Flour Tortillas From the Lady of the Hacienda

(Scroll down for RECIPE—Homemade Flour Tortillas.)

The flour tortilla has become the latest food-victim of political correctness, and it is up to you to rescue it from its dismal flavorless fate. Using shortening instead of pork drippings (lard) or bacon grease? Por favor, no. I ask you, what is so bad about lard or bacon grease? Contrary to popular belief, they are not so terrible. Yes, they are high in saturated fats, but unlike most shortenings, they do not contain one iota of trans-fatty acids—you know, those nasty little chemicals that produce free radicals, which in turn cause cancer and make us old and wrinkled before our time. Okay, so some shortenings have no trans-fatty acids, but that doesn't remove the fact that they taste like nada. It's all about the flavor, and Doña Catalina would not have been caught dead putting partially hydrogenated oil or phosphate whatchamacallit in her flour tortillas.
A rather imposing woman who was native of Sonora, and the mother of a dozen children, eight of them boys, Doña Cata made beautiful, perfectly round flour tortillas. Her tortillas always had tiny bits of bacon or carnitas, which made them beyond delicious. I don't think that most of her tortillas ever made it from the comal (griddle) to the table before one of her boys would snatch one, spread butter on it, and eat it in three bites. She once offered to teach me how to make them, but I never took her up on the offer—muchacha mensa—foolish, foolish girl. Because Doña Cata was not just good at making tortillas. Everything she made was sabroso—utterly delicious. Would an artist turn down spending an afternoon painting with Picasso? Not likely. But that is exactly what I did so to speak—much to my regret.

If there was something that made her extremely happy, it was having all of her children, plus over 25 grandchildren running all over the house. There she held court, like the Lady of The Hacienda, instructing us young women on how to prepare tamales. Attendance was compulsory because the proper feeding of men and children was serious business. She knew better than anybody that good food and good times were at the heart of her family.
As protective as a she-bear (which she often likened herself to) watching over her cubs, she watched over the goings on of her large family, exhorting, cajoling, and sometimes threatening, when she perceived that anyone of her beloved children or grandchildren had embarked on the wrong path—it didn't matter whether they were grown ups or not. What did she care about the so-called right to self-determination when the wellbeing of those she loved was a stake? Not one jalapeño pepper. Without a blinking an eye, she told David, her younger sons' childhood friend, that he had better stay away from her sons, because he was mala compañia—bad company. Her sons were furious, but she stood her ground. She was especially vigilant when any one of her children brought a girlfriend or a boyfriend to the house.
On a hot summer's day, one of them brought a girl to a family gathering. She was a girl with big muscles and a big laugh, who put her foot on a nearby bench while she practically opened a beer bottle cap with her teeth and drank with the men.
Doña Cata, ever the lady, said nothing, but sat there watching her with her green eyes in the same manner as a cat eyes an unsuspecting gopher.
After an hour or so her son took the girl home and returned to the house. The first thing he asked was, "So, what did you think of her, Ma?"
"No me la vuelvas a traer a la casa. No la quiero ver—don't ever bring her back here. I never want to see her," was all she said.

"Why not?"

"Because her bra strap is dirty."

And just like that, the girl was never seen again, going off into the Elephant's Graveyard of Where Ex-Girlfriends Go.

It suddenly occurred to me, that I had somehow gained entrance to a very exclusive club. I married one of her sons, and if I had not met with her approval, well, I would not here telling you her story today.

She expected, yes, demanded great things from her children. Good grades and a fine education were not enough for her. ("If you are an uneducated tarugo—blockhead, that is one thing. But if you are an educated tarugo, then there's no hope for you," she once remarked.) She expected that they reflect all of the qualities she stood by all of her life, things like decency, honor, faith in God, hard work, sharing what you had with others, hospitality, loyalty and love—for one's friends and family, one's children, for one's companion in life, for one's self. Courage in the face of disapproval. Respeto—respect. She and her husband Don Rafael lived a life as authentic as her flour tortillas. They were simple people—without the nasty artificial ingredients. Not everyone loved her—bad people hated her, but that was fine with her.
One evening, her granddaughter and her granddaughter's husband spent time with her. Together they listened to and sang the songs of her youth, the songs of Javier Solis and Miguel Aceves Mejilla. Then she went to sleep and never woke up.
Her children bought a marble plaque for her gravesite. It bears the epitaph, "Una Gran Mujer"—A Woman of Greatness. Which she was.

Flour Tortillas From the Lady of the Hacienda
The first thing that your must do is to save and refrigerate all of your bacon and/or pork drippings. Make sure that they are solid, not watery. Next, use Harina la Piña Brand flour, though a soft wheat white enriched all-purpose flour that is very finely milled is acceptable. Do not use a traditional rolling pin with handles. Use one without handles. For some reason, it works better. Also, use the palm of your hands to make rather flat balls.

How do you make your tortillas?

1 1/2 teaspoons baking powder
3 cups of flour

1/2 teaspoon of salt
1/2 cup of solidified pork drippings, or bacon grease or pork lard

2 cups of boiling water

Directions:

In a large bowl, mix together all ingredients except the water. Use your fingers to mix in the lard. Adding water a little at a time, mix the flour with a large spoon. Sprinkle some flour on a cutting board or on a hard flat surface. Transfer dough to the board and knead until the dough is no longer sticky. Add more flour if necessary. Now make the balls (the larger the balls, the larger the tortillas). Put all the balls backing into the mixing bowl, and let them sit for about 10 minutes or so.

Sprinkle some flour on the cutting board. Flatten the balls with the palm of your hand. Using the rolling pin, roll out from the center and keep rotating until they are as fat or as thin as you want them to be.

Transfer the tortillas to a medium-hot griddle and cook them until bubbles form, less than a minute. Flip over to cook the other side. Keep tortillas warm under a towel or a tortilla warmer until they are ready to eat. Make sure you sneak one and put some butter on it and eat it in three bites.

The Jewel Colored Salsa

If Green were a flavor it would taste like this peridot colored salsa, which glistens with jewel-like beauty. You will never forget how you felt the first time you tried it, as its flavors simultaneously filled your mouth with cool—tangy—fresh—spicy deliciousness. Perhaps you had it in an Albondigas soup on a cold winter's night, or with tender pork carnitas wrapped up in a soft burrito, but no matter, because this salsa will not only touch your palate, but your soul—your Mexican soul—which is the possession of Mexican food lovers everywhere. One that embraces joy and despair with equal ardor. A soul that wants the melodies to be happy but the lyrics sad.

Like love, this salsa will break your heart in a million little tomatillo and Serrano chile and cilantro pieces—but it is a sweet heartbreak, one from which you will not want to recover. Viva tomatillo salsa love.

The Jewel Colored Salsa

(Green Tomatillo Salsa)

Tomatillo salsa is an essential of Mexican cuisine. Put it in tacos, burritos, in soups, in your guacamole, on your fried eggs in the morning, with your beans. The list goes on and on.

Making Tomatillo Salsa is the easiest thing in the world. You can make as little or as much as you want. Just follow the instructions.

What you need:

A small, medium, or large pot, depending on how much you want to make.

A sharp chopping knife

A blender, molcajete, or a hand-held blender

Ingredients:

Tomatillos without the husks, halved. About 5 to 6 for a small amount; 7 to 10 for a medium amount; 11 or more for a large amount

Fresh garlic cloves—1 or 2 for small amount, 2—4 for medium amount, 4 or more for a large amount.

1 to 4 very finely minced chiles serranos

Fresh diced green onion to taste (I like a lot).

Fresh chopped cilantro to taste (again, I like a lot of it).

Put tomatillos and garlic in a pot. Add a bit of water until it reaches just up to ½ way up the tomatillos (see picture). Bring to a boil. Then, reduce to a simmer with the lid covered. Keep checking tomatillos until they are a fully cooked and soft. Do not drain out the water. Place tomatillos and water in the blender, or molcajete, or use a hand-held blender to purée the ingredients. Now add finely minced serrano chiles. You can add a little or a lot so it can be hot or mild, depending on your taste. Add salt to taste. Pour the salsa in a bowl. Let cool and refrigerate until completely chilled. Add diced green onion and cilantro. Keep a little minced serrano chile on the side for those who want their salsa hot. Now, revel in the tangy, fresh spicy deliciousness.

Variation: Add chunks of fresh avocado to the salsa. Or, add the salsa to chunks of fresh avocado. Either way, your taste buds will tell you gracias.

An Adult Watermelon For a Summer's Day

It is time to graduate to an adult watermelon, one that goes perfectly with a Mexican-style barbecue with family and friends. Word of warning, because this watermelon is strictly for adults, you better buy another for the chiquitos en la familia. If the teenagers try to get to this spiked watermelon, make sure you slap their grasping little hands.

The Margarita Watermelon

1 1/3 cup good quality tequila

1/3 cup orange liqueur

5 tablespoons cane sugar

1/4 cup lime juice

1 tablespoon grated lime peel

1 large watermelon, cut in half lengthwise
coarse sea salt, or "margarita" salt (optional)

Stir first five ingredients in a measuring cup until the sugar is completely dissolved. Place each watermelon half on a roasting pan or cookie sheet, cut side up. Pierce the flesh of the watermelon all over with a bamboo skewer. Gradually pour 1/4 cup tequila mixture over the surface of each watermelon and chill. Repeat over 24 hours or so until the mixture is absorbed. Some mixture will remain. Slice into wedges and serve with the sea salt on the side so your guests can sprinkle some over theirs. Buen provecho!