Category: Religion

The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe, December 12 :: El Día de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, 12 de diciembre

The actual tilma (cape-like garment made of woven maguey cactus fiber) worn by San Juan Diego when he first saw Our Lady of Guadalupe, in December 1531. The framed tilma hangs over the main altar at the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, Mexico City.

The annual feast of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe (Our Lady of Guadalupe) falls on December 12. Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe is Mexico's patron saint, and her image adorns churches and altars, house facades and interiors, taxis, private cars, and buses, bull rings and gambling dens, restaurants and houses of ill repute. The national shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe, la Basílica, is a place of extraordinary vitality and celebration. On major festival days such as the anniversary of the apparition on December 12th, the atmosphere of devotion created by the many hundreds of thousands of pilgrims is truly electrifying.

Statues of Our Lady of Guadalupe for sale at one of the many, many souvenir booths outside the Basílica.

The enormous Basílica of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in Mexico City is the most visited pilgrimage site in the Western Hemisphere. Its location, on the hill of Tepeyac, was a place of great sanctity long before the arrival of Christianity in the New World. In pre-Hispanic times, Tepeyac was crowned with a temple dedicated to an earth and fertility goddess called Tonantzin, the Mother of the Gods and our mother. Tonantzin was a virgin goddess associated with the moon, as is Our Lady of Guadalupe who usurped Tonantzin's shrine.

Our Lady of Guadalupe tattoo.

Read the full story of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe here.

Our Lady of Guadalupe with flashing lights, surrounded by fresh roasted peanuts. Cañafest, Morelia, Michoacán. November 2009.

Plastic holy water bottles in her image and in a rainbow of colors, for sale at the booths just outside the Basílica.

Art casket, Our Lady of Guadalupe and the Basílica.

Primitive folk art depiction of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

Statue in resin of Our Lady of Guadalupe and Saint John Paul II, who was devoted to her. This image is reproduced as calendars, statues of all sizes, and pictures to hang on the wall. In Mexico, it's still one of the most popular images of 'the real Pope–Mexico's pope'.

Portrait of Monseñor Diego Monroy, former rector of the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe and a native of the state of Michoacán. The painting is part of Monseñor Monroy's private collection; it was my privilege to visit him in his home and take this photo–he was standing just behind me!

In 1810, Padre Miguel Hidalgo carried this banner to lead the struggle for Mexico's independence from Spain.

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11 de December de 2021
Remember Me As You Pass By :: Noche de Muertos, Michoacán, 2013

Mexico Cooks!' full body bone scan, 2009.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Waiting through the night.

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

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

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

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

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

Next year, come with me.

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

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

The road to Concepción de Buenos Aires.

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

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

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

La Inmaculada

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

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

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

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

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

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

Detail above the altar of La Inmaculada.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Consuelo Álvarez Martínez, padre."

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

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

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

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

He said, "Try it."

She did. "A little, padre."

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

"Ay padre, still a little."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

El Señor Cura Manuel Cárdenas Contreras

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Blue agave–tequila–fields near Concepción de Buenos Aires

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

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

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

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

2 de October de 2021
Sanctuary of Jesus the Nazarene (Santuario de Jesús el Nazareno), Atotonilco, Guanajuato

The facade of the mid-18th Century Jesuit church in Atotonilco is simple. The interior of the church is astonishing. Built between 1740 and 1776, the Santuario is still visited and revered by religious pilgrims as well as by some visitors. Just a few kilometers from San Miguel de Allende, it's an easy day trip to stop in Atotonilco to view this church and then go to Dolores Hidalgo for more Mexican Independence history (and for the incredible range of ice cream flavors you find there!).

Several years ago, while Mexico Cooks! visited San Miguel de Allende, we took advantage of some free time to go to Atotonilco to visit the Santuario de Jesús el Nazareno (Sanctuary of Jesus the Nazarene), one of the best-kept secrets of central Mexico. In 1996, the church was added to the World Monuments Fund, and in July of 2008, UNESCO named the Santuario to its list of World Heritage sites.

The main altar in the Calvary Chapel, the largest in the church. Religious figures important to Christ's Passion give visual impact to the meditations of the faithful. A reliquary rests on the red cloth.

The Santuario is a mixture of European Baroque and New World Mexican decoration. It consists of a large church, and several smaller chapels, all decorated with oil paintings by Rodríguez Juárez and mural paintings by Miguel Antonio Martínez de Pocasangre. Inspired by the doctrine of St. Ignacio de Loyola, the founder of the Companía de Jesús (the Company of Jesus, otherwise known as the Jesuits), the glowing paintings and murals in the church served in the evangelization of Nueva España, where the indigenous spoke their own languages but could neither read nor write, and where the Spanish conquistadores knew little if any of the multiple languages they heard spoken in the new land.

St. John the Baptist pours baptismal waters over Jesus as a dove, symbol of the Holy Spirit, hovers above them. In the 18th Century, the Santuario also served as a retreat house for the Jesuits. Pilgrims still make week-long retreats at this church, praying in a chapel reserved just for their needs.

Judas Iscariot betrays Jesus with a kiss. Note the demon monkey on Judas's back. Every inch of the Santuario walls is covered with paintings of the many details, Biblical and apocryphal, of Jesus's life. Nearly all (or perhaps all–stories vary) of the murals were painted by Miguel Antonio Martínez de Pocasangre, a native of the area. He worked for thirty years painting the murals.

St. Cristopher carries the infant Jesus on his shoulder. Captain Ignacio Allende, for whom San Miguel de Allende is named, married María de la Luz Agustina y Fuentes in this church. It was here, on September 16, 1810, that Padre Miguel Hidalgo took up the standard of Our Lady of Guadalupe and bore it into battle at the beginning of the Mexican Revolution.

This side chapel, one of several at Atotonilco, is dedicated to Nuestra Señora del Rosario (Our Lady of the Rosary). The mirrors that surround the figure of Our Lady are painted with oils, probably by Rodríguez Juárez.

Detail of the chapel window.

Detail of the Marian litany in the Lady Chapel.

The Santuario has been in the process of restoration since 1997. Scaffolding still fills the church but detracts very little from the amazing paintings.

Off the beaten tourist track, the Santuario de Jesús el Nazareno will fill your eyes and heart with wonder. Let's plan a visit to see it together.

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

26 de June de 2021
Mexico Cooks! Ignores Her Mother :: La Nueva Viga, the Second Largest Fish Market in the World

Mexico Cooks!' mother, circa 1980. She tried her best to give me good advice, but I was often loathe to listen.

In November 1969, she suggested that the March on Washington, against the war in Vietnam, might be overcrowded. I went anyway, and it was packed–but the experience was entirely worth being smooshed like a sardine in a can.

Over the course of several years, she warned me about wanting to do battle with the New Year's Eve crowds in New York City's Times Square. Although the idea of squeezing in still piques my interest, I haven't been there yet.

My mother didn't know about Mexico City's wholesale fish market, La Nueva Viga, but had she known, she would have insisted that Viernes Santo (Good Friday) was not the day to go. This photo, taken on Good Friday 2017, barely does justice to the incredibly jammed aisles at La Nueva Viga, Latin America's largest fish market and the second largest fish market in the world. Only the Tsukiji fish market in Tokyo, Japan, surpasses the volume of fish and seafood sold annually at La Nueva Viga. The Tsukiji market averages 660,000 tons of fish and seafood in yearly sales; La Nueva Viga racks up around 550,000 tons. I think 549,000 tons must sell just on Good Friday, the last Lenten day of abstinence from meat. See that short-ish person in red in the middle of it all? That's me, squished.

The main entrance at La Nueva Viga is on Prolongación Eje 6 Sur, Colonia San José Aculco, Iztapalapa. The facility extends over nearly 23 acres (9.2 hectares), with 202 wholesale warehouses, 55 retail warehouses and 165 sellers in total. On any given ordinary day, the market receives between 20,000 to 25,000 customers, mostly restaurant owners in Mexico City and the areas immediately around it. On Good Friday, the clientele is mainly retail: home cooks looking for bargain fish and seafood for the Friday before Easter. Both fish and good prices abound and it seems like half the city is there to buy–what a challenge!

On Good Friday 2017, friends Rondi Frankel, Magdalena Mosig, and I made the trek to La Viga. Rondi drove and Magdalena acted as our guide; she at one time owned a restaurant and always bought fish and seafood at the market. It was a great treat–not to mention an enormous help!–to have her show us the ropes. From my street, south of Mexico City's Centro Histórico, the trip to La Viga took about 45 minutes. Because it was Good Friday, there was no traffic at all until we were close to the market–and then–yikes! Bumper to bumper, several lanes of near-parking lot, hundreds of street vendors of everything from cold bottled water to kites, partial sleeves (wrist to above the elbow) to wear while driving so your arm doesn't get sunburned, thin, crisp, sweet fried morelianas (a kind of cookie), chewing gum, single cigarettes, bags of ready-to-eat mango with chile, limón, and salt, soft drinks, straw hats–anything at all that a person might want.

The massive parking lots for La Viga were completely filled, so we drove a couple of blocks past the fish market and found a private lot. Once we were finally at the market, we sloshed through salty puddles, thousands of fish scales flying through the air, and the ear-jangling clang of huge knives hitting long fish-cleaning tables. Then up a few stairs and we were smack in the middle of the jostling, shoving crowds, pushing between rows of vendor stalls.

Extra-jumbo shrimp! That's Rondi's normal-size adult hand, for comparison. Each shrimp measured approximately 8" long with the head on. The price? $280 pesos (approximately $15 USD) per kilo–or $8.00 USD per pound. If I had to guess, I'd say these huge shrimp are about 4 or 5 to the pound.

Beautiful, fresh, and enormous huachinango (red snapper) were everywhere. These measured about two feet long–great big ones!–and looked fresh as the morning. According to the sign, they were caught in the waters off the state of Veracruz, on the southeastern Gulf coast of Mexico. The darker fish to the left are mojarra (sea bream, a salt-water fish related to the perch), delicious but very bony.

Another vendor displayed his mojarra wit
h the gill flap raised. It's easy to see by the condition of the gill that the fish is wonderfully fresh. This is exactly how a gill should look when you're buying: firm and pink.

Many vendors had huachinango for sale; these were offered at a booth farther down the aisle from the first photo of huachinango. You can tell by the condition of the eye that this lovely fish was freshly caught. The eye is shiny, not sunken into the head, and full of light. My only hesitation in buying a fish was the length of time that I would be carrying it around in a bag prior to getting it home and into the refrigerator: too long in the very warm Mexico City springtime weather.

The smallest of these almeja gallo (rooster clams, at the rear) carried a sign reading, "For soup". Their price was $20 pesos (about $1.40 USD) per kilo. As the sizes increased, the prices increased. The most expensive were the ones on the right, at 35 pesos the kilo.

Look at this incredible tower of live blue crabs, tied up with reeds! Mexico Cooks! has always seen blue crabs in retail markets, always quite dead, so it was wonderful to discover that they actually arrive at La Viga still alive and kicking.

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j-bSv1XADag&w=420&h=315]
Proof positive! Watch these babies wiggle! The first thing that crossed my mind to prepare was a big platter of Chinese blue crabs in black bean sauce.

Fresh red octopus, piled high. $245 pesos the kilo.

Spanish mackerel.

These are langostinos–where you live, they may be known as crayfish (although they are a completely different species).

Oysters: piled-up huge costales (in this case, open-weave polypropylene sacks) of oysters. Oysters are sold by the costal, or shucked in their liquid in plastic bags as long as your arm, and also in smaller containers for home consumption. Some oysters come from the southeastern Mexican states of Tabasco and Campeche; others come from the Pacific Coast states of Baja California and Sinaloa. Mexico is the fourth-largest producer of oysters in Latin America. These particular oysters were for sale at $150 pesos the sack. "Isn't that about $8.00 USD?" Why yes, it is.

Oysters, ready to eat. Served with fresh Mexican-grown limones (Key limes), a dozen cost 100 pesos at this sit-down restaurant in La Viga.

What would Mexican seafood be without a bottled table salsa to season it–along with limón and maybe a wee pinch of salt? What we see here is a small selection of the hundreds of salsas from which to choose.

And truly, it wouldn't be right to serve seafood without a splash of home-made salsa bruja: witches' sauce! I keep mine on my counter and top it off with more vinegar as needed. The salsa is a mixture of vinegar with onion, garlic, carrot strips, bay leaf, rosemary, split-open chile (I use serrano), oregano, a couple of cloves, salt, and pepper. Stuff all the vegetables and herbs into an empty wine bottle, fill with vinegar, cork, and allow to sit for several days. Voilà, salsa bruja!

The next time I go to La Nueva Viga, I will abide by what my mother surely would have advised: go on a day when half of Mexico City isn't there! You come, too–we'll have a marvelous time!

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6 de March de 2021
Meatless Mexican Meals for Lent :: Comida Sin Carne Durante la Cuaresma

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

Tortitas de papa (potato croquettes, left) and frijoles negros (black beans, right) from the state of Chiapas in far-southern Mexico are ideal for a Lenten meal.

Roman 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.

Lent began this year on February 18, Ash Wednesday. 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, a slightly acidic green vegetable, is in season at this time of year. Although it looks a little like rosemary, it has the texture of a succulent and its taste is relatively sour, more like verdolagas (purslane).

Beautiful fresh romeritos at a market in Morelia, Michoacán.

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 grilled and 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.

Caldo de habas secas (dry fava bean soup), delicious and thick even though meatless, warms you up from the inside as if your days are still frigid at the beginning of Lent. Easter Sunday marks the end of Lent; this year, Easter falls on April 4.

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 in Morelia in December 2008. 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.

At left, Mexican canela (long cinnamon sticks). At right, dark raisins. You'll need both of these for preparing capirotada.

Two different sizes of cones of piloncillo (raw brown sugar). For making capirotada, you'll want the bigger cones.

Pan bolillo (dense white bread), Tangancícuaro, Michoacán. Photo courtesy Silvia Sánchez Villegas.

CAPIROTADA (Mexican Bread Pudding for Lent)
Ingredients
*4 fresh bollilos, in 1" thick slices–after you slice the bread, dry it in a slow oven
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, two uses
*3 cones of 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.

Spread the dried bolillo slices 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! Photo courtesy Heraldo México.

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

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27 de February de 2021
El Niño Dios, the Christ Child on the Feast of La Candelaria: Candlemas Day in Mexico

Much of this article was originally published in very early February 2016. Due to COVID-19, we are currently unable to visit markets and other venues as we would like–here in Morelia, Michoacán, as well as in most of Mexico, we are prohibited from making other than essential trips to stores other than for food shopping, buying medicines/doctors' appointments, and taking care of other absolutely necessary business. This article and its accompanying photographs have been enormously popular and I thought you would like to re-visit them. Stay well.

Niños Dios: one Christ Child, many colors: ideal for Mexico's range of skin tones. The sizes range from that of a child approximately two years old (at the top) to tiny infants measuring just three to four inches long. Mercado Medellín, Colonia Roma, Mexico City, December 2013.

For about a month prior to Christmas each year, the Niño Dios (baby Jesus) is for sale everywhere in Mexico. Mexico Cooks! took this photograph in 2013 at the annual tianguis navideño (Christmas market) in front of the Mercado Medellín, Colonia Roma, Mexico City. These Niños Dios range in size from just a few inches long to nearly the size of a two-year-old child. They're sold wrapped in only a molded-on diaper.

When does the Christmas season end in your family? When I was a child, my parents packed the Christmas decorations away on January 1, New Year's Day. Today, I like to enjoy the nacimientos (manger scenes), the Christmas lights, and the tree until the seventh or eighth of January, right after the Día de los Reyes Magos (the Feast of the Three Kings). Some people think that date is scandalously late. Other people, particularly my many Mexican friends, think that date is scandalously early. Christmas in Mexico isn't over until February 2, el Día de la Candelaria (Candlemas Day), also known as the Feast of the Presentation.

The Holy Family, a shepherd and some of his goats, Our Lady of Guadalupe, an angel, a little French santon cat from Provence, and some indigenous people from a museum diorama form a small portion of Mexico Cooks!' nacimiento. Click on the photo to get a better look. Note that the Virgin Mary is breast feeding the infant Jesus while St. Joseph watches over them.

Although Mexico's 21st century Christmas celebration often includes Santa Claus and a Christmas tree, the main focus of a home-style Christmas continues to be the nacimiento and the Christian Christmas story. A family's nacimiento may well contain hundreds–even thousands–of figures, but all nacimientos have as their heart and soul the Holy Family (the Virgin Mary, St. Joseph, and the baby Jesus). This centerpiece of the nacimiento is known as el Misterio (the Mystery). The nacimiento is set up early–in 2013, mine was out at the very beginning of December–but the Niño Dios does not make his appearance until the night of December 24, when he is sung to and placed in the manger.

Niños Dios at Mexico City's Mercado de la Merced. The figures are dressed as hundreds of different saints and representations of holy people and ideas. The figures are for sale, but most people are only shopping for new clothes for their baby Jesus. All photos copyright Mexico Cooks! except as noted.

Between December 24, when he is tenderly rocked to sleep and laid in the manger, and February 2, the Niño Dios rests happily in the bosom of his Holy Family. As living members of his family, we are charged with his care. As February approaches, a certain excitement begins to bubble to the surface. The Niño Dios needs new clothing! How shall we dress him this year?

One of the oldest traditions is to dress the Niño Dios in hand-crocheted garments. Photo courtesy Manos Mexicanos.

According to New Testament teaching, the Virgin Mary and St. Joseph took the baby Jesus to the synagogue 40 days after his birth to introduce him in the temple–hence February 2 is also known as the Feast of the Presentation. What happy, proud mother would wrap her newborn in just any old thing to take him to church for the first time? I suspect that this brand new holy child was dressed as much to the nines as his parents could afford.

Veladoras (candles in their holders), San Francisco Pichátaro, Michoacán.

The February 2 feast day is also known as La Candelaria, due to the primarily European tradition of blessing new candles for the church and for the home on that date. St. Anselm (1033-1109), Archbishop of Canterbury, speaking about the mystery of the Feast of the Presentation, invites us to consider three aspects of the blessed candles. He says, “The wax of the candles signifies the virginal flesh of the Divine Infant, the wick figures His soul, and the flame His divinity.”

The Niño Dios dressed as San Juan Diego, the indigenous man who brought Our Lady of Guadalupe to the Roman Catholic Church. Juan Diego was canonized by now-Saint John Paul II on July 31, 2002. His feast day is December 9, in commemoration of the date he is traditionally said to have first seen and talked with Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.

Every February 2, churches are packed with men, women, and families carrying their Niños Dios to church in his new clothes, ready to be blessed, lulled to sleep with a sweet lullaby, and tucked gently away till next year.

The Niño Dios as el Santo Niño Doctor de los Enfermos (the Holy Child, doctor of the sick). He has his stethoscope, his uniform, and his doctor's bag. This traditionally dressed baby Jesus has origins in mid-20th century in the city of Puebla.

Every year new and different clothing for the Niño Dios comes to market. In 2011, the latest fashions were those of the Archangels–in this case, the Archangel Gabriel.

The Niño Dios dressed as Peruvian San Martín de Porres, the patron saint of racially mixed people and all those seeking interracial harmony. He is always portrayed holding a broom.

Niño Dios de la Eucaristía (Holy Child of the Eucharist).

Niño Dios dressed as San Benito, the founder of the Benedictine Order.

Niño Dios dressed as a Chinelo (costumed dancer from the state of Morelos).

Niño Dios de la Abundancia (Holy Child of Abundance).

The ceremony of removing the baby Jesus from the nacimiento is called the levantamiento (lifting up). In a family ceremony, the Niño Dios is raised from his manger, gently dusted off, and dressed in his new finery. Some families sing:

QUIERES QUE TE QUITE MI BIEN DE LAS PAJAS, (Do you want me to brush off all the straw, my beloved)
QUIERES QUE TE ADOREN TODOS LOS PASTORES, (Do you want all the shepherds to adore you?)
QUIERES QUE TE COJA EN MIS BRAZOS Y CANTE (Do you want me to hold you in my arms and sing)
GLORIA A DIOS EN LAS ALTURAS. (Glory to God on high).

One of the most popular 'looks' for the Niño Dios in Mexico City is that of San Judas Tadeo, the patron saint of impossible causes. He is always dressed in green, white, and gold and has a flame coming from his head.

Mexico Cooks!' very own Niño Dios. He measures just 7" from the top of his head to his wee toes. His new finery is very elegant.

Several years ago, I photographed this Niño Dios on his wee throne, seated in his nicho in a Pemex station, near Tehuantepec, Oaxaca, Mexico. Surely someone at the gasoline station made his Pemex uniform especially for him!

[youtube=://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h4rcQDmyffo&w=420&h=236]
This lovely video from Carapan, Michoacán shows both the gravity and the joy (and the confetti!) with which a Niño Dios is carried to the parish church.

Carefully, carefully carry the Niño Dios to the parish church, where the priest will bless him and his new clothing, along with you and your family. After Mass, take the baby Jesus home and put him safely to rest till next year's Christmas season. Sweet dreams of his next outfit will fill your own head as you sleep that night.

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30 de January de 2021
The Feast of the Three Kings on January 6 :: Rosca and Reyes and the Journey to La Candelaria

A gently non-traditional and just-the-right-size rosca de reyes (Three Kings Bread), a gift to us from chef Lucero Soto and the staff at Lu: Cocina michoacana. Tradición e innovación here in Morelia. The delicately flavored, rich bread was a welcome treat on the night of January 6! Usually it's served with Mexican-style hot chocolate.

The Día de los Reyes Magos (the Feast of the Three Kings) falls on January 6 each year. You might know the Christian feast day as Epiphany or as Little Christmas. The festivities celebrate the arrival of the Three Kings at Bethlehem to visit the newborn Baby Jesus. In some cultures, children receive gifts not on Christmas, but on the Feast of the Three Kings–and the Kings are the gift-givers, commemorating the gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh that they presented to the Baby Jesus. Many, many children in Mexico still receive special gifts of toys from the Reyes (Kings) on January 6

Typically, Mexican families celebrate the festival with a rosca de reyes (Three Kings' Bread). The size of the family's rosca varies according to the size of the family, but everybody gets a slice, from the littlest toddler to great-grandpa. Accompanied by a cup of chocolate caliente (hot chocolate) or an atole (a corn masa (dough) thickened, hot and often fruit-flavored drink), it's a great winter treat.

A friend who lives and works in the northern state of Tamaulipas recently wrote a bit about the significance of the rosca. He wrote, "The rosca de reyes represents a crown; the colorful fruits simulate the jewels which covered the crowns of the Holy Kings. The Kings themselves signify peace, love, and happiness. The Niño Dios hidden in the rosca reminds us of the moment when Saint Joseph and the Virgin Mary hid the Baby Jesus in order to save him from King Herod, who wanted to kill him. The three gifts that the Kings gave to the Niño Dios represent the Kings (gold), God (frankincense), and man (myrrh).

"In Mexico, we consider that an oval or ring shape represents the movement of the sun and that the Niño Dios represents the Child Jesus in his apparition as the Sun God. Others mention that the circular or oval form of the Rosca de Reyes, which has no beginning and no end, is a representation of heaven–which of course is the home of the Niño Dios."

On January 6, 2009, Paty Mora de Vallejo, wife of Morelia's then-mayor Fausto Vallejo, served a slice of the enormous rosca de reyes monumental moreliana, prepared jointly by bakeries from everywhere in the city.

In many places in Mexico (including Morelia, Michoacán, where I live), bakers prepare an annual monumental rosca for the whole city to share. The rosca pictured above contains nearly 3000 pounds of flour, 1500 pounds of margerine, 10,500 eggs, 150 liters of milk, 35 pounds of yeast, 35 pounds of salt, 225 pounds of butter, 2000 pounds of dried fruits, and 90 pounds of orange peel. The completed cake, if stretched out straight, measures two kilometers in length! Baked in sections, the gigantic rosca is the collaborative effort of ten bakeries in the city. The city government as well as grocery wholesalers join together to see to it that the tradition of the rosca continues to be a vibrant custom. Unfortunately, this traditional annual event was canceled this year due to the pandemic.

The plastic niño (baby) baked into our rosca measured less than 2" tall. The figures used to be made of porcelain, but now they are generally made of plastic. See the tooth mark on the head? Mexico Cooks! is the culprit. Every rosca de reyes baked in Mexico contains at least one niño; larger roscas can hold two, three, or more. Morelia's giant rosca normally contains 10,000 of these tiny figures.

Tradition demands that the person who finds the niño in his or her slice of rosca is required to give a party on February 2, el Día de La Candelaria (Candlemas Day). The party for La Candelaria calls for tamales, more tamales, and their traditional companion, a rich atole flavored with vanilla, cinnamon, or chocolate. Several years ago, an old friend, in the throes of a family economic emergency, was a guest at his relatives' Three Kings party. He bit into the niño buried in his slice of rosca. Embarrassed that he couldn't shoulder the expense of the following month's Candelaria party, he gulped–literally–and swallowed the niño.

El Día de La Candelaria celebrates the presentation of Jesus in the Jewish temple, forty days after his birth. The traditions of La Candelaria encompass religious rituals of ancient Jews, of pre-hispanic rites indigenous to Mexico, of the Christian evangelization brought to Mexico by the Spanish, and of modern-day Catholicism.

In Mexico, you'll find a Niño Dios of any size for your home nacimiento (Nativity scene). Traditionally, the Niño Dios is passed down, along with his wardrobe of special clothing, from generation to generation in a single family.

The presentation of the child Jesus to the church is enormously important in Mexican Catholic life. February 2 marks the official end of the Christmas season, the day to put away the last of the holiday decorations. On February 2, the figure of Jesus is gently lifted from the home nacimiento (manger scene, or creche), dressed in new clothing, carried to the church, where he receives blessings and prayers. He is then carried home and rocked to sleep with tender lullabies, and carefully put away until the following year.

Each family dresses its Niño Dios according to its personal beliefs and traditions. Some figures are dressed in clothing representing a Catholic saint particularly venerated in a family; others are dressed in the clothing typically worn by the patron saints of different Mexican states. Some favorites are the Santo Niño de Atocha, venerated especially in Zacatecas; the Niño de Salud (Michoacán), the Santo Niño Doctor (Puebla), and, in Xochimilco (suburban Mexico City), the Niñopa (alternately spelled Niñopan or Niño-Pa).

This Xochimilco arch and the highly decorated street welcome the much-loved Niñopan figure.

The veneration of Xochimilco's beloved Niñopan follows centuries-old traditions. The figure has a different mayordomo every year; the mayordomo is the person in whose house the baby sleeps every night. Although the Niñopan (his name is a contraction of the words Niño Padre or Niño Patrón) travels from house to house, visiting his chosen hosts, he always returns to the mayordomo's house to spend the night. One resident put it this way: "When the day is beautiful and it's really hot, we take him out on the canals. In his special chalupita (little boat), he floats around all the chinampas (floating islands), wearing his little straw hat so that the heat won't bother him. Then we take him back to his mayordomo, who dresses our Niñopan in his little pajamas, sings him a lullaby, and puts him to sleep, saying, 'Get in your little bed, it's sleepy time!" Even though the Niñopan is always put properly to bed, folks in Xochimilco believe that he sneaks out of bed to play with his toys in the wee hours of the night.

Trajineras (decorated boats) ready to receive tourists line the canals in Xochimilco.

Although he is venerated in many Xochimilco houses during the course of every year, the Niñopan's major feast day is January 6. The annual celebration takes place in Xochimilco's church of St. Bernard of Sienna. On the feast of the Candelaria, fireworks, music, and dancers accompany the Niñopan as he processes through the streets of Xochimilco on his way to his presentation in the church.

Gloria in Xochimilco with Niñopa, April 2008. Photo courtesy Colibrí.

Blue papel picado (cut paper decoration) floating in the deep-blue Xochimilco sky wishes the Niñopan welcome and wishes all of us Feliz Navidad.

El Día de La Candelaria means a joyful party with lots of tamales, coupled with devotion to the Niño Dios. For more about a tamalada (tamales-making party), look at this 2007 Mexico Cooks! article.

From the rosca de reyes on January 6 to the tamales on February 2, the old traditions continue in Mexico's 21st Century.

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9 de January de 2021
The Heart and Soul of Mexico: The Basílica of Our Lady of Guadalupe
Due to COVID-19, the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in Mexico City will remain closed to pilgrimages and individuals from December 10 through December 13 to avoid the throngs of devotees who want to visit La Morenita on her feast day. How many people usually go each year, during the 24 hours of December 12? As many as 6,000,000 people flock to visit her in that short period of time. Is the closure protecting us from COVID-19? Without a doubt, and so is the Virgencita.

The Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe (Our Lady of Guadalupe) in Mexico City. This newest Basílica was constructed between 1974 and 1976.

Mexico Cooks! and a friend from the United States went to visit La Morenita (a common nickname for Our Lady of Guadalupe) at her Basílica in Mexico City in February, 2008. It was my friend's first visit to the shrine and I was practically bursting with the excitement of introducing her to the heart, the very soul, of Mexico. The extreme devotion demonstrated by the pilgrims to the Basílica, the depth of personal faith in La Reina de México (the Queen of México), and the juxtaposition of the sublime with the not-so-sublime made the trip well worth repeating. We're going again in just a few days.

First on our list when friends visit Mexico City is always the Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. Once our friends here discovered that I was taking her to Mexico City, every single person's first question was, "Van a la Villa?" ("Are you going to the Basílica)"

To each inquirer I grinned and answer, "Of course! Vamos primero a echarle una visita a la virgencita." (The first thing we'll do is pay a visit to the little virgin!)

Devotional pilgrimages are an everyday occurrence at the Basílica.

The enormous Basílica de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in Mexico City is the second-most visited pilgrimage site in the Western Hemisphere. Its location, on the hill of Tepeyac, was a place of great sanctity long before the arrival of Christianity in the New World. In pre-Hispanic times, Tepeyac had been crowned with a temple dedicated to an earth and fertility goddess called Tonantzin, the Mother of the Gods. Tonantzin was a virgin goddess associated with the moon, like Our Lady of Guadalupe who usurped her shrine.

Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe is Mexico's patron, and her image adorns churches and altars, house fronts and interiors, taxis and buses, bull rings and gambling dens, restaurants and houses of ill repute. The shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe, La Villa, is a place of extraordinary vitality and celebration. On major festival days such as the anniversary of the apparition on December 12th, the atmosphere of devotion created by many hundreds of thousands of pilgrims is truly electrifying.

These young sisters dressed as indigenas peregrinas (Indian pilgrims) for el Día de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, celebrated every December 12.

The story of Our Lady's 1531 appearance in Mexico is undoubtedly familiar to every person who lives in this country.

The Tepeyac hill and shrine were important pilgrimage places for the nearby Mexica (later Aztec) capital city of Tenochtitlán. Following the conquest of Tenochtitlán by Hernan Cortez in 1521, the shrine was demolished, and the native people were forbidden to continue their pilgrimages to the sacred hill. The pagan practices had been considered to be devil worship for more than a thousand years in Christian Europe.

On Saturday, December 9, 1531, a baptized Aztec Indian named Juan Diego set out for church in a nearby town. Passing the pagan sacred hill of Tepeyac, he heard a voice calling to him. Climbing the hill, he saw on the summit a young woman who seemed to be no more than fourteen years old, standing in a golden mist.

Revealing herself as the "ever-virgin Holy Mary, Mother of God" (so the Christian telling of the story goes), she told Juan Diego not to be afraid. Her words? "Am I not here, is it not I, who am your mother?" She instructed him to go to the local bishop and tell him that she wished a church for her son to be built on the hill. Juan did as he was instructed, but the bishop's officials did not believe him and sent him away.

Typical children's costumes to be worn in processions for the Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe.

On his way home, Juan climbed the sacred hill and again saw the apparition, who told him to return to the bishop the next day. This time the bishop listened to Juan's message from Mary. He was still skeptical, however, and so asked for a sign from Mary.

The next day, Juan went again to Tepeyac and, when he again met Mary, she told him to climb the hill and pick the roses that were growing there. Juan climbed the hill with misgivings. It was the dead of winter, and flowers could not possibly be growing on the cold and frosty mountain. At the summit, Juan found a profusion of roses, an armful of which he gathered and wrapped in his tilma (a garment similar to a poncho, woven from maguey cactus fibers). Arranging the roses, Mary instructed Juan to take the tilma-encased bundle to the bishop, for this would be her sign.

When the bishop unrolled the tilma, he was astounded by the presence of the flowers. They were roses that grew only in Spain. But more truly miraculous was the image that had mysteriously appeared on Juan Diego's tilma. The image showed the young woman, her head lowered demurely. Wearing a star-strewn mantle and a flowing gown, she stood upon a crescent moon. The bishop was convinced that Mary had indeed appeared to Juan Diego and soon thereafter the bishop began construction of the original church devoted to her honor.

The original tilma worn by Juan Diego still hangs above the altar in the Basílica. Venerated by millions of pilgrims, the maguey cactus fiber tilma shows no wear after 489 years.

News of the miraculous apparition of the Virgin's image on a peasant's tilma spread rapidly throughout Mexico. Indigenous people by the thousands came from hundreds of miles away to see the image, now hanging above the altar in the new church. They learned that the mother of the Christian God had appeared to one of their own kind and had spoken to him in his native language. The miraculous image was to have a powerful influence on the advancement of the Church's mission in Mexico. In only seven years, from 1532 to 1538, more than eight million Indians were converted to Christianity.

The shrine, twice over the centuries, is today a great Basílica with a capacity for 10,000 pilgrims. You might wonder what the word "Basílica" means: it's simply the name given to certain churches which have been granted special privileges by the Pope.

Juan Diego's tilma is preserved behind bulletproof glass and hangs twenty-five feet above the main altar in the basilica. For 489 years the colors of the image have remained as bright as if they were painted yesterday, despite being exposed for more than 100 years following the apparition to humidity, smoke from church candles, and airborne pollution.

From the sublime to the not-so-sublime: these key ring-bottle openers for sale in the trinket bazaar outside the Basílica bear various images of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe.

The coarsely-woven cactus cloth of the tilma, a cloth considered to have a life expectancy of about 40 years, still shows no evidence of decay. Astronomers who have investigated the 46 stars on her gown say that they coincide with the position of the constellations in the heavens at the time of the winter solstice in 1531. Scientists have investigated the nature of the image and have been left with nothing more than evidence of the mystery of a miracle. The dyes forming her portrait have no base in the elements known to science.

The origin of the name Guadalupe has always been a matter of controversy. It is believed that the name came about because of the translation from Nahuatl to Spanish of the words used by the Virgin during the apparition. It is believed that she used the Nahuatl word coatlaxopeuh which is pronounced "koh-ah-tlah-SUH-peh" and sounds remarkably like the Spanish word Guadalupe. 'Coa' means serpent, 'tla' can be interpreted as "the", while 'xopeuh' means to crush or stamp out. This version of the origin would indicate that Mary must have called herself "she who crushes the serpent," a Christian New Testament reference as well as a a reference to the Aztec's mythical god, The Plumed Serpent.

In February 2008, Mexico Cooks! and friend took the Metrobus to La Villa, a journey of about an hour from the neighborhood called La Condesa, where we were staying with friends, to the far northern part of the city. The Metrobus left us just two blocks from the Basílica.

Pope John Paul II made five official visits to Mexico. To many Mexicans, he continues to be the true Pope, Mexico's Pope. This image of Pope John Paul II, protected by and devoted to Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe is found in both pictures and figures. It is still displayed in many Mexican homes.

The street and the bridge to the Basílica are filled chock-a-block with booths selling souvenirs of La Villa. Everything that you can think of (and plenty you would never think of) is available: piles of T-shirts with the image of the Virgin of Guadalupe and that of Juan Diego, CDs of songs devoted to her, bandana-like scarves with her portrait, eerie green glow-in-the-dark figurines of her, key chains shaped like the Basílica, statues of La Virgencita in every size and quality, holy water containers that look like her in pink, blue, silver, and pearly white plastic, religious-themed jewelry and rosaries that smell of rose petals, snow globes with tiny statues of La Guadalupana and the kneeling Juan Diego that are dusted with stars when the globes are shaken.

In front of the Basílica, you can have your picture taken next to her image and with a variety of horses. The caption on the yellow sign reads, "A Memento of My Visit to the Basílica of Guadalupe".

There are booths selling freshly arranged flowers for pilgrims to carry to the shrine. There are booths selling soft drinks, tacos, and candy. Ice cream vendors hawk paletas (popsicles). Hordes of children offer chicles (chewing gum) for sale. We were jostled and pushed as the crowd grew denser near the Basílica.

Is it tacky? Yes, without a doubt. Is it wonderful? Yes, without a doubt. It's the very juxtaposition of the tourist tchotchkes with the sublime message of the heavens that explains so much about Mexico. We needed to buy several recuerdos (mementos) for friends, but we were hard-pressed to decide what to choose. Some pilgrims buy before going into the Basílica so that their recuerdos can be blessed by a priest, but we decided to wait until after visiting the Virgin to do our shopping. When we finished shopping, we discovered that a priest was stationed in a nearby booth to bless late purchases.

The 17th Century Basílica is sinking into Mexico City's shifting subsoil. The new Basílica is built in the same plaza.

The present church was constructed on the site of the 16th-century Old Basílica, the one that was finished in 1709. When the Old Basílica became dangerous due to the sinking of its foundations, a modern structure called the new Basílica was built nearby. The original image of the Virgin of Guadalupe is now housed above the altar in this new Basílica.

Built between 1974 and 1976, the new Basílica was designed by architect Pedro Ramírez Vásquez. Its seven front doors are an allusion to the seven gates of Celestial Jerusalem referred to by Christ. It has a circular floor plan so that the image of the Virgin can be seen from any point within the building. An empty crucifix symbolizes Christ's resurrection. The choir is located between the altar and the churchgoers to indicate that it, too, is part of the group of the faithful. To the sides are the chapels of the Santísimo Sacramento (the Blessed Sacrament) and of Saint Joseph.

That February, on an ordinary day at the beginning of Lent, we entered the Basílica as one Mass was ending and another was beginning. Thirty Masses are often celebrated during the course of any day. Pilgrims pour in to place baskets of flowers on the rail around the altar. People filled the pews and were standing 10-deep at the back of the church. There were lines of people waiting to be heard in the many confessionals.

We stood for a bit and listened to what the priest was saying. "La misa de once ya se terminó. Decidimos celebrar otra misa ahora a las doce por tanta gente que ha llegado, por tanta fe que se demuestra" ("The eleven o'clock Mass is over. We have decided to celebrate another Mass at 12 o'clock because so many people have arrived, because of so much faith being demonstrated.")

Priests celebrate as many as 30 Masses every day of the year.

Making our way through the crowd, we walked down a ramp into the area below and behind the altar. Three moving sidewalks bore crowds of pilgrims past the gold-framed tilma. Tears flowed down the cheeks of some; others made the sign of the cross as they passed, and one woman held her year-old baby up high toward the Virgin. Most people moved from one of the moving sidewalks to another in order to be able to have a longer visit with the Mother of Mexico.

When I first visited La Villa almost 40 years ago, there were only two moving sidewalks. Now there are three. Behind them was space for the faithful to stand and reflect or pray for a few minutes. The crush of visitors last February required that the space be devoted to movement rather than reflection and rest.

We walked to the back of the Basílica to look at a large, heavy bronze crucifix exhibited in a glass case. The crucifix, approximately 3 feet high, is bent backward in a deep arch and lies across a large cushion. According to the placard and the photos from the era, in 1921 a bouquet of flowers was placed directly on the altar of the Old Basílica beneath the framed tilma. It was later discovered that the floral arrangement was left at the altar by an anarchist who had placed a powerful dynamite bomb among the flowers. When the bomb detonated, the bronze altar crucifix was bent over backward and large portions of the marble altar were destroyed. Nevertheless, no harm came to the tilma and legend has it that the crucified Son protected his Mother.

After a while, we reluctantly left the Basílica. With a long backward glance at the tilma, we stepped out into the brilliantly sunny Mexico City afternoon. The throngs in the Basílica atrium still pressed forward to visit the shrine.

We stopped in some of the enclosed shops at sidewalk level and then continued over the bridge through the booths of mementos. After we bought small gifts, we moved away to hail a taxi. My heart was still in the Basílica, with our Mother.

Take your pick: hundreds of statues of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe await you in the shops outside the Basílica.

The Feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe falls on December 12 each year. Think about her just for a moment as you go about your day. After all, she's the Queen of Mexico and the Empress of the Americas.

How to get there once you're in Mexico City:
- From the Centro Histórico (Historic Downtown) take Metro Line 3 at Hidalgo and transfer to Line 6 at Deportivo 18 de Marzo. Go to the next station, La Villa Basílica. Then walk north two busy blocks until reaching the square.
- Take the Line 1 Metrobus north to Indios Verdes from any of its prior stops. Go down the stairs on the right, go to the traffic light, and walk two blocks to the right until you get to the Basílica.
- From the Hidalgo Metro station take a microbus to La Villa.
- From Zona Rosa take a pesero (microbus) along Avenida Paseo de la Reforma, north to the stop nearest the Basílica.
- Or take a taxi from your hotel, wherever it is in the city. Tell the driver, "A La Villa, por favor. Vamos a echarle una visita a la Virgencita." ("To the Basílica, please. We're going to make a visit to the little Virgin.")
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12 de December de 2020
Caña Fest Morelia, in honor of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe :: Morenita, Protect Us Now More Than Ever

Everywhere in Mexico, so many events and traditions have been cancelled, postponed, or otherwise affected by the on-going worldwide pandemia. This article, originally published in 2010, is a look back on a Morelia, Michoacán, favorite: the annual month-long festival Caña Fest (the sugar cane festival), that normally begins in mid-November and continues for a month, through December 12, the feast day of Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe. Here's how Morelia's festival looked and sounded in 2018:

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=61lVnekLR1I&w=560&h=315]
Originally, the pandemia cancelled the fiesta for 2020. Recently, the government announced that due to public outcry, the festival would indeed take place, but not all in one spot as it is usually scheduled. Some stands will set up in one colonia (neighborhood), others will set up in another colonia, and still others will be relegated to other locations in the city. Will it be the same? No, of course not. Nevertheless, if only ONE case of COVID-19 is prevented, it's worth the change. Let's hope we can be back, business as usual, in 2021. Video courtesy Youtube.

Enjoy these photos and reflections on past Caña Fests!

Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe (Our Lady of Guadalupe, lovingly nicknamed La Morenita [the little brown woman]), caña (sugar cane), and fresh-roasted cacahuates (peanuts) are an annual combination in Morelia during the weeks from November 19 until the last minutes of the night of December 12, Our Lady of Guadalupe's feast day. The Fiesta de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe is one of the most important religious festivals in all of Mexico, celebrated in every home and every town, in every church and every heart.

Hundreds of tons of freshly in-season caña (sugar cane) are hand-peeled with flashing steel machetes for your eating pleasure. Every year, more than 400 vendors set up food stands, trinket stands, and booths filled with religious articles in Morelia's Jardín Morelos, on Avenida Tata Vasco, and along the Calzada Fray Antonio de San Miguel leading to the Santuario de Guadalupe. Brightly colored children's rides and games illuminate the evening hours in the park; the fragrance of grilling meat competes with the deep smell of roasting peanuts, and the whir of the cotton candy machine pairs up with the rhythmic whack-whack-whack of the caña-cutting knife.

Long sugar canes are fibrous and tough, but hand-chopped with a huge knife into bite-size pieces, caña is easy to chew. Munch a piece until the sweet juice is gone, then discard the mouthful of straw-like fibers that are left. Munch another, it's addictive.

A bed of freshly sliced oranges and a pile of sliced caña con chamoy make a mouth-puckering, refreshing snack. Chamoy is a sour fruit brine that's popular for its flavor combination of vinegar, salt, and sweet fruit.

This roaster toasts about seven kilos (15 pounds) of raw cacahuates (peanuts) at a time. The family that operates this stand had the roaster made from an oil drum, along with a metal box on legs to hold the fuel. One of the family members turns the handle (to the left in the photo) to make sure the peanuts toast evenly, without burning.

The heat for the peanut roaster comes from carbón, Mexico's real-wood charcoal–they're not "briquets" from commercial bags!

Raw habas (fava beans) are toasted by the same method. Roasted habas and cacahuates are sold unsalted.

Here's a juice extractor to make you a glass of super-fresh and sweetly delicious jugo de caña (sugar cane juice). One operator inserts the long sugar canes through the back of the dark metal rollers while another turns the handle on the wheel at the left of the photo.

The juice pours onto the slanted tray, down the spout, and into your waiting plastic cup. A 12-ounce cup of hand-squeezed juice costs ten pesos–less than one United States dollar.

Do you need some real food? Try made-to-order tacos at one of the stands in Plaza Morelos. The bottom pair are bistec (chopped grilled beef), the top two are carne de cerdo al pastor (marinated pork cooked on a vertical spit). A squeeze of lime, a pinch of salt, and a sprinkle of minced cilantro and onion (and of course a spoonful of the hottest salsa you can tolerate) make these tacos delicious.

Maybe pambazos, enchiladas placeras, or taquitos are more to your taste. Everything at this stand is cooked to order on an anafre (brazier). Mexico Cooks! is partial to a good pambazo: it's a sandwich made from an individual-sized loaf of dense white bread, sliced open and dipped in enchilada sauce, filled with picadillo (meat/potato/carrot hash), fried till the bread is just slightly crisp on the outside, and topped with shredded lettuce, diced fresh tomatoes, minced onions, grated Mexican cheese, and a salsa muy picante (really spicy salsa).

The sign asks, "What blankety-blank crisis?" The bags of caña that this dealer offered continued at the 2009 price: 10 pesos. The world economic situation in 2008-2009 deeply affected Mexico, but up until 2020, nothing stopped this party!

Mexico has a real 'thing' for corn dogs. Here in Mexico, they're fair (as in county fair!) food, just like they are in the United States. They make quite a switch from a traditional pambazo, no?

For dessert, local strawberries flash frozen in Zamora, Michoacán, are partially thawed and served with cream. You can see that the cartons are labeled both 'fresas' and 'strawberries' (for the English-language market; strawberry export is an enormous business in Michoacán. Duero is the name of the strawberry packing company, as well as the name of the Michoacán river that runs through Zamora. They're named for the Río Duero roars through western Spain and Portugal.

Take home a bag of candies. Pick the candy you prefer–pea-size chocoretas (mint chocolate balls), crisp-coated lunetas of chocolate, sweet and tart buttons, gummy worms or bears or frogs, and a dozen more choices– and buy as little or as much as you like.

It's traditional for both adults and children to dress in 16th Century indigenous clothing during these December fiestas. This beautiful baby wears painted bigotes (moustache), a tiny poncho, a sombrero de paja (straw hat), and a bright paliacate (handkerchief/scarf), all in honor of San Juan Diego, who first saw and talked with Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe in chilly mid-December of 1531.

I don't know about you, but I'm going to pray for the end of the pandemia and the return of Mexico's traditional festivities.

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5 de December de 2020