the bread and spread with butter. Slightly overlap the tortillas in the bottom and along the sides of the baking dish to make a base for the capirotada. Prepare a thin syrup by boiling the piloncillo in 2 1/2 cups of water with a few shreds of cinnamon sticks, 2/3 of the orange peel, the cloves, and a pinch of salt.

Place the layers of bread rounds in the baking dish so as to allow for their expansion as the capirotada cooks. Lay down a layer of bread, then a layer of nuts, prunes, raisins, peanuts and apricots. Continue until all the bread is layered with the rest. For the final layer, sprinkle the capirotada with the grated Cotija cheese and the remaining third of the orange peel (grated). Add the syrup, moistening all the layers little by little. Reserve a portion of the syrup to add to the capirotada in case it becomes dry during baking.

Bake uncovered until the capirotada is golden brown and the syrup is absorbed. The bread will expand as it absorbs the syrup. Remember to add the rest of the syrup if the top of the capirotada looks dry, and reserve plenty of syrup to pour over each serving.

Cool the capirotada to room temperature. Do not cover until it is cool; even after it is cooled, leave the top ajar.

Try very hard not to eat the entire pan of capirotada at one sitting!

A positive thought for this Lent: give up discouragement, be an optimist.

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

9 de March de 2019
Joy from Pre-Hispanic Mexico :: Alegrías, An Ancient Treat for Today

Mexico Cooks!' homemade alegrías, freshly turned from the parchment-lined baking sheet onto the cutting board and ready to cut into pieces.

Lots of people are like Mexico Cooks! when it comes to cookbooks. We own hundreds of them, but actually cook from very few. For over a year, I've read and sighed with delight over the stories and recipes in Fany Gerson's My Sweet Mexico–and last week I finally prepared alegrías from her recipe. Fany calls them 'amaranth happiness candy'. Why? Happiness or joy are the English meanings of the Spanish word alegría.

A couple of weeks ago, friends at the superb web page Cocina al Natural invited Mexico Cooks! to a wonderful comida casera (main meal of the day at their home). For dessert, they proudly carried a big tray of alegrías to the table. "They're home made!" they proclaimed. "No way!" we remonstrated. Well, yes, güey, it was the absolute truth. The alegrías were beautiful, professional, delicious, and prepared from Fany Gerson's cookbook, which is actually in my kitchen library. We joyfully crunched these delicacies down.

According to Ricardo Muñoz Zurita, legendary Mexico City food historian, chef and author of the Diccionario Enciclopédico de Gastronomía Mexicana (Encyclopedic Dictionary of Mexican Gastronomy), among other books, alegrías are the oldest candy in Mexico. In pre-Hispanic times, before sugar cane had been introduced to New Spain (now Mexico), the amaranth candy was sweetened with maguey cactus syrup. In that long-ago era, this candy had a highly religious meaning. Shaped in the form of a cookie or cracker, it was utilized for communion in indigenous rituals and also was made into huge sculptures of pre-Christian gods. Because these god-figures appeared so horrible to the Spanish, they outlawed the use of this candy after the conquest. But in the 16th century, a Spanish monk had the idea to mix amaranth with bee honey. Rejoicing over the return of the right to eat this sweet treat, the ancient inhabitants of Mexico named it what they felt: 'alegría'–joy.

The topping mixture for the alegrías–raisins and lightly toasted pecans, peanuts, and pepitas (pumpkin seeds), spread onto the parchment-paper lined baking sheet.

The following week, Betty Fussell, my wonderful friend, invited us once again to visit her in Tepoztlán, just south of Mexico City. The light bulb went on: alegrías would make a great gift to take to Betty!

The recipe for alegrías is simplicity itself. Here's the recipe, taken straight from My Sweet Mexico.

Alegrías (Happiness Candy)

Ingredients
1/2 cup chopped toasted pecans
1/2 cup chopped toasted peanuts
1/2 cup toasted pepitas (pumpkin seeds)
1/2 cup dark raisins
8 ounces chopped Mexican piloncillo (coarse brown sugar) or standard dark brown sugar, packed
1/2 cup honey
1/2 teaspoon freshly squeezed lemon or lime juice
4 ounces puffed amaranth seeds

Equipment
Large bowl
Large spoon
15" X 10" X 1/2" baking sheet
Parchment paper
Medium sauce pan
Cutting board
Sharp knife

Preparation
Line the baking sheet with parchment paper. Combine the pecans, peanuts, pumpkin seeds, and raisins in a bowl and then spread them on the prepared pan.

Piloncillo, honey, and lemon juice in the pot.

Combine the piloncillo, honey, and lemon juice in a medium pot over medium heat and cook until the piloncillo has melted and the mixture has thickened slightly, about 5 to 10 minutes.

Squeezing the jugo de limón (lemon juice) into the mixture is simplicity itself if you are using a Mexican esprimador (lime squeezer). You can find one in metal or plastic at your local Latin market. The green fruit in the photo is a limón criollo (native limón)–you probably know it as Key lime. It's the most common lemon-limey citrus in Mexico, with a bright, acid taste. If you can find it in your market, try it rather than the ordinary yellow lemon. You'll love the extra tang. Just cut the limón in half, turn each cut side toward the holes in the squeezer, and squeeze the handles together.

Note to the cook: a plastic esprimador is probably cheaper to buy, but it will break. Metal will last forever. Mine–the one in the photo–is about 30 years old and going strong.

Remove the syrup from the heat and add the amaranth seeds, stirring quickly to mix everything well.

Mixing the cooked and thickened piloncillo, honey, and lemon juice mixture with the amaranth seeds.

The amaranth mixture, patted firmly into the parchment-lined baking sheet. Remember that the nuts and raisins are the topping–they're on the other side of the alegrías. Once this rectangle is completely cool, it will be firm and you will easily be able turn it over onto a cutting board.

Pour the amaranth mixture into the baking pan with the nuts, seeds, and raisins, and carefully press down with slightly dampened hands (so you don't burn yourself) to compact the mixture.

Allow to cool completely, 30 to 40 minutes at least, then invert onto a cutting board. Cut the mixture into the desired shapes with a sharp knife. If your mixture seems to be sticking to the knife, simply dip the knife into hot water, dry, and continue cutting.

Freshly made alegrías, ready to travel!

Mexico Cooks!' alegrías turned out overly crispy and difficult to cut, so instead of battling with the knife, I simply broke them into reasonable-size pieces and packed them in a tightly sealed container to travel the next day.

Were the alegrías a hit? They definitely were! Five of us crunched down almost all of them. We left all but a couple of the remaining pieces with Betty and her daughter, but we had to bring a little bit home. Minimal ingredients, minimal cooking, and maximal enjoyment: what more can you ask for from pre-conquest Mexico! Your family will love them and you can send a big thank you to Fany Gerson at My Sweet Mexico–and to Mexico Cooks!.

If you don't have your copy of the book yet, look over on the left-hand sidebar and just click on the book cover. That click will take you to My Sweet Mexico's Amazon.com page. Grab the book today and make your family a sweet Mexican treat as soon as it's in your kitchen.

And by all means visit our friends at Cocina al Natural. Their website and their videos are marvelous.

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

2 de March de 2019
Ambling Around With Mexico Cooks!, the Second Half of 2018

Celebrating the first of June–with a taco made with a real tortilla: freshly nixtamalize-d native Mexican dried corn ground into damp masa (corn dough), patted or pressed out, and cooked on a comal (griddle) at Tortillería Ichuskata, in Morelia, Michoacán. I had been to a food event in the city and brought a half-kilo home with me–they're so delicious, it didn't even matter what was in the taco–the tortilla was just perfect! If you've never eaten a real tortilla–not from a plastic package, not even from the general run of tortillerías–you haven't enjoyed one of life's greatest pleasures. Anything else just isn't worth it.

In Mexico, our presidential election is held every six years on July 1. Just after casting the ballot, your thumb is stamped to show that you voted. Every election since 2006, I've voted for the candidate who won the presidency this year: Andrés Manuel López Obrador. I'm so thrilled and proud that he won! That's my thumb, hiding my grin!

Pesca del día–catch of the day on July 28–at Restaurante Pasillo de Humo, Mexico City. The robalo (Centropomus mexicanus), cooked perfectly and with a crisp, delicious skin, is served over a heap of freshly cooked vegetables. In this case, there were fresh fava beans, fresh peas, fresh corn, and the tiniest whole fresh carrots. Pasillo de Humo is consistently marvelous, and this fish preparation is no exception.

Mexico Cooks! spent the first two weeks of August leading two back-to-back tours in Oaxaca. One of the must-do markets in Oaxaca is in Tlacolula, south of Oaxaca City, where my early-August group exclaimed over everything they saw, including the gorgeous rambutan displays. The rambutan, an Asian fruit grown extensively in Mexico's southernmost state of Chiapas, is similar to the lychee, but as you can, see the red skin has long red feelers–well, maybe not quite feelers, but don't they look like feelers? Inside the flesh is white, like the lychee, with a similar texture, flavor and a similar stone.

You can find just about anything you need at Mexico's markets, including household goods, fruits and vegetables, and brassieres of uplifting colors.

In Tlacolula this past August, we also saw wheelbarrows full of beautifully ripe, Oaxaca-grown melón (cantaloupe). The deep orange flesh is perfect, slightly tender, running with sweet juices, and ready for your table at any meal of the day. Mexican home and restaurant cooks also make an agua fresca (fresh fruit water) with melón; it's one of my favorites.
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Photo courtesy Mi Mero Mole.

Agua Fresca de Melón
Fresh Cantaloupe Water

1/2 ripe cantaloupe, peeled and with seeds removed
1/2 cup sugar
6 cups water

Cut the peeled cantaloupe into chunks.

Put the chunks of fruit, the sugar, and 2 cups of water in a blender. Blend for 30 seconds. Add another cup of water and blend for an additional 30 seconds.

Pour the blended mixture into a pitcher and add the remaining 3 cups of water. Stir until completely mixed.

The cantaloupe water should be chilled before serving. Just prior to serving, stir the pitcherful again, with a large spoon.

**Note: if you prefer this agua fresca a bit sweeter, add more sugar to taste. You can also replace all of the sugar with an equal amount of Splenda granulated no-calorie sweetener.

Serves 6
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My second August tour group was invited to a private traditional cooks' event, organized just for us by Srta. Petra Cruz González, the president of the Unión de Palmeadoras (Tortilla Makers' Union) in Tlaxiaco, Oaxaca. Tlaxiaco is located high in the Mixteca Alta about 2.5 hours north of the city of Oaxaca. Several of the union members demonstrated how Oaxaca-style tortillas are made, and then invited us to partake of a comida (main meal of the day) that the women had prepared for us. In the photograph, you see a freshly made blue corn tortilla filled with requesón (a spreadable white cheese similar to ricotta), delicious frijoles de la olla (whole beans just out of the cooking pot), a bit of chicharrón (fried pork skin, the light brown square at the top left), and spicy salsa, made in a molcajete (volcanic stone grinding bowl).

Was it good? Yes it was! The home made food, cooked over wood fires, was simple, heart-warming, and exactly what we needed. We ate and drank and chatted with the cocineras traditionales (traditional cooks), enjoying their company as much as we enjoyed their food.

After the tours in Oaxaca, I came home to Mexico City to this new member of the family. When I picked her up mid-August from her rescuer, Pili was a tiny eight weeks old. Today, she's six months old and is fully integrated into the group the boss of the bunch–and certainly MY boss. Neither the three other cats in my household nor I stand a chance against Her Highness.

Above, a quesadilla sin queso (quesadilla without cheese). "With or without cheese" is a perpetual discussion among people who live in Mexico City. One faction says, "A quesadilla doesn't need cheese." The other side says, "It has to have cheese, why else is it called quesadilla?" The one in the photograph, prepared with chicharrón prensado (the pressed-together ends and various leavings in a pot used to fry pig skins) at a Sunday flea market just north of Mexico City's Centro Histórico, has no cheese. Regardless of which side of the cheese/no cheese argument you're on, you'd love to have this for breakfast.

In central highlands of Mexico, September is the middle of the rainy season, when nearly daily rains wet our mountainous oak and pine forests. Beneath the trees, many varieties of wild mushrooms spring up each night, to be harvested in the morning and brought to market. The bounty of the nightly harvests grace both home and restaurant tables; Mexico Cooks! buys setas and oyster mushrooms like those in the photograph, as well as many other wild varieties. Photo courtesy Rafael Mier.

Meet Sra. Georgina Gómez Mejía, who sells wild mushrooms during their season at the Mercado de Jamaica in Mexico City. Depending on what she finds in the forests near her home in the neighboring State of Mexico, she brings lobster mushrooms, oyster mushrooms, hens and chickens mushrooms, chanterelles, and morels, the king of wild mushrooms. In mid-September, I bought two kilos (about 4.5 pounds) of enormous wild mushrooms from her and made enough mushroom soup to eat, to freeze, and to give to friends.

Here, the October setting for a private dinner for 100 people in Morelia, to which I was invited by city government. The dinner, prepared and mounted by Restaurante La Conspiración de 1809, took place in the Palacio Municipal de Morelia in the Centro Histórico of that city. The building dates to the late 18th century and was the perfect location for the event, which included not only a multi-course meal, wines and other drinks, but also a play, presented on the stairway in the photo and throughout the entire room. It was an evening of tremendous excitement and delight, in every respect.

Mid-Fall, we begin to see romeritos (in English, the awful name seepweed) in our Mexico City markets. Romeritos are a leafy herb that looks somewhat like a softer, non-woody version of rosemary. The long, skinny leaves look similar to the thin needles of the rosemary plant, growing like feathers along a central stem. Unlike the stiff stems and needles of rosemary, romeritos are soft and floppy, more like a succulent, with a slightly acidic taste. Generally eaten at Christmastime, they are cooked in mole and accompanied by patties of dried shrimp.

In November I was surprised to see these enormous yaca (jackfruit) in a Mexico City supermarket. The biggest ones in the photo are about 24" long! Usually the fruit is opened and sold in segments, by weight. Inside, the orange-colored flesh is encapsulated into small pieces. It grows on Mexico's coasts. To the right of the yacas is a bin of tunas–in English, they're known as prickly pear cactus fruit.

Making longaniza, a spicy sausage very similar to chorizo, at the Mercado de Jamaica. November 2018.

The first week of December, a young friend in Baltimore and I had a ball with a long-distance bakeoff, each of us preparing the same recipe for blueberry coffee cake, at the same time, but she in Baltimore and I in Mexico City. It was enormously fun to do this! If you have teenage grandchildren in a city far from where you live, I think this would be wonderful to give you something to do together–choose a simple recipe that you would both enjoy, send one another photos of the process as you're doing it, and take the first bite at the same time. I know my friend Bea and I felt that we were doing something together despite the physical distance between us.

Later in December, a visiting friend from Oaxaca and I enjoyed wandering around Mexico City to see some sights:

Sunshine and shadows at the Casa Museo Friday Kahlo, in beautiful Coyoacán.

Stairway at the Palacio de Correos de México (Mexico's main post office), Centro Histórico. The first stone was laid in 1902, the building was finished in 1907, and was almost destroyed in Mexico City's September 1985 earthquake. The building was restored in the 1990s.

Pozole at the Mercado Navideño (Christmas market) at the Mercado Medellín, Colonia Roma.

Finally, an arbolito de navidad (Christmas tree) at the Mercado de Jamaica. Decorated with tiny lights and ornaments, the owner of this market booth also hung the tree with the product he makes and sells: crisp corn t
ostadas! Adorable!

Mexico Cooks! hopes that 2019 brings all of you the best of everything throughout the year. Come along with us as we see more of Mexico, her cultures and her cuisines–see you next Saturday!

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

12 de January de 2019
Deliciosa Sopa de Habas en Tiempo de Frío :: Delicious Fava Bean Soup for Chilly Weather

Fresh fava beans in the pod, at the Mercado de Jamaica, Mexico City, October 29, 2018. You can see how big and bulky these pods are; the beans inside are each about one inch long and half an inch wide. To use the favas, first you take them out of the pods and then you have to peel a tough skin from each individual bean. These cost fourteen pesos a kilo–about 75 cents US for 2.2 pounds.

It seems like just a few weeks ago that Mexico Cooks! was publishing cold-weather recipes, but it's been a year or more! Now's a good time to get a jump on something quick, delicious, and home-made for those who gather around your table for a meal. Mexican fava bean soup is not only wonderfully comforting on a chilly evening, it's also extremely economical and absolutely delicious–and suits the vegan or vegetarian members of your crowd, too. The soup freezes well, if the following recipe makes too much for your group.

Fava beans (scientific name Vicia faba L.), while not native to Mexico, are the cousins of Mexico's native beans and are an honored part of the family. It's rare to know Mexicans who don't have a favorite aunt's recipe for a special dish of them, or one treasured by a neighbor's late wife and passed down by word of mouth to everyone in the family. Fava beans, domesticated in ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome, are ubiquitous throughout the world, including Mexico. Fourteen-thousand-year-old seeds, wild predecessors to domesticated fava beans, were found just a few years ago in the area of Mount Carmel, Israel.

Freshly peeled green fava beans. Fresh favas are used somewhat less than dried, but both are popular in Mexico. Photo courtesy Alibaba.

Here's a Mexican brand of dried fava beans–you can see on the label that the fava is called haba, in Spanish; this bag contains 500 grams, just a bit more than a pound. Dried peeled habas (favas) are what you want for the soup recipe in today's Mexico Cooks! article. You're sure to find a similar brand on your grocer's shelves. You might even find them in bulk at your market.

What to make with dried habas? Middle-eastern hummus, of course, although we usually think of the creamy, olive oil smooth dip as made with garbanzo beans. Hummus made with cooked habas is equally delicious. Chilled salads, golden-fried patties, and dishes composed of pork, lamb, or chicken in sauces with habas are on tables all over Mexico. But more than any other dish, we here in Mexico use habas for soups.

Other than the dried habas, ingredients for the soup are few and simple. Here, from nine o'clock clockwise: fresh garlic, fresh celery, fresh carrots, Roma tomatoes, a wedge of white onion (hiding at the back, at three o'clock), and one of those two fresh serrano chiles. In addition, I added a bay leaf, just a pinch of cumin, and salt to taste. Nothing complicated, nothing fancy–and the results are fantastic. Let's get started!

Sopa de Habas
(Fava Bean Soup)
Serves 4-6

Half kilo (or one pound) dry fava beans
3 finely chopped carrots
2-3 finely chopped Roma tomatoes
2 Tbsp white onion, finely chopped
2 sticks of celery, finely chopped
2 cloves garlic, peeled and minced
1 chile serrano, minced (optional, but really good)
8 Cups chicken or vegetable broth, home-made if possible
2-3 Tbsp lard or vegetable oil
1 bay leaf
Pinch of cumin
Salt to taste
Sprigs of fresh cilantro (optional)

Bring 6-8 cups of water to a boil in a large heavy pot. When the water comes to a boil, add the dry fava beans. Cover with the lid of the pot slightly ajar and allow the beans to simmer for about 2 hours, until they are very well softened.

Once the beans are soft, drain off the water using a colander. Reserve the beans.

Everything is in the pot, cooking to the proper tenderness and thickness. See the bay leaf in the center?

In the bean-cooking pot, put the lard or vegetable oil and bring to a shimmer. Add the minced garlic, chile serrano, and onion and stir over medium fire until they are transparent. Add the celery, tomatoes, and carrots and stir over a medium fire until the celery is slightly transparent and the tomatoes begin to give up their juice. Add the fava beans and sauté for another 5 minutes, making sure the beans are well-mixed into the rest of the vegetables.

Add the chicken or vegetable broth, the bay leaf, and the cumin, cover with the pot lid ajar, and allow to simmer over a medium fire f
or about half an hour. Add salt to taste and continue to cook until it is just the thickness you want.

I needed to mash the beans (in the liquid) until the soup was nearly smooth and was quite thick. Next time I make this soup, I will probably use an immersion blender to get it smoother, although I did like the texture.

Remove the bay leaf and serve hot. Fresh tortillas or American-style cornbread are excellent accompaniments.

Provecho!

When I served the soup, I put a few sprigs of cilantro on the side of the plate for whoever wanted it to stir into the soup.

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

24 de November de 2018
Traditional Food for Day of the Dead :: Calabaza en Tacha (Winter Squash in Brown Sugar Syrup)

This is just a portion of one gigantic calabaza de castilla (squash from Castilla), the winter squash that's used to make calabaza en tacha (squash cooked in syrup). Calabaza en tacha is a dish that's frequently seen on a Día de Muertos ofrenda (Day of the Dead altar).

The portion of squash in my photo (above) is about 18" in diameter; you probably will want to look for a smaller one in a Latin market near you. Right now, I'm seeing these squash in all the markets here in Mexico City, and it's the perfect cold-weather treat for your family. Even though the name of the squash suggests that it comes from Spain, it's Mexican in origin and is truly delicious in this recipe. Below the squash in the photo are beets, and behind the squash are plátanos machos (plantains).

Mari, the woman who at one time spoiled Mexico Cooks! by doing all of my housework, gave me a squash. She brought two home from her rancho (the family farm) out in the country, one for her family and one for me. The 8" diameter squash wasn't very big, as Mexican winter squash go, but it was plenty for me. Mari's first question, after I had happily accepted her gift, was whether or not I knew how to cook it. "Con piloncillo y canela, sí?" (With cones of brown sugar and cinnamon, right?)

The squash Mari gave me, next to a charming kneeling figurine dressed in ropa típica (typical dress) and selling typical green-glazed clay pottery from Michoacán. The figurine is made of cloth and is about 6" high; her wares are miniatures of the real thing.

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

On Sunday, I finally decided it was Cook the Squash Day. Mari was due to arrive early on Monday morning and it had to be done before she scolded me for letting it sit for so long. I chose pots, knives, and gathered the rest of the simple ingredients for a mise en place.

The squash with the first section cut out.

Cutting the squash in sections was the only difficult part of preparing it. The shell of the squash is hard. Hard. HARD. I was careful to keep the huge, sharp, carbon steel knife I was using pointed toward the wall, not toward my body. With the force I needed to cut the squash open, one slip of the knife could have meant instant and deep penetration of my innards. I felt really tough, knowing that I'd been able to cut it open with just a big knife and a few pointed words. (That's shorthand for 'I swore at it till the air turned blue above my counter').

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

Once I had the (few pointed words) squash cut open, I scooped out the seeds and goop–many people just cook those along with the squash flesh–and cut it into sections more or less 4" long by 3" wide. I did not remove the hard shell, nor should you.

Piloncillo (raw brown sugar) cones in two sizes. The large one weighs 210 grams; the small one weighs 35 grams. I use the small ones in the recipe below. You'll also find these at your local Latin market.

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

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

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

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

Squash for breakfast! On Monday morning, Mexico Cooks! served up a bowl of squash with hot milk, along with a slice of pan relleno con chilacayote (bread filled with sweetened chilacayote squash paste) for Mari. Her first question was,"How did you get that squash cut open?" Mari laughed when I told her about my struggle, and then told me that her husband had cut their squash apart with a machete. Mari thought my squash came out almost–almost–as good as hers.

In the evening, a friend came over to have some of the squash for a late supper. HER first question was, of course, "How did you get that squash cut open?" After I told her, she told me that her mother takes a squash like mine up to the roof of their house and throws it down onto the patio to break it apart!

Calabaza en Tacha estilo Mexico Cooks!

Ingredients
One medium-size hard shell winter squash (about 8" high)
6 cups water
14 small or 2 large cones of dark piloncillo (Mexico's raw brown sugar)
2 cups granulated sugar
4 Mexican cinnamon sticks about 2.5" long
1 Tbsp anise seed
1 tsp cloves

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

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

Add the squash pieces to the thickened syrup and simmer until the squash is soft and takes on a deep brown color. Cool for 15 minutes or so before serving. Re-heat for desayuno (breakfast) or cena (supper). Serve with hot or cold milk poured over it.

Makes about 16 servings.

¡Provecho!

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

10 de November de 2018
Mexico’s Michelada :: Based on Beer, Flavored to Perfection, and a Sure Cure for your Hangover–Have One for Breakfast
A perfect michelada, rimmed with Tajín and topped with crunchy fresh cucumber. Spicy, salty, beery, umami-rich, and completely refreshing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Salud! (To your health!)

Looking for a tailored-to-your-interests specialized tour in Mexico? Click here: Tours.
13 de October de 2018
A Classic on the Table in Michoacán :: Sopa Tarasca

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sopa Tarasca Don Rafael García

Ingredients

For the roux:
50 grams all-purpose flour
100 grams unsalted butter

For the soup:
500 milligrams tomato purée
4 cups cooked peruano beans–or other beans, if you can't get peruanos. Bayos would be excellent, and you can buy them already cooked, if you like.
2 tortillas
5 corn tortillas, cut into very thin strips and fried until crisp
100 grams chile ancho, cut into thin strips and fried until just crisp. Be very careful not to burn the chiles, they fry quickly and burn in the blink of an eye.
250 grams Mexican table cream
100 grams quesillo (Oaxaca cheese), shredded
1 clove garlic
1 small white onion
10 cups rich chicken stock
Worcestershire sauce to taste
Salt and pepper to taste
1 sprig fresh thyme
1 sprig fresh marjoram or oregano
2 bay leaves

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

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

Pour all blended ingredients into a large heavy pot. Allow to simmer for 15 minutes. At the end of that time, if the soup seems too thick, add chicken broth. If it seems too thin, simmer until it reduces a little.

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

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

Serves 10.

Provecho!

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22 de September de 2018
Frijoles Refritos Estilo Mexico Cooks! :: Refried Beans, Mexico Cooks! Style

Some of the many varieties of beans for sale at the daily indigenous market in San Cristóbal de las Casas, Chiapas. The metal cup measures one kilo (2.2 pounds).

The Spanish word frijol is a bastardization of ancient Spanish frisol, which itself is a rendering of the Catalán word fesol–which comes from the Latin scientific name–are you still with me?–phaseolus vulgaris. Is that more than you wanted to know about bean nomenclature?

Here's yet another little bit of Mexican bean esoterica: in Mexico, when you go to the store or the tianguis (street market) to buy beans, you are buying frijol. When you prepare the frijol at home, the cooked beans become frijoles. That's right: raw dried beans in any quantity: frijol. Cooked beans, frijoles. If you ask a tianguis vendor for a kilo of frijoles, he could rightfully send you to a restaurant to make your purchase.

The simple utensils you need to cook dried beans: an olla de barro (clay pot) and a strainer. You can also use a heavy metal pot, or a pressure cooker, but the clay pot adds special flavor to the cooked beans. These pale yellow, long-oval beans are frijol peruano (Peruvian beans, or phaseolus vulgaris), the most commonly used bean in the Central Highlands of Mexico. A clay bean pot has been fired at a temperature substantially higher than the heat of your stove burner, so there's no need to worry about it breaking when you use it to cook.

Mexico Cooks! loves beans. In our kitchen, we prepare about a pound of dried beans at a time. After cooking, this is enough frijoles de la olla (cooked-in-the-pot beans) to serve, freshly cooked, for a meal or two, with plenty left over to freeze. We freeze the rest of the cooked beans in five or six two-portion size plastic sandwich bags. Cooked beans and their pot liquor freeze very well.

I found this little batch of rocks, discolored or very wrinkled beans, and other garbage in the half-kilo of frijol that I cooked yesterday.

Beans are very easy to cook. First, pick carefully through your beans. Even if you buy bulk beans or commercially packaged dry beans at a modern supermarket, be certain to pick through them and discard any beans that look badly broken, discolored, or wizened, as well as any small rocks. You may also find pieces of straw, pieces of paper, and other detritus in any purchase of beans. Put the cleaned beans in a strainer and wash well under running water.

To soak, or not to soak? Some folks recommend soaking beans for up to 24 hours to shorten their cooking time, but Mexico Cooks! has tried both soaking and not soaking and has noticed that the cooking time is about the same either way. We never soak. You try it both ways, too, and report back with your findings.

Epazote (wormweed) grown in a maceta (flower pot) on my terrace. Just before turning on the fire to cook the beans, Mexico Cooks! adds two sprigs of epazote, just about this size, to the pot of beans and water. The strong, resinous odor of the herb absorbs almost entirely into the beans, giving them a mild flavor punch and, some say, diminishing flatulence.

My olla de barrlo (clay bean pot) holds about a half kilo of frijol plus enough water to cook them. You can see the light glinting off the water line, just below the top part of the handle. If you don't have an olla de barro, a heavy metal soup pot will do almost as well. The clay does impart a subtle, earthy flavor to beans as they cook.

Over a high flame, bring the pot of beans to a full, rolling boil. Turn the flame to a medium simmer and cover the pot. Allow the beans to cook for about an hour. At the end of an hour, check the water level. If you need to add more water, be sure that it is boiling before you pour it into the bean pot; adding cold water lowers the cooking temperature and can cause the beans to toughen. Continue to cook the beans at a medium simmer until, when you bite into one, it is soft and creamy. The pot liquor will thicken slightly.

Now's the time to salt your beans–after cooking, not before and not during. We use Espuma del Mar (Mexican sea salt from the state of Colima) for its wonderful sweetly salty flavor, but any salt will do. Add a little less salt than you think is correct–you can always add more later, and you don't want to oversalt your beans.

If you live in the United States or Canada, you'll want to order the fabulous heritage dried beans sold by Rancho Gordo. Rancho Gordo's owner, my friend Steve Sando, has nearly single-handedly brought delicious old-style beans to new popularity in home and restaurant kitchens. If you've tasted ordinary beans and said, "So what?", try Rancho Gordo beans for a huge WOW! of an eye opener.

Mexico Cooks! likes frijoles de la olla (freshly cooked beans, straight from the pot) with a big spoonful of salsa fresca (chopped tomato, minced onion, minced chile serrano, salt, and roughly chopped cilantro). Sometimes we steam white rice, fill a bowl with it, add frijoles de la olla and salsa fresca, and call it comida (main meal of the day).

Chiles serranos and manteca (lard)for frijoles refritos estilo Mexico Cooks!.

For breakfast, Mexico Cooks! prepares frijoles refritos (refried beans). Served with scrambled eggs, some sliced avocado, and a stack of hot tortillas, they're a great way to start the morning. A dear friend from Michoacán taught me her way of preparing refried beans and I have never changed it; people who say they don't care for refried beans eat a bite, finish their portion, and ask for seconds. They're that good.

Here's some more bean trivia: frijoles refritos doesn't really mean 'refried' beans. Mexican Spanish often uses the prefix 're-' to describe something exceptional. 'Rebueno' means 'really, really good'. 'Refrito' means–you guessed it–well-fried.

Melt about a tablespoon of manteca (lard) in an 8" frying pan. Split the chiles from the tip almost to the stem end. Fry the chiles until they are blistered and dark brown, almost blackened. To prevent a million splatters, allow to cool a bit before you add the beans to the pan.

Frijoles Refritos Estilo Mexico Cooks! (Refried Beans, Mexico Cooks! Style)
Serves six as a side dish

3 cups recently-cooked frijoles peruanos
1 or 2 chiles serrano, depending on your heat tolerance
1 or 2 Tbsp lard or vegetable oil—preferably lard and definitely NOT olive oil
Bean cooking liquid
Sea salt to taste

Melt the lard in an 8-inch skillet. Split the chile(s) from the tip almost to the stem end and add to the melted lard. Sauté over a medium flame until the chile is dark brown, almost black.

Lower the flame and add the beans and a little bean liquid. When the beans begin to simmer, mash them and the chile with a potato or bean masher until they are smooth. Add more liquid if necessary to give the beans the consistency you prefer. Add sea salt to taste and stir well.

Leave the melted lard and the chiles in the frying pan and add the beans and some pot liquor. Bring to a simmer over low heat. When the beans are hot, start mashing them with a potato or bean masher. Mash the chiles, too.

These beans are about half mashed.

Mexico Cooks! prefers that frijoles refritos have a little texture. These are just right for us, but you might prefer yours perfectly smooth. If you like them smoother, keep mashing! Either way, the beans should be thickly liquid. If the consistency is too thick, add more pot liquor. If the beans are too thin, add a few more whole beans to mash.

For a wonderful breakfast or supper treat, try making molletes estilo Mexico Cooks!. This is real Mexican home cooking; Mexico Cooks! has never seen this style molletes served in a restaurant. A wonderful Michoacán cook taught me how to prepare this easy meal.

Start with fresh pan bolillo (individual-size loaf of dense white bread), split in half lengthwise. Butter the cut bolillo halves and grill them on a comal (griddle) or hot skillet till they're golden brown. If you aren't able to buy bolillos where you live, use a dense French-style bread instead.

Spread each half bolillo with a thick coat–two tablespoons or more–of frijoles refritos.

Top the beans with a freshly fried egg and your favorite bottled or home-made salsa.

Salsa cruda (also known as pico de gallo) is the home-made salsa that I prefer with molletes. Use finely diced perfectly ripe tomatoes, just a bit of minced white onion, as much minced chile serrano as you prefer, a lot of coarsely chopped cilantro, and salt to taste: voilà! Photo courtesy A Bit of Saffron.

Breakfast, estilo Mexico Cooks!, will keep you going strong till time for comida. You're going to love these beans!

¡Provecho!

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

8 de September de 2018