Category: Textiles in Mexico

As we drove through Tehuantepec, we were looking for a nearby comida of fresh seafood and had no idea where to go; we stopped to ask a taxi driver and he led us to Salina Cruz, to a beach restaurant that was his favorite.  Salina Cruz, Oaxaca: wide open beaches, surfing, seafood!  This seaside city of approximately 24,000 people is only about half an hour south and west of Tehuantepec. Salina Cruz is the third largest city in Oaxaca and is a major port in southern Mexico.  Its main industry is the enormous oil refinery that one can see from almost everywhere in the area.  

He led us to Restaurante Delicias del Mar (Delicacies from the Sea), right on the beach in an area called Las Escolleras (the breakwaters).  That's chef Silvana Salcido Esparza (Barrio Cafe Phoenix) at the restaurant doorway, and you can see the incredible stretch of beach behind her–and beyond the beach, the open sea.  And may I say that it was hot, hot, hot–around 108ºF–and intensely humid.  Salina Cruz is known for its frequently high winds, though, and a stiff breeze helped the comfort level.  Inside the restaurant the high, shady palapa roof kept the breeze flowing.

At the right of the plate is the kind of clawless langosta (lobster) caught in the Salina Cruz area.  To the left of the lobster (which we ordered) are four cucarachas de mar (sea cockroaches), which we ordered despite their completely unappealing name and appearance.  The lobster was excellent and the flesh of the cucarachas was delicious; after cooking, the texture as well as the flavor are similar to those of lobster tail.  Who knew!  

"Silvana, hold up the huachinango (red snapper) so I can take a picture of it!"  I thought she'd hold it up on the plate, but this was far more fun. Whole, slashed, and fried till the skin is crispy and the flesh is moist and delicious–my favorite preparation of red snapper.  We left only the skeleton.  

The word "salina" means salt lagoon.  High tides bring abundant sea water into marked-off areas like the one you see in the photograph, and the intense sunlight dries the water, leaving salt that workers harvest from any remaining water.  For many generations, the entire region around Salina Cruz has benefited economically from the salt.  After I took this photo, I was amazed to see the clear reflection of the hill in the water.  Click on any photo to enlarge it for a better view.

The motocarro (three-wheeled taxi) transportation in San Blas Atempa, where we went after we finished our comida in Salina Cruz.  The piles of sand are building materials for earthquake damage repairs.  

Daily dress, daily life in San Blas Atempa.  The town, founded in 1530, feels like a trip to Oaxaca's past.  The community speaks Zapotec; the population is descended from a warrior race that takes much pride in preserving its traditions, customs, and language.  The townswomen received us with great good humor and much shared laughter.  We were sent to a street party down the street and around the block, sponsored by DIF (Desarrollo Integral de la Familia, Mexico's state and national social service agency).  It was el Día del Niño (Children's Day) in Mexico, celebrated to the max all over the country.  How could we resist! 

Of course we went!  The party vibrated with music, dancing, a funny clown, games and prizes for all of the many children, babies to nuzzle–we had a great time.  Chef Silvana saw to it that every child in our proximity received a big cold glass of home-made agua fresca made with fresh fruit: healthy, refreshing, and delicious.

Home-made aguas frescas at the DIF party.  Left to right: guayaba (guava), limón (Key lime), and wow, ciruela criolla (native wild plum)!  It's my all-time favorite, only available during the short wild plum season in the spring.  See the plastic bag between the jar of agua de limón and the jar of plum (orange ladle)?  The bag is filled with my serving of agua fresca de ciruela, a straw is stuck into the bag, and the opening of the bag is twisted and tied tightly around the straw.  It's the typical Mexican way of sending you off with any kind of soft drink to go.

A bucket of agua fresca de ciruela criolla, to replenish the vitrolero (large glass jar) as needed.  The plums are about two inches long, and inch and a half in diameter.  The pulp is minimal but delicious.  The stone is almost as big as the entire plum.

Oxcart is another much-used mode of transportation in San Blas Atempa.  We saw probably 20 of these, always with the driver standing up.  Occasionally other workmen w
ere riding on the tail end.

There was a time when most signage in Mexico (if it existed at all) looked just like this, or was hidden behind a tree, or obscured behind a billboard, or was broken in half.  Chef Silvana and I are old Mexico hands and immediately recognized that we were on the right track for San Mateo del Mar.  We didn't know how many kilometers away it was, though.  Turns out that it wasn't far at all, just a few minutes from where we saw the sign.

Parroquia de San Mateo Apóstol, San Mateo del Mar, Oaxaca.  The brown part of the facade is a design, but much of the church was damaged in the September 7, 2018 earthquake.  If you click on the photo to enlarge it, you'll be able to see how the facade continues to be propped up and where there is other damage.

San Mateo Apóstol with flowers and a candle, patron saint of San Mateo del Mar, in a niche in the market.

Doña Agustina Sánchez, who sells a little bit of everything in the San Mateo del Mar market.  Chef Silvana and I spent a long time talking with her.  Hearing her wisdom was a particularly wonderful part of our day.  We laughed a lot, cried a little, and loved being there with her.  Doña Agustina gave each of us a shell necklace and her blessing when we left.

We happened to be in San Mateo for its día de plaza (market day).  The market is broken up into several sections because of earthquake damage to streets and homes; you can see the piles of both rubble (bottom right) and sand for new construction (middle left).  There was produce and other food available for purchase, but many, many of the community's houses were destroyed by the earthquake and many people continue to be without a place to live and a fixed place and way to cook.

Earthquake damage in San Mateo del Mar.  Photo courtesy Oaxaca news sources.

The Huave indigenous population of San Mateo del Mar and its surrounding region is known in the community's own language as ikoots (it means "us"), and in Spanish the people often call themselves mareños, or people of the sea.  They have lived in this tiny area of Oaxaca for more than 3000 years, predating the Zapotec population and obviously predating the arrival of the Spanish.  Men of the community have always been fishermen, and many of the women have been weavers since pre-hispanic times.  The Huave speak four distinct varieties of their language in their various communities; some of their Huave languages aren't understood by other Huave-speakers.  The total population of this ethnicity is approximately 29,000, divided into five towns: San Mateo del Mar, San Dionisio del Mar, San Francisco del Mar, and Santa María del Mar.  All are seaside villages or small towns; San Mateo del Mar has the largest population, with about 12,000 people.

Most of these typical Huave homes were destroyed by the September 7, 2017 earthquake.  Many other homes, with stick walls made of carrizo (similar to bamboo) and thatched roofs, were also either flattened or otherwise made uninhabitable.  Chef Silvana and I had the privilege of being invited into one of the carrizo homes and could see first hand the living conditions caused by the quake.  

As we drove into San Mateo del Mar, a tiny black sign with white lettering, above the door of a house, caught my eye.  In Spanish, it read: "Woven things sold here."  We braked fast and backed up to the corner to park.  As we walked through sand to the house, a very young woman with a baby on her hip came out to greet us.  "Buscan tejidos?" (
'Are you looking for weavings?')  She got in the car with the baby and guided us a few hundred feet down the road, where we parked in front of another house, built of sticks and with a thatched roof.  You can see part of the inside in the video below.

[youtube=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-UkxPawYhN0&w=400&h=315]
In the video, the woman weaving with a back strap loom is Elena Villaseñor Rangel, a daughter of Sra. Justina Oviedo Rangel.  Doña Justina passed away in September 2013; her three daughters (Cristina, Victoria, and Elena Villaseñor Rangel) are carrying on her weaving tradition. You can see parts of the house, as well as our young 'guide', taking various types of textiles from a bag.    

We were extremely fortunate to have found Doña Justina's relatives, who told us a little of her story.  Born in 1938 and raised in San Mateo del Mar, she–like all the girls of her village–wasn't encouraged to go to school.  She started weaving when she was just eight years old, initially practicing with palm leaves and soon picking up any bits of thread she could find to use for her child-like projects.  She wasn't formally taught to weave; she learned by observing the women of her family.  She became more and more proficient at her craft and gained some recognition as a weaver.  Years of weaving later, she began to think about the "blank" side of a napkin; the design was always woven onto the front, and the reverse was blank.  She announced to her daughters that she was going to figure out a way to weave a design on both sides of a single layer.  Her daughters pretty much said, "Yeah right."  It seemed like an impossible task, and was something that had never been thought of, much less done. Doña Justina kept trying until she figured it out.

In those days, there was very little market outside San Mateo del Mar for ikoots textiles.   Doña Justina sold the textiles she wove then to women in the town.  Today, the servilletas (cloths for wrapping tortillas), rebozos (long rectangular "shawls" used for everything from carrying babies to carrying wood), and  huipiles (traditional women's blouses and dresses) made in the village are coveted by museums, individual collectors, and just about anyone who sees them.  Doña Justina has been honored many, many times for her fine work and for her impact on the town and its weavers.    

Chef Silvana standing next to a poster for an homenaje (homage) that was to be given in honor of doña Justina the day after we had to leave Oaxaca.  We were so disappointed not to be able to go.  Silvana is wearing a just-purchased huipil made from a fabric very similar to the fabric that you saw being woven in the video above.

Poster in San Mateo del Mar promoting breastfeeding.  "Amamantar Compromiso de Todos" (Breastfeeding is a Commitment for All).

Next week, Silvana and I head back to the city of Oaxaca to catch a plane back to Mexico City.  On the way to the city, we get to have two more wonderful experiences: a visit to the Ilegal mezcal operations in Matatlán, and comida at the home of cocinera tradicional Carina Santiago Bautista and her husband, extraordinary weaver Pedro Moreno, in Teotitlán del Valle.  Come with us!

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If you go to Tlacolula on a day other than Sunday, you'll easily be able to see the exterior of Templo Santa María de la Asunción.  Be sure to visit both the inside of the church and its adjacent chapel–the chapel in particular is breathtaking.  If you go on a Sunday, Tlacolula, an easy drive of approximately 45 minutes south of the city of Oaxaca, has what is in my opinion the most vibrant, colorful, and fascinating market of anyplace in Mexico.  I go every chance I get and it never gets old.  You'll still want to visit the church, but there will be crowds around it!

Everything you can think of–and a lot of things you would never thing of!–is available at the Sunday market in Tlacolula.  Here, beautiful squash blossoms, ready for use in your kitchen.  Did you know that only the male blossoms are harvested?  The female blossoms are left to develop squash.

The last Sunday in April, just after the end of the 2º Encuentro de Cocineras Tradicionales de Oaxaca, my travel companion, chef Silvana Salcido Esparza of Barrio Cafe in Phoenix, Arizona, and I rented a car at a rental agency just steps from our hotel in the city.  Even though I had booked the rental prior to our trip, the paperwork took much more time than we anticipated.  Nevertheless, we made it to the market in  Tlacolula before noon.

Not far from the entrance to the market, we looked for this delightful woman from San Marcos Tlapazola, a nearby potters' village.  We had spent some time talking with this woman at the Encuentro, where she and some other potters had a booth–you can see that they specialize in beautiful, softly shaped red clay kitchen and tableware.  She looks very serious, but her sense of humor doesn't quit.  We were often doubled over laughing at something one or the other of us had said.  San Marcos Tlapazola offers an annual red clay pottery festival–interested in going?  I'll find out the dates for 2019 and we'll set up a tour of that town and other artisan towns. 

Hanging links of chorizo oaxaqueño, a deliciously spicy pork sausage.  The chorizo here is stuffed into natural pork casings; the links are almost always shaped like little oval or round balls, about 2" in diameter. 

We were really hungry and were looking for a stand inside the market where we could eat Oaxaca-style barbacoa.  There was just enough bench seating at this booth for the two of us, so we slid in to try some of the house specialties.

The barbacoa!  We ordered a bowl each, plus a taco for each of us that was much bigger than we could possibly finish.  The bowl of barbacoa was filled with plenty of beef and consomé (the spicy liquid that the meat had cooked in overnight); we added our own condiments of sliced radishes, chopped cilantro, onion, and shredded lettuce, plus either red or green salsa.  Was it good?  My mouth is watering just looking at the pictures!

These guys enlivened our breakfast with their accordion/guitar duets and great songs.  Chef Silvana, whose family roots are in Chihuahua, requested that they sing El Corrido de Chihuahua.  They did, and what fun!  She was singing right along with them, and it felt like old home week.

Any of you who grow cilantro have probably experienced "bolting", the point at which the plant shoots up a tall, frondy stem filled with flowers.  Most garden sites recommend that you forget about stopping bolting and plant cilantro seed consecutively so you can always have fresh leaves.  On the other hand, you could let your cilantro bolt and harvest the fronds and flowers; that's what you're looking at in the photo above, for sale in the Tlacolula market.  Those little fronds are just as flavorful (if not even more intensely so) than standard cilantro leaves.  The flowers?  They're equally terrifically "cilantro" and are prized in traditional Mexican food!  Try it this summer–harvest from at least one bolted plant and you'll be a convert.

These delantales (aprons) are a symbol of home cooks in this part of Oaxaca.  Made from typically checkered fabric, they are then machine-embroidered with intricate and beautifully colorful flowers.  If you should see a woman wearing one of these aprons in another part of Mexico, you can be almost positive that she bought it in Tlacolula.  I have one–you should, too!

What in the world is this!  No, not a new-to-you kind of mushroom, and not little rocks–it's a special kind of cacao (chocolate) bean that's used to make chocolateatole, a drink particular to Oaxaca.  These cocoa beans, as they're known in English, have been buried in the ground for up to eight months, until the beans ferment and turn this grey and white color.  A cook can ferment them herself, or buy them already fermented in the market.  See here for more information about the preparation of chocolateatole.

These are Oaxaca-style polychromed jícaras; this style is often used as a drinking vessel, as well as for the preparation of tejate, a cold and refreshing chocolate drink.  The jícara is the mature fruit of the Crescentia alata tree, commonly known in English as the calabash tree and in Spanish as the tecomate, or güiro, among other regional names.  The immature fruit can be bound as it grows to shape it into elongated bottles, rattles, and other shapes.  When allowed to mature without intervention, it is normally round; the pulp is removed from the fruit and the shell is dried. Once dried, the jícaras are either carved (see photo below) or are painted with plant resins, which gives them a totally natural finish that resembles a chemical varnish. Because the jícara is round on the bottom, you'll need a ring-shaped reed base called a rodete or yagua to allow the jícara to sit straight on a table.

Most of the jícaras in this basketful at Oaxaca's Mercado 20 de noviembre are dried and then carved with wonderful animals.  The tecomate tree grows primarily in coastal areas and the jícaras are usually dried, carved or painted by artisans who live where the tree grows.

Rodete (base) for the jícara.  These are available from the jícara vendor in the size you need to support the size jícaras you purchase.  Ask the vendor to make sure you're buying the right size.  Photo courtesy Artefacto.com.

These are very large Oaxaca-style metates with their metlapil, or mano (the tool that's shaped like a rolling pin, alongside one of the metates).  All of these metates are painted with flowers, and some have the legends "Recuerdo de Oaxaca" (memento from Oaxaca)
or "Regalo de los Padrinos" (gift from your godparents–in this case, padrinos of your wedding).  It's common for newlyweds to receive this crucial piece of kitchen equipment as a wedding gift.  If one whispers your name and you want it for a memento, be sure to try to pick it up before you buy it to carry it home to Cleveland with you.  You might reconsider.

The Tlacolula market isn't anything like the sterile experience of a supermarket, where you push your cart around, stuff it with boxed, canned, or frozen items, shove it to the checkout point, pay, pack up your plunder, and leave.  Most Mexican markets–whether municipal markets or tianguis (street markets)–are for shopping, for listening to music, for having a bite to eat, for catching up on how the new baby is, whose son graduated from secundaria (junior high school), who's getting married and to whom (and maybe why so quickly), how god-awful much prices have gone up, and simple chisme (gossip) in general.  The vendors all get to know you, and if you missed last Sunday's market, they ask if you were ill.  You know all the vendors, and you ask how their husbands/wives/children/in-laws are faring.  The market–whether it's the Sunday market or a weekday market–connects you to the pulse, the beating heart, of your town.  See, your neighbor will help you tuck those tomatoes into your rebozo (long shawl).  I'd far rather have this deep connection with my community than anonymous supermarket speed, wouldn't you?

We're back in the chapel at Templo Santa María de la Asunción, Tlacolula.  This is Jesús, in his triumphal entry into Jerusalem on Domingo de Ramos (Palm Sunday).

When I took this photograph at the Tlacolula market in April, I didn't notice the section of the newspaper this woman's flowers were wrapped in.  As far as I'm concerned, it says everything.

Next week, we travel farther south to the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, where we eat extraordinary food (cucarachas, anyone?), swoon over local textiles, go to a dance, and attend a couple of parties.  Come along with us, you don't want to miss a minute!    

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The truly wonderful Hotel Tajín.  Our reservation was for one night, but the town of Papantla and the hotel were so delightful that we stretched it out to three nights!  We enjoyed huge quiet junior suites, comfortable beds, great showers, excellent above-the-call-of-duty service, and prices lower than we'd thought possible.  A big plus: Hotel Tajín is just a block from Papantla's main square and only a few steps farther from its two markets.  If you need a place to stay in Papantla, don't hesitate to book here.  All photos copyright Mexico Cooks! unless otherwise noted.

We're untiring food snoops, always seeking out any option for any kind of new taste, modern or millennial.  In most regions of Mexico, traditional cooking is a great opening for getting acquainted with ancient cultures, ancient customs, and ancient rituals.  Veracruz–especially the Papantla area and its surroundings–is one of those very special parts of the country, where ancient cuisine continues to be the heart and soul of the region. 

Inveterate investigators of food in general, we were on a hopeful hunt for traditional and regional Totonaco food. The tamales pintos that we tasted with the cocineras de humo near El Tajín had served only to whet our appetites for more of these Veracruz specialties.  When we awakened after a restful night's sleep in our quiet hotel, our first stop would be Mercado Hidalgo, just a couple of blocks from Hotel Tajín.  We were jonesing for a breakfast of zacahuil, another kind of Veracruz tamal.  Many of the food booths at the Mercado Hidalgo specialize in regional zacahuil. We found a table at Sacahuil Rosita, on the upstairs level of the market.
 

This zacahuil totonaco is prepared with masa martejada (dough made of coarsely broken corn), chile guajillo (a mild-flavored red chile), other mild spices, and pork meat. Cooked in a pot rather than wrapped in corn husks or banana leaves and fire-baked, it's ladled out into your bowl and served with a choice of salsas.  We were glad to have tried the zacahuil, but we weren't thrilled with its somewhat mushy texture or its bland flavors.  We hoped for better food luck later in the day.

Meet don Rosendo, dressed in the traje típico totonaco (typical Totonaco men's clothing).  He was quite pleased to be asked for his photo. Courtesy Pamela Gordon.

While we were out and about talking to vanilla producers, the name of one remarkable Papantla restaurant kept popping up in conversation: Restaurante Nakú Papanteco, offering traditional Papantla and Totonaco dishes.  Lucky us: when we got back to the hotel, it was time for cena (supper), we were hungry, and a taxi stand was just outside our door.  TAXI!

Restaurante Nakú Papanteco, built under a palapa, welcomed us warmly, brought us the menu and something to drink, and we settled in to our task: to order food that would wow us with its traditional sabores totonacos (Totonaco flavors).

The Takxwayajun (caldo de pollo estilo totonaco con chile de mole, yerbabuena y cebollina) [traditional Totonaco chicken soup with chile de mole, mint, and chives], was hot and cozy on a cool December evening. The traditional Totonaco herbs, chile, and tender chicken combined for deep satisfaction.

An appetizer plate: the tabla de tripas de leche en chile seco.  Tripas de leche are the milk glands in a cow's udder, as opposed to tripas, which are intestines. Menudo, which many people know as tripe, is the different linings of any of a bovine's four stomachs. 

We were so interested in trying this chicken, bathed in very subtly-flavored vanilla sauce.  Last week, Mexico Cooks! explained the profound link between Papantla and vanilla, but the flavor is infrequently used in savory dishes.

Who are the Totonaco?  The indigenous community known as Tutunacú (in the Totonaco language, it means three hearts) dates from approximately 300 to 1200 CE (Common Era).  By the time the Spanish arrived on the shores of what is now Veracruz, the Mexica (known much l
ater as the Azteca) had conquered and overtaken the region encompassing El Tajín, Papantla, and Cempoala.  The Spanish completed the takeover; diseases formerly unknown to the indigenous people decimated their population.

Varinia Juárez and Lorenzo Collado, the delightful and highly committed owners of Nakú, who so generously shared their time, food, friendship, and some Totonaco history.  Photo courtesy Restaurante Nakú.

"In the Totonaco culture, we love and profoundly respect nature, Mother Earth, and the four elements that govern the universe and the consequences of our lives.  To live without these considerations is to live without a reason for being.  There is no moment in the Totonaco life in which we don't consider this world view; nearly every action carries a ritual with it.  Illnesses arise and are healed considering the wind, fire, water, and earth.  In the fields, sowing follows the state of the moon and all farming cycles.  In building, we ask the god of the forest for permission to cut down trees, and at the same time we beg forgiveness from Mother Earth for damaging her. With regard to food, women are offered up to the gods, so that in their homes, no one goes hungry.

"Nakú Restaurante Papanteco was born from a vision of rescuing, preserving, and promoting the Totonaco culture by means of its gastronomy, offering traditional Papanteco and Totonaco recipes, serving farm products endemic to the region and prepared by indigenous hands. The concept is enhanced by buying and selling artisan handwork and other works of art guaranteed to be made by Totonaco hands.  Nakú is redolent of firewood, vanilla, history, ancestral culture–but above all, Nakú is filled with the fragrance of love.  We love what we do, because our food brings together all of this yearning to be with family, to remember those long moments marked by the hand mill, the comal (clay griddle) the metate (rectangular 3-legged grinding stone), and in this environment, the grandmother, the daughters, and the granddaughters are the leading characters.  Today, the fragrance of firewood at Nakú evokes in us the uses and customs of a people that, day by day, are being lost."

Squash seeds toasting over a wood fire, on a clay comal (griddle).

Mayora Celsa Santes Cimbrón, grinding pepitas (toasted squash seeds) using a molcajete and mano.  A mayora, always an extremely knowledgeable and skilled woman, is the head of a kitchen.

Mayora Celsa continued to grind the pepitas until they released enough of their oils to gather into a dough; she then formed them into little orejas (ear-shaped dumplings) that she served for breakfast in a regional vegetable soup, the morning after we'd had cena at Nakú.

Mayora Celsa, forming the orejas.  You can see the first few in the bowl at the bottom of the photo.  Photo courtesy Pamela Gordon.

Totonaco tortillas untadas con pipián.  Freshly made tortillas, spread with freshly rendered pork lard and sprinkled with toasted, molcajete-ground squash seeds.  I wish you have an opportunity to taste these–a simple, elegant and completely heavenly thing, the stuff of dreams.

Freshly harvested hongos de chaca (local wild mushrooms); mayora Celsa prepared them in empanadas for our breakfast.

Nakú Restaurante Papanteco opened on February 14, 2013.  If you are ever in Papantla, don't miss it.  If you're even near Pap
antla, take the time, make a detour, eat the marvelous food on its menu.  Tell them Mexico Cooks! sent you.  On second thought, take me with you.

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