A Little Cup of Mexican Hot Chocolate

La Chica Who Came In From The Cold: Chile Verde

2012-01-16T19:46:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had a friend disappear on you on a spring day, only to find her banging at your door in the dead of winter looking toda fresca, as fat and as cheeky as if she never left? You open the door and say, Oye chica, ¿qué pasó? What happened to you? Six months ago you told me you were going out for tacos and beer but you never came back!

Well,that chica is me.

Of course, I haven't really disappeared. One never does in the blogosphere. But it does seem like I've been in a state of suspended animation serving you up huachinango (red snapper) in cilantro crema for far too long. Only now I've come in from the cold to tempt you with your favorite last meal if you were going to face the firing squad tomorrow at dawn—a little bowl of hot chile verde. Now aren't you glad?

I can’t explain why I jumped off the bloggy treadmill. Was it because I felt as burned out as some tripas (intestines) left on the grill for too long? Or, was I afflicted with I can only describe as a particularly bad case of “constipation of inspiration”? Let’s just say I couldn't bear the thought of sitting in front of a computer monitor when all I wanted to do was ride shotgun with my viejo at the wheel and feel the wind whipping through my hair. So I did what I usually do if I can’t satisfy wanderlust:

I planted a garden and painted some pictures.

I lost myself in a bit of escapism in the company of a beautiful Spanish couturière/spy

and even knitted a sweater.

What I couldn't do was pick up a pen and write love letters to Mexican food. Every word tasted sin chiste—as insipid and lacking in sabor as a Velveeta-stuffed chile relleno in the worst “Mexican-ish” restaurant in the whole sad state of Alabama.

And just as I thought that my cocina would remain forever dark, that I'd never make a decent pot of frijoles ever again, that's when I was saved by some tomatillos on the side of the road.

Half of them had been smashed to a pulp. The others were curbside, looking like the scattered peridot gemstone beads of a broken necklace belonging to a giantess who never bothered picking them up. I quickly threw some into the basket of my bike. It was getting dark, so I promised to come back for the rest—greedily hoping that come morning I would be the one to collect all the booty before someone else got to them.

The next morning they were still there! Holding a large shopping bag, I started grabbing all the undamaged tomatillos I could find. I ignored the sometimes curious, sometimes sarcastic looks of certain passersby. Why was that loca lady bent over on the side of the road picking some green who-knows-what off the ground? Yes, I did feel kind of stupid for wearing the wrong attire—a dress and a pair of high heels—for street-side vegetable picking in a stiff wind. Pues ni modo--that was the least of my worries. I was more concerned about turning into road kill by getting run over by another load-dropping tomatillo truck. When the bag was almost too heavy for me to carry, I lugged it over to my car.

I looked at the palms of my hands—they were filthy and sticky to the touch. Some motorists had probably seen up my dirt-stained dress. I wish I could say that I cared, but I bore the "humiliation" in fine spirits. I had been given a gift: a seed for a story and an ingredient for a recipe. It was just the little puff of inspiración for more stories to come, or perhaps just this blog post.

I gave most of the tomatillos away to friends, keeping two pounds for myself. After staring at them for a long time I got to work. I gave myself permission to not think of what to write about. I just enjoyed the silence of it all, the concentration and the rhythmic movement of my hands as I chopped the onions and the chiles. The fresh green of the tomatillos and the cilantro, the raw chiles and how they burned my fingertips, the sound of pork sizzling—all of this was coming together to create something delicious and for that moment I felt I could start blogging again—always at a snail’s pace, of course. This has always been a slow-cooked blog.

I occupied myself with other things and gave this blog and my mind a rest. Perhaps it was just what I needed to let the seeds of a story or two percolate until they are ready to sprout and grow. No need to force the bloom.

Sometimes inspiration tells you sorry but I’m not coming tonight, mañana or the night after that. If you want me back you must be silent. Listen and look around you. Be willing to get dirty if you have to and don’t be afraid to look like una taruga—a complete and utter fool. Only then will it gently tap on the shoulder and say, “Aquí estoy.”

The tomatillos on the side of the road taught me that.

Chile Verde

You can have chile verde anyway you like. It is equally delicious on a torta, a burrito, in a tamal, with beans and tortillas or with your huevitos (eggs) instead bacon or ham. You can, like my viejo sometimes does, even eat it straight from the pot just as I’m getting ready to serve dinner. Though I’d like nothing better than to slap his little hand, I can’t blame him. Honestly, who can resist the hot delicious mess of porky goodness of chile verde? Nobody I know.

I used pork for this dish, but feel free substituting a relatively inexpensive boneless beef chuck if you prefer. Go ahead, use any fresh chile you have on hand that's as mild--or as hot as you want. If the chile verde is not hot enough for your taste, chop and sauté a fresh jalapeño and throw it in the pot. (I don't know about you, but it seems to me that jalapeno chiles are not as hot as they used to be. Next time, I'm going with serrano chiles instead.) If it tastes too tart, add a teeny bit of sugar (about ⅛ to ¼ teaspoon), but don’t overdo it. It will ruin the chile verde. If you prefer thinner sauce, add more chicken broth to taste, but keep the sauce nice and thick if you are making this dish for tamales--and don't forget to put some pickled jalapeno strips along with the chile verde in each tamal. (For tamales masa recipes and guide, click here.)

You can roast the tomatillos and the chiles under the broiler.

Or, you can toast them on the comal.

Both bring out exceptional flavor. (Click here to learn the finer points of roasting or toasting tomatillos and chiles.)

Or, don’t roast them at all. Your chile verde will still taste great.

Ingredients:

3 pounds pork shoulder butt

2 or 3 tablespoons fat: vegetable, olive, bacon grease(!), the choice is yours

1 onion

2-3 large cloves of garlic (unpeeled)

salt and pepper to taste

¼ teaspoon dried oregano

1 bay leaf

up to 1 teaspoon ground cumin, or to taste

⅛ to ¼ teaspoon sugar (optional)

4 or 5 fresh Poblano and/or Anahiem chiles

2 or 3 jalapeño chiles; can substitute with chiles serrano if you prefer a hot chile verde

up to 1 ½ pounds fresh tomatillos, depending on how much you of a tomatillo taste you prefer

cilantro to taste—I used ½ bunch for this recipe

4 cups chicken broth, (or more if you prefer a thinner sauce)
1 16 ounce can pickled jalapeno strips (for the tamales)

Directions:

To broil: cut the tomatillos and the chiles in half and place them flat-side down on a aluminum-wrapped cookie sheet. Add the unpeeled garlic and brush them all with a bit of oil and place under the broiler until they are charred but not burned to death. Remember to check them every few minutes! Remove immediately. You can remove or charred skin if you want, but you don’t have to. Some love the taste of charred bits.

OR, toast them all on an oiled comal [griddle] over high heat. Turn every couple of minutes. There is no need to sweat the chiles or the tomatillos in a plastic bag this time. When they are done, carefully remove the seeds from the chiles (only if you don't want them too hot) and chop them along with the onion.

Next, peel the garlic and whirl them in a blender with the tomatillos.

When the tomatillos and the garlic have been liquefied, add the fresh cilantro and whirl again for a minute. Set them aside.

IF YOU DO NOT WANT TO to roast the chiles, tomatillos and garlic, no problem: Simply cut the fresh tomatillos in half, and whirl them in a blender with 2 or 3 peeled garlic cloves and the cilantro. Seed the chiles and remove the veins (but only if you can't tolerate too much heat), and chop them along with the onion. Set aside.

Take the pork and trim away all excess fat. Cut the pork into bite-size chunks and dry them with a kitchen towel.

Sear the pork in the fat over high heat until they are golden brown. Remove the pork from the pot and put it in a large bowl. Drain out most of the fat from the pot, except for tablespoon or two.

Cook the onion and chopped chiles with one smashed garlic (optional) in the pot until the onions are golden brown. Add the seared pork.

Stir in the tomatillo mixture and the chick broth together with the bay leaf, the oregano, cumin and the salt and pepper to taste.

Cover and simmer for one hour. Now is the time to check the seasonings—does it need more salt and pepper or cumin? Simmer for 30 to 45 minutes more until the pork is tender.

Tastes maravilloso the next day.

Serves 6 to 8 persons.

Stop Wrinkling Your Nariz

2011-04-14T18:45:00.001-07:00

I know what you are thinking, so just stop wrinkling that little nariz of yours just because you don't like fish (I can see you). You're not being punished. Pobrecita—you poor darling, you can't help it. Especially, if like me, your padres hailed from some ranchos in landlocked Zacatecas, where the chances of catching ocean fish are as remote as finding a live chicken crossing Rodeo Drive (the fowl kind, that is). Don't worry, mi'ja, you're in good hands. I would never feed you just any pescado apestoso—some icky and stinky old fish. It's time to say goodbye to goat stew and say hello to huachinango (huah-chee-NAHN-goh) [red snapper] with cilantro crema.

For those who have never had huachinango (can you repeat huachinango-huachinango-huachinango-huachinango without messing up?), it is a medium-firm fish, mild but not too mild. It can take a good drenching of chile-tomato salsa or anything spicy you throw its way without wimping out. And it certainly holds it own here with this silky cilantro crema. In fact, like its colors red and green, the sweet fishy flavor of the huachinango and the creamy but pungent green flavor of the cilantro contrast a little too brilliantly, especially when you blend in some buttery avocado into the sauce—not essential, but I just can't go on to relate. It is too luscious for words, really.

That viejo of mine thinks that green blanket of crema covers up a lot of unpleasant things: namely, the huachinango's grim down-turned mouth and its unblinking but somehow angry fish glare. It is curious to see this new-found squeamishness in a man who loves to suck on the pickled patas of a pig, but I am not fooled. His landlocked roots are showing.

I put the plate before him and hold it up to his nose.

"Good—now we can devour it guilt-free and enjoy ourselves without having to look at it. The fish doesn't know it's mad—it's dead. Just eat it, okay? Esta cocina está cerrada—this kitchen is closed!" Which means I'm done cooking and you better eat this or I will huachinango you.

It took some doing, but once my viejo tasted the ocean by giving this little fish with the big fat name a try, his taste buds are no longer living in a dry landlocked desert. Ya se pone todo emocionado [Now he gets all excited about] ostiones [oysters] y camarones [shrimp], jaibas [crabs] y langostas [lobster] and all kinds of fish, including our little red hauchinango—with nary a complaint about fish heads with beady eyes.

Can the same happen to you?

So stop wrinkling that little nariz of yours and start eating.

Huachinango con crema de cilantro

Red Snapper with Cilantro Crema

Feel free to use parsley instead if you don't care for the taste of cilantro. I used Mexican crema for this dish, but if you like a thinner consistency, you can add some milk to the crema, or substitute an equal amount of half-and-half. Either way, this dish is easy to prepare, and is almost mistake proof. Just tweak it to your liking. You don't even have to cook a whole fish if you don't want to, filets are fine, too. I like to use a little seasoning salt in my cilantro crema, so I am suggesting it here. Loosely adapted from Mexico the Beautiful Cookbook.

Ingredients:

1 whole red snapper or 3 lbs. of snapper filet. You can substitute it with any fish with white flesh, as long as it is firm.

one large lime or lemon, cut in half

1 clove garlic, minced

About ¼ cup of chopped onion. Cut a few slices for the top of the fish

Sea salt and fresh ground pepper to taste

2 cups of Mexican crema, or 2 cups of half-and-half (Fat-free half-and-half is fine.)

1 ½ cups fresh cilantro, or fresh flat-leafed parsley

1 avocado, preferably Hass (optional)

Recipe Directions:

Preheat the oven to 325°. Sprinkle salt and pepper the fish. Then rub it all over with the minced garlic. Next, take one half of the cut lime or lemon and squeeze juice over the fish. Take some a few sprigs of cilantro and the chopped onion and stuff them into the fish's cavity. Place a bay leaf underneath the fish and put some slices of onion on top. Place the fish in an oiled baking dish and cover with aluminum foil. Refrigerate it for about 30 minutes.

In the meantime, take the crema or the half-and-half and the cilantro and whirl them in a blender. You can add more cilantro or parsley, salt and pepper or even some lemon juice until it tastes the way you want it to. You can dilute it by adding a little milk if you like. Blending in some avocado makes it extra rich.

Bake the fish for about 30 minutes or so. The fish is done cooking when its flesh feels firm, but do not over-bake it.

In the last few minutes of baking time, pour the cilantro crema into a saucepan and simmer it until it is warm, but not hot.

When the fish is done, take it out of the oven and pour the cilantro crema over the fish. Serve right away.

Serves 2 people very well.

Note: Last month I mentioned that my little friend, Nakita, who lives just north of Tokyo had not contacted me yet. Three weeks after that devastating quake, I finally heard from her. She and her family are okay. What a relief!)

This Bowl of Comfort

2011-03-19T09:31:00.001-07:00

Cruel winter will be gone soon, and I for one am glad. May it pack its rags and take with it its earthquakes and tsunamis and never show its ugly face again.

Our friends, Luis and Keiko are visiting her family in Japan. Thankfully, they are in the south and not in the north where most of the devastation took place. Sachiko emailed and told me that she and her family are okay, and she is holding her head high. As for my little friend, Nakita . . . well, I have not heard back from her yet.

Somehow, it's hard to breezily tell you all about arroz con leche as if nothing has happened. In a few days it will be the first day of spring. I will sit in my little peaceful corner with this bowl of comfort and I will pray for my friends. I pray that Luis and Keiko, Sachiko and Nakita and their families feel soft cool breezes and rays of bright sunshine. May they tend to their azaleas and enjoy good food and drink pure water. I wish them sakura—sweet cherry blossoms—and a life filled with indescribable beauty, the kind I found when I visited their country.

Arroz con leche

Mexican Style Rice Pudding with Tequila Soaked Raisins

I used medium grain rice by mistake. Your arroz con leche will look slightly different. If you prefer not to add canned evaporated milk, replace it by using your own homemade version by simmering 3 cups of milk in an uncovered medium sized saucepan until it is reduced by half.

Ingredients:

3 cups water
1 ½ cups long grain rice
1 big fat stick of cinnamon
a 2 ½ inch strip of lemon peel. Remove the white pith.
a pinch of salt
up to 1 ½ cups of sugar, brown sugar, piloncillo or any kind of sugar you prefer
1 can of evaporated milk (12 fluid ounces)
1 teaspoon vanilla 1/3 cup of dark raisins, or more to taste (optional)
¼ cup or more of tequila, brandy, or rum (optional)
Directions:
In a small bowl, soak the raisins in the tequila.
In a covered medium sized saucepan, bring the water and the cinnamon stick to a boil. Turn off the heat and let it sit for about 30 minutes to an hour to bring out the full flavor of the cinnamon stick.
Bring the cinnamon water to a boil. Add the rice, lemon peel strip and the salt. Cover and lower the heat to a simmer. Cook for about 20 minutes, or until all of the water is absorbed and the rice is cooked.
Add the evaporated milk and the sugar to taste and stir until well blended. Add the raisins and the rest of the tequila if you want. When it is heated through, turn off the heat. The rice will continue to thicken on its own.
If you want to thin it a bit, just add more milk.
Serves about 6 to 8 people.

Fat Mexican Women?

2011-02-11T02:06:00.001-08:00

"Tell me," my boss's daughter once asked. "Why do all Mexican women get so fat?"

"What, do I look fat to you?" It was the first time I had been asked that question. I weighed at the time all of 104 lbs. if there was a brick in my coat pocket—I wish I had a brick so I could throw it at her!

"No. But someday you will be." She looked at me and smiled, but it was one of those mean smirky smiles. I did not smile back.

Since I never gave a satisfying answer to that question, this time I think I will ask

Eva Longoria

Salma Hayek

And even Frida Kahlo, "back from the dead", for their opinion on the subject.

And now that this burning question has been laid to rest—forever, I hope—I think it is only fair that I introduce you to this Mexican-style vegetable beef stew, a secret weapon in the fight against fat for those of us who vowed to lose some poundage early last month, only to see our resolve fall by the wayside when we were told that eating Mexican food will make us resemble a stuffed tamal. What can be more fatal to a diet than a bad carnitas taco craving when you are bored, bored, bored by some highly uninspiring processed "low fat" food that everyone tells you are supposed to eat in order to look good?

If you are thinking that this stew looks somehow familiar, you are partly right. It is the beefy cousin to my mother's caldo de pollo (the Mexican Chicken Stew that became our demon rooster's final resting place.) Take a bite of the tender boiled beef; taste the delicate sweetness of the corn-on-the-cob. Feel not a bit of guilt as you eat the calabacitas [zucchini], cabbage, garbanzos and even a small bit of not-so-terrible potato—all of them floating in a sea of clear beef broth that contains practically no fat, only sabor. This soup is best served when it's raining or snowing outside. Add a squeeze of lime and a spoonful of Mexican rice (optional, of course), and let your mind wander as you gaze out the window and contemplate the naked branches of the trees and dream of how fabulosa you are going to feel come la primavera [springtime].

Getting back the issue of "fat" Mexican women, perhaps it is just as well that I never responded to that woman's ridiculous question. She seemed proud of her designer clothing and semi-starved state, looking toda chupada y seca—like an unhappy bone that is sucked dry. I honestly don't think she would have understood. I decided right then and there that I wasn't going to sacrifice my health or my enjoyment of life just for the sake of trying to stay thin. I should thank her for that, although it was not quite the lesson she was expecting me to learn if she had known it.

I guess women are hardwired to want to look attractive (and to own a million sexy looking shoes), but why sacrifice our health or our self-esteem for the sake of some ideal imposed by a small group of stylemakers whose idea of the perfect woman is a giant in a size 2 dress? Not all of us will ever be slender or long of limb, nor should we want to be. I would be brokenhearted if any of my beloved sobrinas [nieces] ever started to believe that they were ugly just because they don't fit an unrealistic image of feminine beauty.

Our muchachas [girls] can be round-bellied or flat-bellied, tall or petite, güeritas or morenitas [light or dark skinned], swan necked or no-necked, it doesn't matter. Teach them how to cook healthy Mexican food and tell them, yes, tell them everyday that they are beautiful.

Because they are.

Mexican Style Vegetable Beef Stew with Zucchini Squash, Corn & Cabbage

Caldo de rez con calabazas, elote y repollo

This stew contains no chiles or tomatoes—a surprise for those who think that Mexican food is all about bold flavors. Add a spoonful of hot chile salsa if you want some kick. Plus, you might think it a pain to keep boiling the beef and tossing out the water until there is no more foam, but you will be rewarded with a nice scum-free broth.

3 pounds beef shanks, thick sliced (I buy mine at the Mexican butcher's)

plenty of water

about ½ tablespoon salt

8 peppercorns; or, ½ teaspoon ground pepper

½ onion

2 cloves garlic

1 bay leaf

a pinch of dried thyme

3 thin-skinned white boiling potatoes, cut into not too small cubes (peeling is optional)

4 small or 1 large carrot, peeled and sliced in 1/2 inch to 1/4 inch disks depending on your preference

2 or 3 fresh ears of corn, cut to 2 to 3 inches

2 or 3 zucchini, sliced crosswise less than ½ inch

¼ head of cabbage, very coarsely chopped. You can add more if you like.

1 celery stalk, very thinly sliced, about 1/8 inch

fresh sprigs of cilantro

fresh limes cut into quarters

homemade chile salsa (click here for recipe); or, your favorite chile salsa

Mexican rice (click here for recipe)

Trim off any excess fat from along the edge of each beef shank. Rinse and place them in a large pot and cover them with water. Bring the water to a boil and then lower the heat to medium. When the water is full of foam, remove the beef and toss out the water. Wash and rinse the pot. Then, return the beef shanks to the pot and cover with water again. Repeat this process until the boiling water no longer foams up (up to 2 times). Then, add more water to the pot until the water level is about 1 inch to 1 ½ inches above the beef (about 12 or more cups).

Add ½ onion, garlic and salt, pepper corns, bay leaf and thyme. Bring to a boil, then set heat to low. Skim off any leftover foam that may rise to the top. Then cover the pot with a lid but make sure that it is vented. Simmer the beef for about 2 hours, or until the beef is very tender and practically falls off the bone. Fish out the onion and garlic and discard them. Remove the beef shanks from the pot. Trim off any leftover fat, etc. Discard the fat along with the bones. Cut the beef into large pieces, and put them back into the pot.

Now is the time to add the potatoes, corn and the sliced carrots. Bring to a boil. Then cover the pot and reduce heat to low and boil softly for about 30 minutes. Add the zucchini and celery. After about 15 minutes, add the cabbage and cook for about 10 minutes. Don't worry if any of the vegetables are still a little too crisp. The stew will continue to cook them after you turn off the heat.

Taste the broth. Does it need more salt and pepper? If you think that it needs more beefy flavor, you can cheat and add some beef bouillon to taste.

Use large bowls to serve this stew. Top with a generous helping of Mexican rice, a squeeze of lime, a bit of cilantro and salsa. Like with any stew, it tastes maravilloso the next day.

Serves 6 to 8 persons.

Hombre A Hombre

2011-01-08T00:12:00.001-08:00

(Scroll down for CHAMPURRADO recipe.)

"¿Qué haces aquí—what are you doing here?" asked Francisco's father.
"Mama said you'd be here. Papá,what I said to you last night, nomás era una broma—it was just a joke. Why can't you have a sense of humor?—"

Don José averted his gaze and looked out across the strawberry fields to the emerald-hued hills. For a moment, his thoughts lingered on a certain point. Lately, a condescending note had crept into his son Francisco's voice. He was high-handed toward his hermanos y hermanas, even to his mother. He even started speaking to him as if he were un viejo simplón—a simpleminded old fool. But last night! What he said to him last night was el colmo—the last straw. Now ese hijo malagradecido—that ungrateful son of his was showing up to explain himself. It was time to speak to Francisco hombre a hombre.

"You came all this way to tell me that? Sabes, Francisco, first you show me some respeto-respect. If you really feel bad about what you said to me last night, you'll help me pull out these weeds and dead plants." He waited to see what Francisco would do, but Francisco's face registered nothing but disgust.

"In case you don't remember," he retorted, "but I've already done that. I can't believe you want me to leave everything I've learned and worked hard for only to come back here to work like a burro in this lodo." He pointed to the ground and stamped his foot, splattering mud all over. His superciliousness usually worked wonders on frightened underlings, but it had absolutely no effect on Don José. He only looked at him with a curious mixture of resentment, a touch of amusement and what can only be described as lástima—pity for a son whose greatest accomplishment at this moment was the painful realization that he was behaving like a whiny self-important twit.

Don José's let the insight sink in, then his voice grew gentle. "Did I say I wanted you to come back and work in the fields? No, mi'jo. But I taught you never to be afraid of hard work and aguante. Aguante y paciencia—endurance and patience. Sabe dónde—who knows where you learned to make fun of your father—pero de nosotros no—but you didn't learn it from us." He started laughing at the absurd situation he found himself in. After years of hard work and sacrifice for the sake of his children, his only "reward" was having a son who appreciated none of it. "Mira nomás—just look at yourself." Don José pointed to his son's muddy boots.

Francisco's face was white, then turned as red as a strawberry. He was embarrassed—no, mortified, but machismo and pride made him reply, "I'm tired of your reproaches and con—se—ji—tos—your little pieces of advice. I don't have anything more to learn from you."

"¿Deveras? You're just angry that you didn't get off easy. You thought you could pat on me on the head como tu perrito—like your little dog and be gone. Tell me, Francisco," asked Don José, whose eyes never left Francisco's face, "¿nos quebramos el lomo—did your mamá and me break our backs working in the fields to put food in your mouth so that you could insult us?"

Francisco was silent. There was a feeling of rupture in the air. The only sound was the early morning breeze as it filtered its way through eucalyptus trees at the edge of the field.

At last Don José spoke in a tone as quiet as Francisco had ever heard him speak. "Ahora con su permiso—with your permission, but this burro has work to do." He dropped to his knees and started yanking weeds and dead strawberry plants. His father had never before addressed him in the formal usted. Their conversation had come to an end.

Francisco made his way across the field. More people started arriving. Some remembered him and tried saying hola, but he ignored them. His trousers and boots were caked in mud. He tried to scrape some off before getting in his car, but they ruined. He slammed the car door and drove off.

Don José's heart felt heavy and sick, but work had made him forget Francisco as it had all his other troubles over the years. The winter sun started to peek from behind the hills, but with it, a wind from el norte started kicking up. Cold penetrated his jacket and made his bones and body ache.

"Last night he called me una papa enterrada [a buried potato], as if I don't have brains in la cabeza, as if I didn't have a corazón. Perhaps he is right. ¿Qué pasó—what happened? When he was just a muchachito he looked up to me. Now he looks down on his pobre viejo."

What was it with Francisco? Was it this country with its language and customs, the education he received, the people he hung out with, were all these turning his son into un estraño he no longer knew? Then there was la Heidi, the German girl Francisco met overseas and took as a bride. She was nice—she always smiled at him even if they couldn't understand each other. And she worked hard. There wasn't a dirty cup she didn't wash, a floor she wouldn't mop, cleaning, always cleaning, never sitting down to chat with the rest of the la familia until she left the kitchen spotless. Still, she turned red as a chile if she ate one little jalapeño. She insisted that German beer was better than Mexican, and thought nothing of joining in the conversation of men. Perhaps this was all Heidi's fault. Why couldn't Francisco have married a girl de su raza, a Mexican girl who spoke Spanish?

Later that day, when Don José felt a tap on his shoulder he was surprised to see it was Francisco. He was holding a large thermos in his hand. There were rubber boots on his feet and a sad look of self-reproach on his face.

"Papá, tiene frío—you're cold, would you like something to drink?"

Don José barely acknowledged him. "No quiero nada—I don't want any." Francisco poured some champurrado into a cup and thrust it into his father's hands. Don José looked at it reproachfully but found himself drinking all of it. It was fragrant of clavos y canela—of cloves and of sweet cinnamon spice. There was the taste of bittersweet chocolate and piloncillo—raw Mexican sugar. It coated his throat and warmed his whole body.

"¿No vas a tomar—aren't you having some?" he asked.

"Heidi made this for you. She told me to come back and apologize to you for being such a dummkopf—that's German for idiota, Papá." And, with a sheepish smile he added, "Mamá taught her how to make it."

"Vaya—did she now?" His surprise couldn't be more complete. He took another sip of the champurrado and said, "I've always like that güerita you married. Te tiene de la
cola—she has you by the tail."

Francisco allowed himself to laugh. That was not quite true, or so the thought, but he let it pass.

"Now I'm going to tell you what I should have said this morning. Lo siento, Papá—I'm sorry.
Perdóname—forgive me—."

"For what, mi'jo?" Don José shrugged his shoulders and with a dismissive wave of his hand indicated that all was forgotten. Now that Francisco offered a real apology, his father extended a real, if slightly offhanded kind of forgiveness that left both of their dignities intact.

Francisco started working another row of plants. Not another word passed between father and son. When it got too cold, each took his turn drinking the champurrado Heidi had made.

The field resembled an immense canvas striped brown and green. They and the others gathered all of the foliage into large plastic bags and left them on the side of the road that divided the field. Later, a truck would come by to haul them away.

Twilight. Soon darkness and soft rainfall. It was time to go home.

Champurrado
Many thanks to Barbara Hansen, former "Borderline" columnist for the LA Times, for allowing me to adapt her champurrado recipe. You can find Barbara at her delicious and informative Table Conversation blog. Thank you, Barbara, for loving Mexican food and for preserving precious recipes. You taught many of us how to cook.

Ingredients:

4 cups water
1 large cinnamon stick
1 or 2 cloves
1¼ cups water
1 cup instant masa
½ to 1 whole circular spiced Mexican chocolate such as Ibarra or Abuelita; or, 1- ½ oz. semisweet chocolate plus 1 tablespoon sugar, pinch of cinnamon and 3 or 4 drops vanilla extract
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar; or one medium sized cone of pilloncillo (Mexican raw sugar)
1 (13-oz.) can evaporated milk

Combine 4 cups water, cinnamon stick an cloves in a large saucepan over medium-high heat. Bring to a boil, then remove it from the heat. Cover and let it stand for at least one hour. The water should be a deep cinnamon color. Remove the cinnamon stick and the cloves.

Gradually blend the instant masa into the 1¼ cup water until it is smooth. Strain the masa through a wire mesh sieve into the cinnamon water, or use a wire wisk to make sure that there are no lumps. Add the brown sugar or the pilloncillo, the chocolate tablet or the chocolate flavorings. Bring to a boil over medium heat, stirring constantly. When the mixture has thickened, add the evaporated milk. Cook and stir until hot. Add water or milk to thin it down if you like.

Serves 6 to 8 people.

Not Afraid of a Mean Little Chile, Are You?

2010-10-17T22:43:00.001-07:00

I never thought in the history of this blog that I would be stringing together the words "mild" and "chile" in the same sentence. And, no, I am not referring to some wimpy green bellpepper. I mean jalapeños, baby, and maybe habaneros or serranos, or any kind of chile that you speak of in hushed tones with a trace of trembling fear in some backroom with the lights on. You can and will conquer these chiles with a little help of Mexican crema, a tangy sauce that is closer to crème fraîche than to sour cream. It is the sauce that gives that cool creamy edge to Baja-style fish tacos and enchiladas and other dishes that call for a touch of dairy. No wonder my gatita viejita, who usually abhors chiles, is fascinated with this dish! . . . (You don't need to tell me--as there is nothing as pathetic or as annoying or as interesting, depending on your point of view, as a woman who goes on and on about her cat, I will stop right here. WHAT--you were expecting a pitbull or a chihuahua??)

Perhaps it is an exaggeration to say that crema will completely douse the fire of a hot chile, but instead of crying and calling for the paramedics, you will be making so many yummy sounds that everybody will tell you to shut up. For once, chiles con crema will help you to fully enjoy the chile flavors you were missing out on as you were busy jumping up and down from the pain: the sweetness, the spicy yumminess, the cool-hot-mildness of chiles and crema together. Plus it will help you get people like my friend, Marta, from whom I adapted this recipe.

Marta is not just a fabulous cook, she is just plain fabulosa—someone I would be intensely jealous of if she wasn't so kind and loveable. I envy her perfect teeth, the way her hair shines auburn in the sunlight, how she makes people giddy and smiling like fools, myself included, when she gives them un fuerte abrazo—a big fat hug—and says, "Hi, honeeeeey! ¿Cómo estás?" But mostly, it's her fearlessness, at least where chiles are concerned, that I envy the most. And, how that beautiful fire-eating dragon regularly takes some habanero chiles in her perfectly manicured hand and pops them in her mouth like they were little orange apples. Her salsas are so powerful that, seriously, I believe that her tongue and taste buds have been reduced to scorched earth. I am a bit of a fire breather myself, but there is no way I can compete with Marta. Actually, nobody can compete with Marta.

Until now.

Seeing that I have no desire to torch my treasured little taste buds, I doubt that I will ever be as fabulosa as Marta. But, if eating a fierce chile with crema will miraculously make me as sweet as mi amiga, you can rest assured that I'll gobble up some habaneros with crema and will be loving every minute of it.

Chile Strips With Mexican Crema
Rajas de chiles con crema
The best way to try this dish is with some poblano chiles, mild but bursting with flavor, and some jalapeños. Although I prefer to roast my chiles in order to remove the outer skin, you can omit this step if you want. Adding some sweet onion as you are frying the chiles only makes it all the more delicious. This is so easy to make that you really don't need a recipe. Feel free to experiment with any fresh chile you have on hand, such as Anahiem, Poblano, Jalapeño,etc., depending how hot or mild you want it to be. Serve this with almost any Mexican dish, or in a taco. If you want to kick it up a notch, add a touch of hot red salsa to any mild version of this recipe before taking a bite. If you cannot find crema mexicana, no problem. Sour cream is good enough in a pinch. I like my dish super thick and tangy, so I used El Mexicano's "Crema Superior", a thick acidified sour cream instead. Any of the different varieties of Mexican crema will do. If you need to reheat this dish but the sauce has become too thick for your liking, you can always add a little bit of pourable crema or milk to thin it down a bit.

To learn more about chiles, click here.

To learn more about roasting chiles, click here.

Ingredients:

About 6 poblano chiles, or any chile you prefer

4 jalapeño chiles (optional)

About 1 tablespoon of vegetable oil

About 1 tablespoon butter

About 1/3 onion, sliced into strips (optional)

One jar of Mexican Crema (about 15 fl. oz); or the equivelent of sour cream or crème fraîche

Salt to taste

Directions:
To lightly roast the chiles, bring a large pot of water to a rolling boil. Put the chiles in the pot, and parboil the poblanos for about 6 minutes. (Only about 4 or 5 minutes in the boiling water for the jalapeños). Remove the chiles from the pot and place them on a platter.

Using a pair of metal tongs, take each chile and hold it over the flame of a gas burner of your stove. You will see the skin of the chiles burst almost instantly. Do the same for the jalapeños. Quickly place each chile as you are done roasting it and place it in a plastic bag, but covered very loosely. You do not want your Poblano chile to be overly cooked and soggy.
When the chiles cool somewhat, use the back edge of a knife to scrape of the charred outer skin of each chile (see picture, above). Cut the chiles open lengthwise, and remove the seeds and stem. Do the same for the jalapenos. Now slice the chiles in long strips for the poblanos, crosswise for the jalapeños. If you like, you can slice up some onion into long strips, too.
Over medium-low heat, melt the vegetable oil and the butter together in a medium sized saucepan. Add the chiles and the onion. When the chile and onion are soft and its aroma fills the kitchen, lower the heat and add the crema to taste. (You can always use the leftover crema for something else). Once the crema is just hot, remove from the heat and season with salt to taste. Pour into a large bowl and serve right away.

Serves about 6 people.

Now you can eat chiles without fear.

The Cure For What's Ailing You

2010-08-31T21:59:00.001-07:00

Let me try putting this as nicely as I can: Yes, there are bits of cow stomach (tripe) in this bowl of menudo, and, yes, I threw some pieces of calf's pata (foot) into the pot. So, may I suggest that you please put on your Big Girl Chonis and just get over it and taste some? You just might have found the cure for what's ailing you.

Calf's foot, hominy and tripe are anything but remarkable. And yet, when some resourceful ranchera woman of long ago took some lowly cow offal and created a stew, it became something that is truly greater than the sum of its parts. Love or hate it, menudo is a classic, and you can't say that you really know Mexican food if you have never tasted it. Out of all of Mexico's famous caldos, this is the one that is most cherished for its restorative powers. Feeling timid and weak? Its rich spicy broth will put pelos (hair) on your chest (even if you are a girl). Sad with a broken heart? The tender bites of menudo will console you better than ten mothers who think that telling you, "Why you crying, mija?? T'row him in a traash!" is consolation enough. Nursing a magnificent hangover? Eat some red-hot menudo and you'll be singing to the radio on your way to work instead of calling in sick (again)—or so I am told.

My memories of menudo have never been of the inebriated, hugging the toilet at dawn I need some menudo right now! sort. Perhaps I am a hopeless (but unrepentant) square, but I've never thought that waking up with a head pounding cruda, bleary of eyes and foul of breath, can be called pretty or even fun, so I cannot confirm that menudo is the perfect remedy for a hangover. But my viejo's uncle, the gorgeous mariachi singer who was plagued with that all too stereotypical mariachi affliction, said that it worked just fine and who am to say it ain't so?

They are more like the day I got married, and how I was so wound up that I forgot to eat breakfast. Or how when my mother found out, reminded me that if I didn't eat anything I was going to pass out right in the middle of the ceremony como una gallina asustada—like some frightened hen. Before I knew it, my two sisters wrapped me, wedding dress and all, in a bed sheet while my mother proceeded to force her eye-poppingly hot red menudo down my throat. I'm sure I got married with menudo breath that day but no matter—I was the picture of blissful serenity as I walked down the aisle to meet my fate, thanks to the menudo.

After the wedding reception, the real party got started over at my new suegra's (mom-in-law's) house where toda la familia celebrated with her Sonora-style white menudo and a glass of champagne. An unusual pairing to say the least, but why not? Who says you can't have Mexican food with some fancy French wine? Besides, it was fabuloso. Menudo is customarily eaten early the next day after an all night pachanga (a big Mexican shindig) but I suppose my cuños y cuñas (bros-and-sisters-in-law) couldn't wait for morning. That is how much they and most Mexicans love menudo.

My husband and I agree on most things, but when it comes to menudo we will never see eye to eye. He says white is best. I say red. He says that white menudo does not need to shout to be noticed. It demands the freshest of ingredients and care in preparation. There is no disguising sloppiness as is sometimes the case with red menudo. I say where's the drama? What's the use of eating menudo without a spicy red chile broth? It's like eating chocolate cake without the frosting—absolutely pointless. (I secretly love white menudo, and I know he feels the same way about red, but why admit it?)

The one thing we can agree on is this: Menudo is wholly satisfying and is perfect just the way it is. Thankfully, I doubt that it will ever be tweaked or "improved" upon. In other words, it might never appear at your local Taco Bell or on the menu at one of those new gourmet (read wildly expensive) Mexican food eateries. They might make the foodies happy but we probably will never eat there. We'll take a homemade bowl of cow stomach menudo over a designer taco any day, muchas gracias.

Some will pass up the opportunity to enjoy this fortifying stew, but that's okay. "Entre menos burros hay más elotes—With fewer burros, there is more corn for the rest us," to quote one of my mothers favorite dichos.

Or to put it very loosely, don't be a burro and give menudo a try.

Red or Sonora Style White Menudo

Menudo rojo o blanco al estilo Sonora

To purchase the best tripe, go to your local Mexican butcher, usually early on a Friday. You might not find any come Saturday morning. The tripe should be white or a light cream with no strong odor. Try buying tripe that has washed and scraped of all fat to save time. Otherwise, scrape off all traces of fat with a sharp knife. If you soak the calf's foot pieces in a lemon-juice-water mixture for the allotted time, I promise you the strong cooking odor some people complain about will be kept to a minimum. Later, your visitors will be surprised you spent the whole day cooking menudo because they won't smell a thing. An added bonus: very little excess fat!
Honeycomb tripe (pictured above), the most popular, looks just like its name. Most cooks use only honeycomb tripe or a combination of honeycomb and different styles of tripe such as Toalla which looks like a thick fluffy towel, hence its name. (Not pictured. The butcher ran out of it before I arrived. See what I mean?) Lebrillo tripe is a lacey delicate looking tripe (see picture right). It is best used with a heartier tripe such as Toalla or Honeycomb.

Menudo is best served the same day or the next, but no longer. So don't cook a large batch unless you know it is going to be all eaten.
For this recipe I got a little lazy and used Mexican-style hominy out a can (Shh! Don't tell my friend Eva!), but the next time I cook menudo, I will show you how to cook hominy from menudo from scratch and I will post some pictures.
Dress up your menudo with chopped fresh cilantro, sliced green onions, dried Mexican oregano, lemon wedges. Chile piquín, tiny but intensely hot, is the dried chile of choice for white menudo, but crushed dried red chile flakes or hot sauce will do fine. Don't forget to bring the corn tortillas—and an open mind.

Ingredients:
3 lbs. honeycomb tripe; or a combination with other kinds of tripe, depending on your taste
½ calf's foot, cut into pieces
Plenty of water (approximately 12 or 13 cups for the menudo)
The juice of one large, or two small, lemons;
About 2 cups cold water
5 garlic cloves, peeled
1 large yellow onion, cut in half
Salt to taste
½ teaspoon ground black pepper, or to taste
1 bay leaf

½ teaspoon ground cumin, or to taste
At least 2 cups canned Mexican style hominy to your taste
A small spoonful of white vinegar, optional

Directions:
Using a sharp knife, carefully scrape off all fat from the tripe. Next cut the tripe in bite-size pieces and trim off any pockets of fat from between its layers. I know it sounds fastidious, but you will thank me later when you don't see buckets of fat floating on top of the stew.

Rinse the tripe and the pieces of calf's foot with water and place them in a large pot. Pour the juice from the large lemon over them with about 2 cups of cold water to cover and refrigerate for a few hours. (I let mine soak overnight.)

Rinse the tripe and the calf foot pieces with cold water. Place them in a large pot and fill with water to cover plus 1 ½ inches (approximately 12 to 13 cups). Add salt to taste, plus the garlic cloves, the onion, ground black pepper and the bay leaf. Bring to a boil; then reduce the heat to medium-low. Loosely cover the pot and let it simmer for about 45 minutes or more. Remove any scum that rises to the top with a large spoon. Continue cooking for 5 hours more, or until the tripe is nice and tender. (Total cooking time is about 6 hours.) Pour boiling water into the pot if the broth starts to evaporate. Skim of any excess surface fat with a large spoon.

Prepare the Red Chile Sauce. In the last hour of cooking, pour at least 2 cups of the Red Chile Sauce into the pot according to your preference, along with the hominy and the cumin. No need to add Red Chile Sauce or cumin to the White Menudo. Adjust the seasonings—does the menudo need more salt, Red Chile Sauce, ground pepper or cumin? Perhaps a small spoonful of white vinegar is just the thing to bring together all of the flavors.

Use large bowls to serve about 6 persons. You can double or even triple this recipe if you want. Once you get the hang of it, you won't need a recipe at all.

Tip: Start cooking your menudo at around midnight, and let it simmer over a low flame all night long. Make sure that there is more than the usual amount of water in the pot. Wake up early the next morning, check the water level, and dump the Red Chile Sauce and the hominy into the pot and go back to bed for a little while. You'll wake up to freshly cooked menudo!

Red Chile Sauce Recipe

Ingredients:
8 dried Ancho chiles
10 dried New Mexico chiles
8 dried California chiles
Water

Directions:

Cut the stems from all the chiles. Then slice them open and remove all the seeds. Place the chiles in a saucepan and cover them with water. Place a lid on the saucepan and boil for about 5 or 6 minutes, or until the chiles are nice and soft. Remove the chiles, but do not discard the water. In small batches, take the chiles along with some of the water and whirl in a blender at high speed.

Now use a strainer to remove the tiny bits of peel. Do this twice to make a super-smooth sauce. It should pour like spaghetti sauce. If the sauce is too thick, add a little more water until it does. Makes about 3 cups. Save any unused portion for other dishes.

Amiga Mia

2010-08-03T15:20:00.001-07:00

A beautiful painting or an elegantly turned piece of poetry may the nourish the soul, but you cannot eat them to sustain life. The only piece of poesía that nourishes both soul and stomach is a good meal when it is created by a passionate and loving cook who can wield a spoon as well as a painter can wield a brush or a poet a pen.

I witnessed the aftermath of her cooking only a moments before I met her. Lina's kitchen was in a tumultuous state. Pots and pans filled the sink and overflowed on the counters. Almost every cabinet door was thrown wide open as if an unseen force, perhaps a small tornado, had blown through. Whoever her sister was, she was one exciting and furious cook. And if the smell of her food was any indication, then her recklessness in the kitchen made me sorry I couldn't stay to savor the results. That is when I knew: whatever she was, whether a crazy woman or an artist (or both), this girl was going to be my friend.

That was how I was introduced to Carla—not a mean crazy woman at all, but certainly an artist at heart, especially when she created her untraditional but always dios mío de mi vida delicious food! She had a childlike (though never childish) simplicity about her, a way of looking at the world, and food, with a kind of playfulness (and sometimes, abandonment), a necessary thing if one is ever to be a good cook or a good artist or even a good person. And she was that. No, she was, like all of us, far from perfect. But she was gentle, spiritual, hospitable to a fault—even when life was too much for her. Even as she lay on the bed from which she was never to arise.

I came to stay with her one August. Her thick lovely hair was gone. And for those of you who have ever lost a friend or a family member to cancer, I don't need to elaborate on the terrible things it can do to a person. There were secrets Carla wanted to keep, so I won't reveal them here. I will say the sadness at our impending goodbye was heartbreaking, the love in that room, intense. It filled every corner of the house with a cinnamon and chocolate aroma that stuck to our clothing and lingered long after Carla was gone.

When I see her again, we will cook and cook and cook until there's a pure explosión de pasión y sobrosura—a deliciousness that will blow the doors off their hinges--for the biggest la vida es un carnaval fiesta, ever.

Descansa por ahora, amiga mía. Un día nos miraremos a los ojos.

*****

Perhaps you are wondering where agua de tamarindo—tamarind punch—fits into this story. Well, it doesn't. There are times when I just can't write about food just for food's sake. I can most times . . . but not today. Inserting agua de tamarindo in this memoir of my friend would have been too forced. And yet, food is the reason why you are here, and I would be a terrible host if I didn't at least offer you something to drink, especially on this hot August day. Carla wouldn't have had it any other way.

(I dedicate my painting of this mighty hibiscus, above, and story to my brave friend, Lina. Never has there been a more loyal and fierce defender or loving friend to a little sister.)

Agua de tamarindo
(Tamarind Punch)

In an act of culinary cross pollination that came via the sea, first from tropical Africa then to India and the rest of Asia, and onward to the shores of Mexico and the Caribbean by Spanish sailors in the 16th Century, tamarind is just an other small link in a chain that binds together all the cuisines of the world in one way or another. And after you taste its unique sweet and sour taste, I dare you to drink another Coke or Pepsi with carnitas tacos.

This agua fresca is a little strong, but with plenty of ice and giving it a few minutes for it to dilute just a bit, it will taste just perfect when you are ready to serve.

6 ounces of tamarind pods (approximately 10 pods)

6 to 8 tablespoons granulated sugar, or to taste

6 cups boiling water

plenty of ice

a large pitcher

Peel away the outer shell and the woody membranes from each of the tamarind pods. Rinse them and place them all in a large bowl Pour the boiling water over them, add the sugar, stir, and let them sit for about two hours or so.

Then, use your fingers to squeeze the pods until the water turns amber colored. Make sure that no large pieces of tamarind pulps remain. Strain the water and discard the seeds. Pour the water into a large pitcher and add plenty of ice. Drink when the punch is ice cold and perfectly diluted. Stir just before serving.

Serves about 8 persons.

Not So Innocent

2010-07-02T21:55:00.001-07:00

Tres Leches, or "Three Milks" Cake is as sweet as a mother's lullaby. When its moist creaminess joins and melts together with the fresh tart sweetness of sliced strawberry, it then becomes una canción de amor, a song of a love that is lasting and true. Leave it to an unashamedly romantic people to create a cake that sheds tears of joy.

Sadly for me, the only tears I have shed for Tres Leches have been tears of frustration.

How was I to know that after conquering tamales and chiles rellenos, that un cake-y of all things would be my crushing defeat? Bar none, no other recipe has caused me more consternation and gnashing of teeth. The first cake I baked was an unmitigated disaster—you can't even begin to imagine how tempted I was to hurl it! against something hard. But then I would have had to explain to my viejo why I made a gaping hole in the wall. That's how heavy and meh it was.

It was not until I baked three cakes, all of them insipid or Just Plain Bad, that I finally found what I consider the best overall cake-y recipe for Tres Leches.

Tres Leches calls for a rich cake with the lemony tang of buttermilk to keep it from descending into a cloying (and annoying) sweetness. A cake that is firm enough to stand up to a drenching of delicious not-so-innocent milk sauce, but not so dense that it can substitute as a doorstop. It is an answer to those friends of mine who have been turned aside by the dark sensuous seduction of chocolate cake. They happen to be of the opinion that Tres Leches Cake is too soggy and sweet, like the cute little baby with milk on its breath and a "gift" its diapers. . . . But I'm absolutely sure they will change their minds when they smell the brandy oozing out from the bottom of the cake.
Perhaps after they bite into its moist sweetness and feel its subtle allure, they will be singing canciones de amor and shedding tears of joy, too.

(Feliz aniversario to some great amigos, pictured above, for their 40 years de puro amor. May their lives be a piece of Tres Leches cake with sliced strawberries and a yellow rosebud in the center. P.S. Dear Librado, in case you are reading this, one of my readers says that you look like Luis Miguel--uy, yuy, yuy!)

Tres Leches Cake

Pastel de tres leches

I used only one cake layer to make to make my Tres Leches Cake, and saved the other one for another time. Many thanks to a certain friend of mine for sharing the cake recipe with me.

Ingredients:
3 cups of sifted unbleached all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
½ teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon table salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup buttermilk
3 large eggs, plus 1 yolk at room temperature
2 ¼ sticks butter at room temperature
2 cups cane sugar
a pint of strawberries, caps removed (optional)
Not-So-Innocent Leches Sauce (recipe to follow)
Whipped Cream Frosting (recipe to follow); or, your favorite white cake frosting

Cake:

Spray the inside of two 9 inch cake pans with a non-stick spray with flour made especially for baking. Preheat oven to 325 degrees F. In a large bowl, sift together flour, baking powder, baking soda and salt. Pour the vanilla into the buttermilk and stir. In a smaller bowl, beat eggs and yolk just to combine. In still another large bowl, cream the butter and sugar at medium-high speed until the mixture is fluffy. Reduce the speed to medium, gradually adding in the eggs and beat until it is fluffy. Alternately add the flour and buttermilk mixtures a bit at a time. Keep beating until you see that the ingredients are not just combined but aerated. Scrape down the sides of the bowl and beat for a few seconds longer. Pour the batter into the cake pans and put them in the preheated oven and bake for 35 to 40 minutes, or until cake is golden brown. Test by inserting a toothpick in the middle of the cake. It should come out dry.

Let the cakes cool for about 10 to 15 minutes. Remove them from the cake pans and put them on a wire rack to cool completely. Slice off the top portion of the cakes to create a flat surface. Invert one cake layer onto a large plate or cake stand, preferably one with a lip around the edge.

Use a bamboo skewer to make deep holes all over the top of each cake. Then, slowly pour half of the Milk Sauce all over the cake and let it sink in. Put the other cake layer on top and pour the rest of the sauce.

Take the whipped cream frosting and spread evenly all over the cake. Take the strawberries and slice them lengthwise, about 3/8 inch thick. Layer them in a circular motion from the outside in. Put a romantic rosebud in the center of the cake if you want. Watch the tears of joy seep out from the bottom of the cake.

Summertime tip: refrigerate this cake until it is ready to serve.

Note: if you do not care to soak the cake in the Leches Sauce, then do not poke holes in the cake. Simply pour the sauce over slice of cake instead.

Not-So-Innocent Leches Sauce Recipe:

1 12 ounce can of evaporated milk
1 14 ounce can of sweetened condensed milk
1 cup heavy whipping cream
½ teaspoon vanilla
the zest of one lemon or lime (optional); OR, one to three tablespoons brandy or rum (optional)

Pour evaportated milk and the sweetened condensed milk, whipping cream, lime zest into a bowl and whisk until they are thoroughly combined. Pour the sauce into a saucepan and cook uncovered over medium-low heat until the sauce is hot, but not boiling. Lower the heat down to a simmer for 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally. Use a mesh strainer to catch the lime zest as your pour the sauce back into the bowl. Let cool before pouring over the cake.
Alternative: omit the lemon or lime zest and add brandy or rum. (Not recommended if you are putting sliced strawberries on top, but rum goes great with fresh sliced mango!)

Whipped Cream Frosting Recipe:

2 cups whipping cream

about four tablespoons sugar, or to taste (frosting should not be too sweet).

½ teaspoon vanilla

Chill the mixing bowl and beater prior to mixing. Beat all of the ingredients together until it is thick enough to spread easily over the cake.

Doing Justice to Huevos Rancheros

2010-05-13T23:07:00.001-07:00

My abuelita Clementina, after whom I was named, was a very dignified woman with a clear sense of propriety. So strong was her abhorrence of anything remotely vulgar, that the word huevo (egg) never escaped her lips lest it drew chuckles from the male population. Blanquillo ("little white one") was her euphemism of choice. And if you are wondering why the male population would chuckle at something as innocuous as an egg. . . well, go ask your abuelo, because, you won't hear it from me.

Perhaps my abuelita Clementina would have been glad that I am writing about Huevos Rancheros, because if there is any Mexican dish that has suffered on its trip northward, this is most certainly it. It goes without saying that most restaurant style Huevos Rancheros are nothing more than a gussied-up version of nachos with rubbery overly cooked eggs attached. If you can feel my righteous indignation oozing off this post, then you are absolutely right. It is as bad as taking a fresh-faced rancherita—a sweet country girl—and making her up to look like a payasa—a painted clown.

Huevos Rancheros conjures up the image of rustic freshness—a cooked salsa made from cooked or, in this case, oven roasted vine ripened tomatoes, chiles, garlic and onions, bright with the taste of their own natural sweetness counterbalanced with a slight undertone of charred smokiness. It means eggs so fresh that they are still warm from lying beneath the little butts of the hens that laid them. And corn tortillas fried up not too soggy or too crisp, but just right. In short, the way Huevos Rancheros were meant to be: a beguiling combination of heat-sweet-tanginess, a rich creaminess together with crunchability, perfect whether you are eating them para el almuerzo—for a late breakfast, or if you are frying some up for dinner, especially if you want to eat something hearty but fast and simple to make.

As for this classic Mexican dish, wouldn't you say it is time to take it back, rescuing it from the disgusting nacho mess it has become, and cooking some Huevos Rancheros your dignified abuelita would be proud of?

You can bet your blanquillos that I would.

Huevos Rancheros With Roasted Tomato Salsa

Or, How to Fry An Egg (For Those Who Don't Know How)

Using a molcajete to crush the ingredients makes the most authentic and best salsa. Nothing can duplicate its flavor or texture--period. Also, I respectfully disagree with Cook's Magazine, from which I very loosely adapted the salsa recipe: If you want keep the rustic charm of this salsa, do not core the tomatoes or remove the seeds as some European trained cooks are apt to do. My Mexican mother never did this and neither should you. As for the jalapeño or serrano chiles, use as much or as little as you can bear.

Ingredients:

Roasted Tomato Salsa (recipe to follow)
eggs
corn tortillas
any vegetable oil
butter (optional)

Roasted Tomato Salsa Recipe:

Ingredients:

6 to 8 ripe medium to large tomatoes, cut in half
about a 1/3 of an onion
2 fresh serrano or jalapeño chiles, whole or seeded, depending how hot you want the salsa
1 fresh serano or jalapeno, finely minced
2 or 3 cloves garlic in their skins.
oregano to taste
ground cumin to taste
salt and pepper to taste

Making the Salsa:

Preheat your oven to 350 degrees F.

Line a rimmed cookie sheet with aluminum foil and give it a light brushing of vegetable oil. Put the onion, garlic cloves, the chiles, and the tomatoes, cut side down on the cookie sheet. Place the cookie sheet on the lower rack of your oven and roast for about one-half hour, or until you see that the tomatoes are "melted" and cooking in their own juices. The tops should be brown, but not burned to the ground. Remove them from the oven at once. Peel the garlic.

MOLCAJETE METHOD: (Don't have a molcajete? Go to Mi Tiendita—My Little Kitchen Store and buy yourself one!)

Take the onion, chiles and garlic, and crush them to a pulp. If your molcajete is small, scrape off the onion-chile mixture and set itaside. Next crush all of the tomatoes. There should be no large pieces of tomato peel. Scrape off the crushed tomatoes and mix with the onion-chile mixture until well blended.

FOOD PROCESSOR METHOD: Pulse the onion, chiles and garlic into small chunks. Set aside. Do the same for the tomatoes. Do not over process. Mix the tomatoes and onion-chile mixture together.

Add the fresh minced chile to the salsa. Whether you want to seed the chile before you mince it is up to you.

Next: add salt, pepper, oregano and ground cumin to taste. If the salsa is not acidy enough for you, you can add a little squirt of lime juice.
Refrigerate the salsa overnight until the next morning. Reheat and keep warm until ready to serve. If the salsa is a little too thick, just add a little water.

FRYING THE TORTILLAS & EGGS FOR HUEVOS RANCHEROS:
Heat a skillet over a medium flame for about a minute. Add vegetable oil to a depth of ¼ inch and wait until you see the oil start to shimmer. Drop a teeny piece of corn tortilla into the skillet. If it sizzles, then it is ready to fry.

Fry two tortillas on one side for 30 seconds. Flip them on the other side and fry them until they are nice and toasty on the bottom. Remove them and lay them on paper towels to absorb excess oil. (You can also oven fry the tortillas if you want, but it is not my favorite method for Huevos Rancheros.) Lower the heat to medium low. Add some butter to the skillet if you want. When the butter starts to foam, break 2 eggs into the skillet. Try to baste a little of the oil over the eggs if you can. You can salt the eggs at this point if you wish.Cover the skillet with a lid and lower the heat to low. The lid will reflect the heat back to the top of the eggs. After a minute or two, remove the lid. The egg whites should be opaque and firm to your liking; the yokes should look nice and shiny. If they are not, then put the lid back on the skillet until the eggs are done to your taste. Remove the skillet from the heat. Shake the eggs until they start to slide around. Then, tilt the pan and slide the eggs onto a plate over the layered corn tortillas. If you prefer, you can turn your eggs. Just make sure the spatula is supporting the yolk(s) before flipping it over. Turn off the heat, wait some seconds, and then slide the eggs off the pan.
Spoon some of the warm tomato salsa evenly over the eggs. Serve with some hearty refried beans that are topped off with a bit of stinky Mexican style cheese like that stinky-feet but utterly delicious Zacatecas-style cheese or maybe some mild Queso Fresco. Serves one.

The Battle of The Tamales

2010-04-03T00:28:00.001-07:00

(Scroll down for Recipe for Pork or Beef Filling With Chile Colorado For Tamales, Tacos Or Tostadas)

It is a truth universally acknowledged that when a man comes into possession of a little dinero, he will go in search of a wife. Living at home with a doting mamá who coddles and spoils her mi'jo, dándole todo en la mano—serving him hand and foot—and treating him like a king is all well and good, but the instant he finds the girl of his dreams, he will say adiós to his jefecita and moustached sisters faster than you can say enchiladas and will attach himself to his amorcito, and will start raising a familia of his own.

If the girl he marries is wise, she will do well not to expect her beloved's family to accept her con brazos abiertos—with arms held wide open. She will know that, though he may revel in her many attractions, his unceremoniously dumped mamá and hermanas may be less enamored with the object of his affection.

As for Josefina, Luis's new bride, she knew nothing of the painful consequences that befall presumptuous young women who dare steal away the love of a son and a brother until it was thrust upon her quite suddenly one afternoon when she overheard a conversation that her cuñadas—sisters-in-law—were having in the kitchen.

"¿Sabes qué, Teresa?" said Maria Elena, as she rolled out the tortillas for that evening's cena. "I bet that little chiflada Luis married doesn't know how to wash her own chonis. With esas
uñotas—those long nails of hers, the only thing she can do with them is scratch herself."

Teresa laughed while she heated the tortillas on the comal. "I think that lazy perezosa can't cook, not even rice and beans. Just wait, when the honeymoon's over, "La Hollywood" and my brother will be coming over to the house to eat Mamá's food everyday. She'll sit at the table como una reina—like a queen, showing off her fancy clothes and bragging how they went dancing until la madrugada. Until dawn. Como la quiero deschongar--I'd love to yank some hair off her head! Ahorita Luis anda todo enamorado—he's all in love right now, but he'll get sick of her. You'll see."

"Oye, María Elena," she added, leaning closer to her sister and lowering her voice in case anyone might be listening, never once imaging that Josefina, who was standing just outside the doorway, was straining to hear every word she said.

"You know what Mamá says about her?" And with a ridiculous but solemn expression Teresa raised a fat finger and uttered like a sacred pronouncement one of her mother's many sayings: "'Luz de la calle, oscuridad de la casa*—'", which their mother whispered in connection with mujeres malas—"bad women" who she thought lived for lighting up the streets at night, only to come home in the early morning hours to a dirty dark house with rancid beans and cold tortillas.

Upon hearing such talk, any girl would have burst into la cocina and shaken her fist in her sister-in-laws' faces. A foolish girl would have screamed at her mother-in-law and had started una revolución. Perhaps she would have said, "Esa vieja bruja—so that old witch and her daughters think that I'm a cochina chamagosa who spends all day in front of the mirror, don't they? Ya verán. ¡Me la van a pagar! They will pay!" But not "La Hah-li-gwoood".

Instead, she slipped quietly out of the house and began to think and to think and to think.

Later that evening, Luis called his mother Leonor to invite toda la familia over to the house on Saturday. They say revenge is a dish best served cold. But Josefina knew that sometimes it is best served hot and in the form of a tamal.

It was the first time Doña Leonor and her daughters had ever been to Luis and Josefina's home. It was not un ratonero—the rat's nest they expected to find, but tidy and bright. Sitting on the table was a tub of freshly prepared masa. It was light orange from a bit of chile sauce Josefina had added to it to give it some color. Doña Leonor took a sniff and a small bite of the masa to see if it tasted sour, which means that the masa has gone bad, as she expected it would. But no such thing. It tasted fresh. The broth and chile sauce Josefina had put in to the masa were flavorful and tasted just right. But when she saw a bit of masa floating in a glass of water, it was a dead giveaway. "La Hollywood" was not so ignorant about cooking tamales as she looked.

Josefina came out of the bedroom wearing a clean white apron with little pink ruffle edging, looking as rested and fresh as if she hadn't arisen at five o'clock to start cooking. Even at this hour she looked like Dolores del Río, armed with her high heels and firmly placed red lipstick. With a hola! she greeted Doña Leonor, María Elena, Teresa and the other family tamaleras—tamal makers—who began arriving. They brought more food to eat with the tamales: rice and beans, tender nopalitos, red and green salsas, drinks and choco-flan cake. Soon the kitchen was loud with the happy chatter of women. But when it was time to work, Josefina wasted no time and started making perfectly wrapped tamales at a speed that astounded all who watched.

Her cuñas and suegra bore it all with a stubborn silence. In a sea of amistad, there they sat as gloomily and as taciturn as las momias—the mummies of Guanajuato. They made no mention of the deliciousness of the pork meat or how the fluffy masa spread on the corn husks as easily as spreading the thickest buttercream frosting on a cake. Why pay any compliment to that conceited pocha Luis married?

Josefina, on the other hand, looked as happy as could be. Her alegría only seemed to intensify in direct proportion to the ever increasing disapproving looks María Elena and Teresa threw in her direction. Still, her courage did not fail her, nor did her wide-eyed sweet expression alter one bit.

In time, after what was a whole day of cooking the pork meat and roasting the chiles, of soaking the corn husks in hot water to soften them, of beating the masa for what seemed like an eternity until it almost floated in air, then having an army of women converging on said masa and wrapping dozens upon dozens upon dozens of tamales, loading them all into two tall, large pots, and steaming them for what seemed like hours, the tamales were done.

A cocinera's reputation rises or falls flat on the strength of one tamal. But more was at stake, and Josefina knew it and so did Doña Leonor and her daughters. It was a mighty battle fought, not with guns or knives, but with masa, corn husks, puerco and chile colorado for the heart of one Luis Salazar.

The moment of truth had arrived. The unsuspecting Luis sat down at the table next to Josefina and just across from his mother. When he peeled away the corn husk from his tamal and took his first bite, he put his fork down, and looked at Josefina with a look that bespoke sheer bliss.

"Con razón me casé contigo—no wonder I married you, Josefina—these tamales are the best I've ever had en toda mi vida—in my whole life! Don't you think so, ΄Amá?"

Everybody at the party grew silent--Luis had committed the cardinal sin of disrespecting his mamá's tamales! Some began to whistle and laugh. Everyone turned to look at them, wondering if there was going to be un pleito--a fight.

"O verás, trompudo—¡ya no te voy a cocinar nada! Better watch it, you with the big mouth, I'll never cook for you again!", his mother laughingly cried out, but tiny tears began to form in her eyes. Se aguantó—she held them in because, stoic and prideful woman that she was, she never would have allowed herself to cry before anyone, certainly not at a fiesta such as this with every eye looking upon her.

Josefina could not bring herself to smirk into her mother-in-law's face. Instead she saw what Luis's off-handed remark had done to hurt his mother and painfully recalled her own role in embarrassing her, although unspokenly. Josefina then felt a pin-prick of guilt, the beginnings of regret.

"Doña Leonor," she stammered as she reached across the table to pat her mother-in-law's arm. "No le ponga atención—don't even listen to him! You know he loves your food."

In true suegra fashion, Doña Leonor made no reply, revealing nothing at least to the rest of the party. But the ever watchful Josefina did catch a glimpse of that something in her eyes that appeared and then disappeared in a freeze-frame of an instant--the shadow of a humiliated but angry defiance of someone who has been beaten at her own game.

It would be pleasant but absurd to think that all was peaceful between them, that the budding rivalry between a young woman and her suegra died that night and never sprouted again. Anyone who believes such a thing knows nothing of the passion and insecurity of a new bride or of the possessive love of a mother. However, there was one thing could be said of that noche so many long years ago: La Hollywood won the Battle of The Tamales, and never was she ever called "la oscuridad de la casa" again.
*"Light of the street, darkness of the home."

Dedicated to my friend Ester D., daughter of Josefina, one sweet little viejita who was a tamalera extraordinaria. Many thanks to my sister L-- for editing and for even contributing a few lines to this story (the best ones).

Pork or Beef Filling With Chile Colorado For Tamales, Tacos, Tortas & Tostadas

Relleno de puerco o de rez con chile colorado para los tamales, tacos, tortas & tostadas

Bless her little corazoncito, my mother-in-law usually ordered about 30 pounds of masa to make her tamales. Sometimes she would combine the shredded pork and beef, which makes for a filling that was both tender (pork) and flavorful (beef). Instead of putting a black olive in the tamal, do as she did and use a green pimento-stuffed olive. A bit of raisin and a few strips of pickled jalapeno only adds to a rollcoaster ride of flavor that goes from hot to sweet to salty in just one bite! Just omit the olives and the raisins and you have a great filling for tacos or tostadas.

To learn the ins and outs on making tamales, click here.

INGREDIENTS:

3 pounds pork butt or shoulder OR 3 pounds boneless beef shoulder

water

1 large yellow onion, cut in half

4 large garlic cloves

1 tablespoon sea salt

1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

1/2 teaspoon dried oregano

1/2 teaspoon ground cumin

1 bay leaf

Chile Colorado Sauce (recipe to follow)

Instant Corn Flour Masa Recipe For Tamales (click here) OR Fresh Unprepared Masa Recipe (click here)

5 or 6 golden potatoes, cooked peeled and cut into small bite-sized chunks

1 large can of pickled jalapeno strips

jar of green pimento-stuffed manzanilla olives OR large can of black olives to taste

box of black raisins (optional)

two bags of corn husks for tamales

Put the pork or beef in a large cooking pot and fill with water plus 1" to 1 1/2". Bring the water to a boil, then reduce heat to medium. Remove all the scum that rises to the top. Add the salt, ground black pepper, oregano, bay leaf, cummin, garlic and onion. Cover the pot with a lid, reduce heat to let simmer for about 1--1 1/2 hours or until the meat is tender when you pierce it with a fork or knife.

Remove the meat from the pot and let it cool for a little bit. In the meantime, using a large spoon, skim as much fat as you can from the meat broth. Remove about one half of the broth from the pot for later use to make the masa, etc. Remove the cooked onion and set aside. Discard the garlic cloves.

Then, use a fork or your fingers to shred the meat. Return the shredded meat back to broth and mix well. Add the Chile sauce, the potato chunks, the olives and raisins to taste and mix thoroughly.

Taste the meat-broth mixture. Now is the time to adjust the seasonings to your taste. Does it need more salt? More black pepper? A bit of dried oregano or cummin, perhaps even a spoonful of the vinegar from the pickled jalapenos? Maybe even a teensy little bit of sugar to make it just right?

Continue to simmer uncovered until the meat filling is nice and saucy, not too thick or too thin. If it does get too thick just add a some broth.

CHILE COLORADO SAUCE RECIPE:

4 dried California chiles

4 dried New Mexico chiles

2 dried guajillo chiles

4 cloves unpeeled garlic

3 tomatoes

3 cloves

Vegetable oil

the two cooked onion halves from the meat broth

Remove the seeds and stems from all of the chiles. Next, heat the comal or griddle over high heat for a minute or so. Add a tablespoon of vegetable oil and lower the heat to medium. A few at a time, toast the dried chiles until you smell their aroma. Remove them from the heat and set aside. In the meantime, toast the garlic cloves for about 3 minutes on all sides.

When you are done toasting the chiles, add another tablespoon of vegetable oil to the comal and roast the tomatoes until their skins burst on all sides. Remove them from the comal and let them cool off for a little while and cut them into quarters. Peel the skins off the garlic cloves.

Put the tomatoes, garlic and the cooked onion in a blender and whirl them until they are smooth. Then, add the chiles to the tomato mixture and whirl on high until the tomato mixture is completly smooth. If the sauce is a little too thick, just add a bit of water or broth.

Pour the chile-tomato mixture to the meat broth mix.

Kreativ Blogger Award

2010-04-01T06:49:00.001-07:00

Thank you, Judy King, at Mexico Insights: Facts, Figures, Folklore & Fiestas for awarding me The Kreative Blogger award! Judy has lived at Lake Chapala since 1990 and from reading her blog, she really loves living there. Maybe I'll pay you a visit, Judy!

In keeping with the requirements for accepting this award, I have agreed to mention my seven favorite blogs and to bore you with a few details about my life:

SEVEN THINGS You Wish You Didn't Know About Me:

1. I am not, nor ever will be, the kind of cook my mother was (that honor goes to my sister Ester), though I am trying very hard.

2. Since I grew up speaking Spanish, learning French was just a hop, skip and a jump away. I'm not as fluent as I used to be, but I can still converse in French with my French and Belgian friends.

3. I love classic British literature and poetry, especially Jane Austen, Charles Dickens and The Bronte Sisters. Still, I wish I could write like Isabel Allende.

4. Besides blogging, I have a real passion for art, gardening, sewing, knitting and, of course, cooking. And collecting books--tons of them. Everything from art books to reference books, books on knitting and sewing, novels, and of course cookbooks.

5. I love it when my husband cooks for me. But, I have to shake my head whenever I hear someone say, "My husband/significant other does all the cooking at home because I hate to cook [as in "ha! ha! how's that for role reversals?, and my what a fine joke on him."]." Mira, chiquita, you can't have your pastel and eat it, too. Any intelligent, relatively healthy adult who eats should learn to cook at least something homemade, no que no?

6. I have a great deal of respect for people who work hard for a living, people like hotel maids, restaurant workers, field workers, janitors, etc.--and am not at all crazy about those who treat these harding working people with a condescending sense of their own perceived superiority, which only betrays their smallness of mind (and of heart).

And finally . . .

7. As much as I love Mexican food, I cannot say that any cuisine is superior to the rest—just as I cannot say that my culture is better than all others. Regardless of where we come from, regardless of our position and experience in life, we all need love and good food and understanding—isn't that what life is all about?

SEVEN BLOGGERS who deserve to receive a Kreativ Blogger Award:

I don't as a general rule write any restaurant reviews. I leave that to the experts like my bloggy friend, Barbara Hansen, former "Borderline" columnist for the Food Section of The Los Angeles Times, my favorite newspaper. Her delicious and informative blog, Table Conversation, serves up a cornucopia of delicious reviews of eateries in and around my hometown of Los Angeles, California, not to mention of the amazing food she encounters on her many travels around the world. If her name sounds familiar, she wrote the very popular Mexican Cookery, a down-to-earth guide to cooking everyday Mexican food. Thank God it is out of print, because if it weren't, you'd buy her book and say adiós to my blog!

Emma Álvarez Gibson, this "whip smart media maven" is my go-to gal for anything having to do with social networking and thinking out of the box in terms of getting the most out of your business and brand. She just deactivated her Facebook account—the wave of the future perhaps?

I cannot not mention my little friend Jenny, whose blog, Jenny Draws, features her whimsical childlike drawings. She is a sweet and shy, but with a little encouragement she will fly.

I'm jealous of Leslie Limon who is living the ex-pat life in Mexico with her husband and children. Trust me, Leslie, I wish I was at that little ranchito with no internet (!) and other "modern conveniences" right now.

Color Informal, Virginia's blog of her photography and colorful artwork, is a cerebral, but oddly heartfelt, little artistic masterpiece.

Of course, I have never personally met Kobico, the urbane gardener by way of San Franciso, California/Lorraine, France, who feels right at home with mole and picked pig's feet as she does with Cervelles au Beurre Noir (Calf's Brains in Brown butter Sauce). I've never met her eyeball-to-eyeball, but I feel that I know her, especially when she writes at her blog, The Mindless Meanderings of a Middle-aged Maniac.

You gotta love Dariana and Dariela, two Venezuelan sisters who head up Folkloreye. Their obsession with design and paper yields some beautiful results.

Elizabeth Rosas has a singular talent for taking the smallest flower and using it to inspire her to create her one of a kind silver jewelry. She represents what is possible when one decides to create something beautiful and handmade.

Next Post: Tamalera Tales: Or, How To Get Even With Your Mother-in-Law. Then it will be time to cook a little fish!

You Little Tamalera You

2010-03-14T08:31:00.001-07:00

Let's face it, cooking tamales is hard laborious work, but the rewards for mastering the el arte del tamal are great: first, you have made lots of people really but really happy. Second, you have now joined the legions of women who throughout many generations have earned the right to be called tamaleras extraordinarias. If that isn't something to be proud of, then I don't know what is.

Whole books have been written on the subject, so it is impossible to cover the world of tamales in just one blog post. However, you can rely on one unalterable truth: a tamal, no matter how lovingly prepared or delicious the filling and sauce, is only as good as its masa.

The best masa for use in tamales is unprepared masa, which is moist ground corn with no broth, salt or lard. It must smell and taste fresh. Pass up any masa that tastes even a little sour—it is stale or worse. Unless you know and trust the establishment you are buying the masa from, do not buy prepared masa (masa preparada)—the masa that comes already prepared with broth and lard. It is much better to use a little elbow grease and mix in these ingredients yourself. Or, you can do as I do: I sometimes haul my lazy carcass over to my favorite Mexican restaurant that serves tamales and ask them to prepare the masa for me. Perhaps your favorite Mexican restaurant just might be very happy to oblige.

I am also including a masa recipe made from instant corn flour (masa harina) that's especially made for making tamales: perfect for those of you who do not have a Mexican market or deli close by. While using unprepared masa is ideal, there are cooks who like this masa, like my friend Cynthia, who is one good cook. It is available at your local Mexican market, some major supermarkets or online.

For those of you who have never made tamales, I think that Chile-Cheese Tamales are a good place to start. Once you master handling the masa and spreading it on the cornhusks, you can now substitute all kinds of fillings and sauces to create your favorite tamales, from pork to beef to chicken, even fish and seafood.

No, I do not promise that this will be a concise little recipe with no left over masa or chiles, etc. Nor can I tell you exactly how many tamales we made. Suffice to say that the tamales were history before I remembered to count them all. It was enough to feed about 6 adults with some to take home to eat later. But I can promise that you will have a great time making and eating them, you little tamalera extraordinaria you.

Chile-Cheese-Potato Tamales

Tamales de rajas de chile con queso y papas Make a batch of these along with all those pork and beef tamales. One of my hands-down favorite tamales for sheer sabrosidad! If you have a little viejita laying around, forget about my directions and drag her away from her telenovelas and make her teach you how to make tamales! Muchas gracias to mi amiga Amada D. for her inspiring me to write this chile-cheese filling recipe.

What you need for the perfect tamalada:

1 or 2 large, tall cooking pots with lids
a steamer basket, or improvise with a smaller lid as I did below
a very large mixing bowl
a heavy duty electric mixer; or, a pair of big strong macho arms to beat the masa
a pair of tongs
aluminum foil
gallon size plastic storage bags to store tamales to take home and freeze
damp kitchen towel
large platter or bowl
a bunch of friends and family to laugh with, complain to, or fight with as you make the tamales (essential)
Vicente Fernández or Pepé Aguilar playing really loud to get you in the mood (important)
margaritas for everyone (unnecessary, but nice)

INGREDIENTS:
For Chile-Cheese Filling and Red Chile Sauce Recipe:
2 pounds fresh Poblano chiles, roasted. (Click here to learn how to roast fresh chiles.)
2 pounds fresh Anahiem chiles, roasted. Heck, throw in some Jalapeños if you want!
2 32 oz. packages of Asadero cheese. A good quality Jack cheese is a good substitute.
Red Chile Sauce Recipe (click here)

About 4 or 5 cooked medium sized golden potatoes, cut into bite sized chunks

Other ingredients:
2 prepackaged bags of dried corn husks (available at your local Mexican market, some supermarkets or online).
Recipe for Unprepared Masa for Tamales (click here)
OR:
Recipe for Instant Masa for Tamales (click here)

DAY 1 OR EARLIER IN THE DAY:

Carefully check all of the recipes and make a thorough list of all the ingredients before you go the market. Nothing wastes more time than having to go back to buy something you forgot.

Preparing the filling:
Roast all of the chiles. Remove the stems and seeds and cut the chiles into rajas, or strips. Place the chiles in a plastic bag and refrigerate for later.

Cut the cheese into strips, not too fat or too skinny. Place the cheese strips in a plastic bag and refrigerate.

Make the Chile Sauce. Set aside to cool off and refrigerate.

Day 2:
Preparing the corn husks and the masa for tamales:
Scour your kitchen sink and rinse thoroughly it with hot water. Take the corn husks and remove all the corn silk from the corn husks. Put them in the sink and cover them with very hot tap water for at least 30 minutes. If you wish, you can add a little chile sauce to the water to tint them slightly. Then, take them out, shake and dry them a bit and set aside.

In the meantime, prepare the recipe for Unprepared Masa OR the Instant Masa. Remember: in order to bring the masa to life, you must first beat it almost to death. This is essential if you want a light tasting tamal that practically floats in the air rather than one that crash-lands in the pit of your stomach. The masa must be FLUFFY, AND I MEAN FLUFFY. You can find yourself beating the masa by hand for almost an hour, or you can use a heavy duty mixer to accomplish this feat. I know that many cooks say that you have to do the "A-Tiny-Bit-of-Masa-Floating-In-a-Glass-of-Water-Test" to determine whether the masa is ready or not, but my mother-in-law never did, and her tamales tasted great. But if you want to do the float test, feel free. As soon as a tiny bit of masa floats in a glass of water, STOP.

Making the Tamales:

To make a medium to large tamal, take one or two corn husks and spread a medium-large spoonful of masa on the smooth side of the corn husk. Try not to coat it too thick. Be gentle as you spread the masa on the corn husks. As my friend Ester D. says, "Respect la masa!"

Spread a generous amount of warm chile sauce on the masa and place a strip of cheese and some strips of roasted chiles and a few potato chunks. Don't be stingy. Nobody likes a tamal that is all masa with hardly any sauce or filling.
Fold the top part of the corn husk downward as shown in the picture below.

Take the right or left edge of the tamal and fold over as shown.

Take the other edge and wrap it tightly over the other side as shown. Make sure it is nice and snug. Place a steamer basket inside la tamalera (tamal cooking pot). Or, you can improvise as I did by placing a cooking pot lid on top of some scrunched up balls of heavy duty aluminum foil. A punctured upside down pie pan works, too. Line the bottom of the pot with unused corn husks (Oops! I forgot to do that!). To load the pot, carefully stand each tamal along the edge of the pot as shown. Make sure that the seamside of each tamal is facing the edge of the pot. It helps keep the tamal from opening up during cooking.

Continue putting the tamales in a circular motion along the bottom of the pot. Then go on to the next layer. Ideally you should have a hole in the middle so you can easily add water or broth if necessary. Do not overload or overly stuff the pot! Use two pots if you have to. Otherwise, the tamales may not steam evenly, and nobody likes an overly dry or soggy tamal coming out the same pot no less. ¡Carajos!

Using a ladle or kettle, pour boiling water or broth into the pot. Be careful not to put in too much water. The water should not touch the tamales.

Place some leftover corn husks over the tamales (optional). Then place a damp kitchen towel over the tamales. Cover the pot with a tight fitting lid.

Bring the heat up to high, and lower the heat to a medium or medium-low when you hear the water boiling. Continue steaming the tamales until they are done. This may take anywhere from 1 to 2 to 3 hours, depending on the size and the amount of tamales in each pot. Just as you can't hurry love, you can't hurry a tamal to finish cooking when you want it to or it will repay you in kind. So enjoy yourself. Have your friends help you clean up your kitchen disaster. Play cards, or read a good book if you want, but just wait.

Check the tamales after one hour. Using a pair of tongs or your fire-proof macha fingers, remove a tamal and gently press on the fattest part. If it feels firm to the touch, gently peel back the cornhusk. If the masa doesn't stick, then it is done. If the tamal feels soft or mushy to the touch, it is simply not done cooking yet. Check again after 30 minutes to one hour.

This is also a good time to check if the tamales need more water. If it does, pour some more boiling water in the center of the pot. If at any time you smell the aroma of burning masa then you know that you need to add some water right away! (Tip: A friend of mine suggests putting a coin at the bottom of the pot. When the water level is too low, the coin will rattle and make noise.)

Then at looooong last, the tamales will be done. Use tongs to remove them from the pot and place them on a large platter. Cover them with aluminum foil and let them sit for about 5 minutes. Just before serving, carefully open the corn husk and pour some chile sauce on top if you wish. Please inform your non-tamal eating friends that you are not supposed to eat the husk!

To reheat the tamales, do this: put the tamales in a plastic storage bag, add one of two tablespoons of water, seal the bag and reheat them in the microwave for a few minutes or until done. If you are reheating just one or two tamales, wrap a wet paper towel around each tamal and reheat in the microwave for a minute or two.

Love Means Never Having To Say I Won't Cook You Pickled Pig's Feet

2010-02-06T18:56:00.001-08:00

I'll be the first to admit that this dish of escabeche de patas de puerco
con cebolla y repollo—Pickled Pig's Feet a La Mexicana With Onions and Cabbage—is not everyone's favorite. But before some of you turn away in disgust, let me just say that most of these animal parts that you don't dare touch much less eat actually taste surprising good. (Ever had sausage?) Lengua de rez (beef tongue) is my all time favorite tender meat for tacos. I will never turn down some nice crispy tripas (intestines) hot off the grill, or look down my nose at the tender bites of cow stomach in menudo. Who says that you can't make a silk purse out a sow's ear? Mexicans have done it over and over again, at least when it comes to turning an unwanted piece of meat into a fabulous feast.

But I draw the line at pig's feet. I'd just as soon eat a human foot as I would a pig's hoof. It just seems too ghoulish for my taste. Plus, the pig's patitas seem so sad and lonely, like the discarded shoes you often see on the side of the road.

My husband, on the other hand, suffers from no such sensibilities. He is more than happy to suck on the toes of a puerquito that contently spent its days wallowing in the muck and eating his weight in corn until he made that fateful little trip to the woodshed. By the blissful look on my viejo's face, you would think that he was served an exquisite delicacy of the utmost refinement on a silver platter. He looks so happy! I look so horrified! He glares in my direction and washes it all down with a cold glass of beer, and slowly pats his stomach and smiles in a way that says ha! you won't spoil my fun.

For years I have adamantly refused to have anything to do with pickled pig's feet, but lately I've had a change of heart. I suppose I was trying to impose my own tastes rather then respecting his, which is what I should have done all along. Everybody has a different palate. What is gross for one is heaven to another. Just because I don't like it, who's to say that Mexican style pickled pig's feet doesn't taste good (at least to some)? My husband says that the meat and marrow are full of delicious porky flavor, even if you have to suck on the bones. Any fattiness is counterbalanced by the acidity of the vinegar and the slight taste of chile piquin. He loves to eat it all with some fresh thin-chopped cabbage, perhaps some jalapeño chiles or hot sauce, onions and a must-have icy-cold beer.

It appears to me to be a very masculine dish, not for the faint of heart, true, but one that unflinchingly tells us, that yes, you are eating another living thing and have been doing so for a very long time. Just admit it and be done with it.

So here it is: my first attempt at pickled pig's feet, cooked just the way Doña Catalina, The Lady of The Hacienda, used to cook it for my husband and his father. It's now my turn to cook it, to watch him as he eats it with relish and surprise at my having made it for him in the first place--and featuring it on my blog no less, something I vowed I would never do. He contently pats his stomach—no reproachful smiles this time. Is this all it takes to make him one happy muchachito?

Because love means never having to say I won't cook you patas de puerco.

P. S.: Guess what my husband is eating for Super Bowl tomorrow? That's right—a pig's foot with a bottle of beer. I'll be enoying a Jane Austen movie instead.

(Note: I know that it's been a long time coming, but tamales will be the subject of my next post. I finally got some amigas to join me for a little tamalada—tamale party. See you next time!)

Mexican Style Pickle Pig's Feet

Escabeche de patas de puercoI may be totally wrong about this, but I suspect that this dish was introduced by those other organ meat and beer loving people, the German and Czech immigrants who arrived in Mexico in the 1800's, who also taught Northern Mexicans the finer points of beer making and making music on the accordion ("música norteña").

If you are brave enough to try this dish, make sure that you buy the freshest pig's feet available. The bones must be the lightest beige and the fat must be absolutely white. The meat and skin must be a delicate "porky" pink. The broth is delicious and flavorful. Just bring the water with no extra ingredients to a boil until all the nasty scum rises to the top. Toss out the water, rinse the pig's feet, add the necessary ingredients, and start all over again. Refrigerate it overnight and skim off the fat.

Ingredients:

4 or 5 pig's feet

water
2 garlic cloves
2 white onions, 1 cut in half

¼ head of cabbage, thin-sliced (not shown)
1 teaspoon oregano
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
1 tablespoon salt
1 bay leaf
¼ teaspoon dried thyme
apple cider vinegar to taste (¼ cup to 2 cups). My husband likes his with plenty of vinegar, but you don't have to make it that way if you don't want to.
dried chile piquin or chile de árbol to taste (optional)

Put the pig's feet in a large pot with plenty of water. Add the oregano, black pepper, salt, bay leaf and 1 onion, cut in half. Bring to a boil, cover, and simmer over medium low heat for 1 to 1 ½ hours OR until the meat and skin are tender when pierced with a fork and the meat is falling off the bones. You will be surprised how good it smells.

In the meantime, thin-slice as much onion and the cabbage as you want.

Use a slotted spoon to transfer the pig's feet to a large bowl. Pour the vinegar over the pork and the onion and cabbage and the chiles. (You can omit the slice cabbage for later and eat it fresh with the picg's feet if you wish.) Add a little dried oregano is you wish. Wait for the pig's feet to cool off. Transfer the pig's feet mixture to a gallon size zip lock storage bag and refrigerate for at least 24 hours. Make sure you flip it every couple of hours so that the all of the pig's feet may absorb the vinegar.

Serve it to your guests with ice-cold beer and pray they will like it.

The Family Jewels

2010-01-02T23:34:00.001-08:00

I really didn't really think you'd notice. I thought I could slip quietly out the back door and relax while you were all having a good time. I was positive that you wouldn't miss me at all—not while you were busy sitting down at the table eating five of your mother's tamales in one sitting (and living to regret it). Not while you were munching on buñuelos and enjoying all of those traditional goodies that we mexicanitos crave and just die for during this time of year.

All I can say is muchísimas gracias, mis amigos, to those who missed me. No, I mean it-deveras. This super-short pocha who speaks el español with a funny LA accent is amazed that you even care. It's nice to be back.

What can I offer you to atone for my absence but one of the family jewels? Only the kind of recipe that will send your taste buds reeling into mole (MOH΄-LEH) ecstasy. That once you taste this simple dish made with chicken or turkey, will make you forever regret making what my acerbic but witty sister Ester jokingly refers to as gutless "lazy loser" mole from a jar found at the supermarket. And surprise, surprise, this little culinary gem comes from the Mexican heartland itself, Zacatecas.

¿Zacatecas?

Not exactly known as a foodie mecca, Zacatecas is more famous for its colonial architecture and for its bloody history—donde los hombres son altos, feos y bien machotes—where the men are tall, ugly and macho to boot—than for its culinary reputation. Perhaps this mole doesn't hog the spotlight like those superstars of the mole world: mole poblano or oaxaqueño. This is mole stripped to a beautiful simplicity, almost as austere as the Zacatecas' mountainous and semi-arid terrain.

Some have called this Zacatecas mole minimalist in comparison to the baroque complexity of other moles, but there is nothing minimalist about its flavor. A pure red fusion of the hot chile heat of California (mild), New Mexico (hot), Guajillo (sweet) and de Árbol (very hot), braced by the tang of green tomatillos and thickened by a small toasty bolillo, the Mexican French bread, touched with a hint of cumin, makes my mother's mole anything but. I have always loved its glistening redness and appetite inducing golden undertone. It is a gorgeous and unembellished mole, as straight shooting as the people of Zacatecas itself. Like my mom who was a take-no-prisoners kind of a cook.

In the end, Mexico has many magnificent moles, each with some delicious characteristic all its own. It is a festive dish, meant for weddings and other special gatherings. Maybe your family's mole is rich and complex, or maybe it is just mole out of a jar (in which case I say no tienes vergüenza!—have you no shame?), it is meant to be enjoyed when family gets together. So enjoy it, savor every bite and thank the one who made it .

As for my family's little culinary jewel, I think it's time that it step out of the shadows and into the limelight at last.

Zacatecas-Style Mole de La Familia de Clementina

Mole estilo zacatecano de la familia de Clementina

Señor Glutster himself, Javier Cabral, teenager, food blogger extraordinaire with a "really, really fast metabolism" has beaten me to the punch with his post on Zacatecas-style mole. The likes of Andrew Zimmern of Travel Channel's Bizarre Foods and celeb chef Ludovic Le Febvre have made the trek to East Los Angeles where Javier lives with his family. There, his Zacatecas-born mother cooked up some "bizarre' fare such as delicious cactus, menudo, and toasted grasshoppers for Mr. Zimmern, and introduced Monsieur Le Febvre to the glory of Zacatecas mole and pipian. Thanks, Javier, for proudly showing off your mom's cooking to the world. You are a mamá's boy in the very best sense!

Note: this recipe is for chicken mole. If you are making turkey mole (12 to 15 lbs.), simply double the recipe.

Ingredients:
1 whole chicken

4 average size tomatillos

3 dried California chile pods

4 dried New Mexico chile pods

2 dried Guajillos chile pods

2 dried Chiles de Árbol

3 cloves garlic

½ onion

1 small bolillo bread. 2 slices of loaf bread, toasted to a golden brown is a perfect substitute.

pinch of cumin to taste

salt; OR, 1 cube of Knorr's® chicken bouillon if you are cooking a non-organic, non-free range chicken (optional)

Directions:
Cut the bolillo in half lengthwise and place it in a 350 degree oven and allow it to toast for about 10 minutes or so, or until it is crunchy and golden brown.

In the meantime, place the tomatillos in a small saucepan, add water to cover, place a lid on top and allow it to cook until the tomatillos are soft. Put the chicken in a large pot, add water to cover and add ½ onion and 1 clove garlic and bouillon cube or a heaping teaspoon of salt. Bring the chicken to a boil. Use a large spoon to skim off the scum that rises to the top. Cover the pot, lower the heat to medium-low and allow it to cook until the chicken is tender. Remove it from the pot, letting it cool for a some minutes, and shred it into large pieces. Discard the bones, keeping the drumsticks intact. Make sure to remove all of the skins. Nothing grosses me out more than biting into a soggy pellejo (piece of skin). Using a large spoon, skim the fat off the chicken stock.

While the chicken is cooking, take a small thin knife to slit each chile lengthwise and gently remove the seeds. I use my fingers, but wash them right away after I am done. Toast the chiles on a hot oiled comal or skillet for a few minutes. When the chiles change color and give up their hot but delicious aroma, remove them immediately before they burn and turn bitter. Set them aside.

Pour the hot tomatillos and its water into a blender. Smash a clove of garlic, tear the bolillo into chunks and put them into the blender with the tomatillos and blend until smooth. Cut the stems off the chiles and, one at a time, place them into the blender and whirl them at high speed until the mixture turns into a smooth is and almost as thick as pudding. (Just remember to create a vent at the top lid of the blender or your chile mixture will explode all over the place as I have learned to my chagrin.) Do a taste-test as you add the chiles. Add California chile to make it mild. New Mexico to add more heat. Guajillo for sweetness. Little De Árbol to make it even hotter. Just make sure that you use 9 or 10 chiles (not including the De Árbol.) the mixture should be fiery red.

Pour the mixture into a large skillet or pot. Then, ladle some of the chicken stock into the pot and stir until it becomes silky and saucelike, neither too thick or too thin. (I found that the sauce got thicker as I was taking the photos.) If you added too much chicken stock, no problem. Simply cook it uncovered for some minutes. Adjust salt, or better yet, add a little more chicken-flavored bouillon to taste. Add a pinch of cumin to taste. Add the chicken pieces, stir and cover. Simmer for about ½ hour.

Tastes maravilloso the next day.

The Pumpkin Moon Empanadas

2009-10-08T15:49:00.001-07:00

"Papi, does the moon taste like cheese?"

The little girl walked hand in hand with her father. The harvest moon hung in the fall night sky.

"Who told you that?"

"Tía Lupita told me."

"It don't taste like cheese. It tastes like pumpkin."

"How do you know, Papi?"

"Because when I was little like you, your abuelito—grandpa—took me there and we tasted it."

"For reals?'

"For reals, mijita." He tightened his grip as they walked along.

He smiled as he looked down at his little daughter and said, "One day I'm going to bring you the moon, and you and your mamá will make pumpkin moon empanadas—the best you've ever had."

A few days later, he kept his promise, for he brought home a pumpkin that looked like Cenicienta's (Cinderella's) coach. Its orange luminosity glowed against the bright green of its stem. A kind of sparkly dust clung to it.

He called after her laughing. "Mira, mi'ja. Didn't I tell you that your papito would bring you the moon?"

¿Y de dónde agarraste esto?—And where did you get this? It's too beautiful. We can't eat it," her mother objected.

"Of course we will eat it. I went through a lot of trouble to get this pumpkin, and you are going to make us some empanadas. Apúrate—hurry up, because tonight I'm going to eat some with you and la muñeca—the little doll."

So her mother cut up the pumpkin and roasted it in a hot oven until it was soft. Then she mashed it and let it hang in a bag of cloth until all the moisture was drained off. Her mother added cinnamon and spices with butter and piloncillo to the mashed pumpkin. The little girl watched as her mother rolled out the pastry dough, spooning up the dollops of pumpkin filling, and helped her fold the empanadas into crescent moon shapes.

The little family ate in silence. The empanadas tasted nothing like the empanadas they had ever had. They were bright and soft and flaky. The filling was delicate and flavorful, its sweet spicy aroma filling the small kitchen and wafting out of doors to other kitchens for miles around. People began to appear at their door begging for a taste, and before they knew it the empanadas were gone.

The following night it was dark, so dark that there was no moon to be seen. A harsh cold wind howled in from el norte. Gloom settled over the town, causing the townsfolk to wonder if Winter had come too early. "What will become of la cosecha—the harvest—and of us?" they asked.

Not long after, the little girl went outside to sit beneath her favorite tree and look! At its trunk sat a rare blue pumpkin, mottled grey and gigantic. It was strange and its odor was like nothing she had ever smelled. It sat there untouched, solitary and mysterious.

The rare blue pumpkin disappeared and in its place there appeared in the sky a huge orange moon that so reminded her of the pumpkin her father had brought home. Bright green stars began to shoot all over the expanse, lighting up the night sky until it felt like day.

"So it's true!"

The little muñeca is now an old woman, but she will never forget the day her papito brought down the moon just for her. Or how it tasted.

Pumpkin Empanadas

Empanadas de calabaza Yes, this is a labor intensive recipe, but certainly worth the effort. You will find that empanadas or pumpkin pie made from scratch is more delicate tasting then ones made from a can (from last year's harvest no less) with their tinny taste. Another note: I didn't have regular all-purpose flour on hand for the pastry, and boy, am I glad that I didn't! La Piña® Flour*, made for flour tortillas, made for a soft flaky crust. Piloncillo, which is used in this recipe, is an unrefined sugar in the shape of a cone (available in Mexican grocery stores). Dark brown sugar is a good substitute. Vodka in the recipe? Yes. With apologies to the liquor lovin' readers out there, it bakes right off. Water, if used in excess, can make the pastry gummy and tough. Vodka is the perfect solution: added moisture without the gumminess.

Pumpkin Filling:
about 2 cups of Oven Roasted Pumpkin Purée (Recipe to follow)
2 tablespoons butter
a pinch of salt
½ teaspoon pumpkin spice
½ teaspoon powdered cinnamon
1 or 2 cones of grated piloncillo, or ½ cup dark brown sugar (Dip the piloncillos in water to soften them.)

Pastry:
2 cups La Piña® Flour (only); or use a flour made from soft wheat like cake flour, but I cannot guarantee results.
1 cup (2 sticks) butter
1 tablespoon lard or shortening
4 tablespoons ice water
4 tablespoons vodka
½ teaspoon salt
1 to 2 tablespoon granulated sugar
1 egg white

1 egg yoke mixed with a teaspoon of water

Oven Roasted Pumpkin Purée:

One 5 -7 pound pumpkin grown especially for baking, such as "Sugar Pumpkin", etc.

Pre-heat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Cut up the pumpkin in large pieces, pierce the skins with a fork, and place them in an oven-safe pot, covered, for about 30 minutes, or until the pumpkin is soft. Remove the lid from the pot and let it roast for 5 -7 minutes more. You can roast the pumpkin uncovered, skin side up, on a greased cookie sheet if you want, but you better keep an eye on them. (I prefer the first method.)

Remove the pumpkin pieces from the oven and let them cool for a bit. Spoon out the flesh and discard the outer skin.

Take the pumpkin flesh and whirl it in small batches in a blender until it is well-blended.

Place the pumpkin purée in a strainer, cover it with plastic wrap, and let it sit over a large bowl for a few hours so all the excess moisture will drain off. If you don't do this you will have soggy empanadas.

Makes about 2 cups of pumpkin purée for the empanada filling.

EMPANADA RECIPE DIRECTIONS:
To make the filling: Put the oven roasted pumpkin purée, the 2 tablespoons of butter and salt in a medium saucepan and bring to a soft boil. Gradually add the piloncillo or brown sugar until it is as sweet as you want. Add the pumpkin spice and cinnamon and adjust the seasonings until it tastes the way to like it. Cook for about 2 minutes longer and set aside.

To make the pastry: On a hard surface, mix together the flour, lard, butter, salt and sugar with a pastry cutter or a chopping knife. Keep cutting into the mixture until it resembles coarse cornmeal.

Gradually add the ice water and vodka as you knead the dough. Keep kneading until it is pliable. If it is still a little too stiff add a tiny bit of vodka or water. Let the dough rest for about a half an hour.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

Dust the hard surface with flour and, using a rolling pin, roll the dough in small batches until the dough is 1/8 inch thick. Take a small bowl (about 4 inches in diameter) and cut a circle of pastry dough.

In the middle of each circle, put a tablespoon of pumpkin filling. Be generous with the filling, but do not overdo it--you don't want any excess filling to ooze out. Remember to poke a little hole in the empanadas so the steam will escape.

Brush some egg white along the sides of each pastry. Fold the pastry over the filling, and use the tines of a fork to close it shut.

Place the empanadas on a greased cookie sheet. Brush each empanada with the egg yoke mixture or sprinkle with some sugar on it.

Place the empanadas in the pre-heated oven and let them bake for 20 to 25 minutes or until they are golden brown. Trick: after baking, remove the empanadas and place them on a brown paper bag. No more soggy bottoms! Works well for cookies, too.

Variation: a friend of mine likes to use a dinner plate to cut out the pastry to make giant empanadas to serve to her family and guests. Wow!

Makes a little less than 2 dozen empanadas.

*No, Pillsbury has not paid me to endorse this product.

Moustaches

2009-09-21T12:42:00.001-07:00

It might come as news to the 4 or 5 Mexican guys who read this blog, but us chicas want to let you in on a little secret: We know you love your bigotes—moustaches—but if truth be told, for some of us, being kissed by a man with a moustache feels like being kissed by a cactus . . . or a scrub brush . . . or the edge of a broom.

I should know. My viejo, who I once believed was free from such hirsute vanity, is now growing a moustache almost the size of Emiliano Zapata's. And my upper lip hasn't felt the same since.

I know that sporting a moustache is a proud Mexican tradition. Most of us have never even known our fathers without one. The only time my papá ever went without a moustache was when, as a young man, he found himself looking for work in Butte, Montana in the early '50's. It appears that some of the town's children were fascinated by him, following him around because it was the first time they had ever beheld a Mexican. That is until it got so cold that his moustache literally broke off.

Then the fascination came to an abrupt end.

What soup can you cook for a man with a monumental moustache? A dry soup, una sopa seca de fideos that won't get his moustache all wet. The kind of soup whose angel hair like pasta swims in a pool of orange-colored roasted tomato flavored broth, tinged with a touch of oregano, cumin, garlic and onions. The broth is cooked down until only the fine fideo pasta remains. No watery broth to drench his finely trimmed Handle Bar or Pancho Villa.

Just throw in some sliced calabacitas—zucchini—or any other vegetable, or any left over cooked chicken into the pot, and you have a substantial side-dish or a light meal. It's just right if you are bored with Spanish rice. What can be easier (and cheap)?

I have informed my viejo that his moustache makes him look like some corrupt politico, but he laughs, replying thank you for the compliment, and how about letting your own Frida Kahlo moustache grow and so we will be even? So far his entreaty has fallen on deaf ears. Ha—¡chistoso! Funny, funny man.

Okay, I must admit that the moustache does make my viejo look attractive, virile and muy macho (in a very good way). Somehow those choppers of his seem to glisten against the silver/blackness his upper lip.

But if he wants a soupy sopa de fideo he's gotta lose el bigote. Or, perhaps not. He's fine just the way he is.

"Dry Fideo Soup"

Sopa de fideos This pasta soup is mistake proof, and this recipe is just a guide. It can be as "dry" or as "wet" as you want. If it comes out too watery for you, just boil it down to the consistency you like. Besides, the fideos will continue to soak up the moisture until they are "dry". Children love this soup, especial if you use star or alphabet pasta instead of coiled or cut fideos. My little niece goes nuts when you top the "dry" soup with Oaxacan or mozzarella cheese. Feel free to double the recipe if you want. Why the whole chile in the soup? It won't add any spiciness. But whoever ends up with the chile has to eat it!

Ingredients:

2 cups crumbled coiled or cut fideos. Substitute cut-up angel hair pasta.
2 medium sized cut-up red juicy tomatoes (about 1 cup); OR, one 8-ounce can of tomato sauce.

½ cup diced white onion
1 clove peeled garlic
½ to ¼ teaspoon powdered cumin, or to taste
a good pinch of oregano
2 ¼ cups of hot chicken broth for "dry" soup, about 5 cups for "wet soup"
1 tablespoon vegetable oil of your choice

1 thin-sliced zucchini; or, any vegetable you have lying around (optional)
left-over cooked chicken pieces (optional)
1 small whole dried chile (optional)

Directions:

Purée the tomatoes or the tomato sauce and the garlic clove in a blender. (If your kids don't like onions, purée them, too.) Set aside.

Take an absolutely clean skillet or a pot and heat on the stove until it is hot. Add the vegetable oil and continue to heat until it is hot, too. (Doing this prevents the fideos from sticking to the pot.)

Lower the heat to medium-low and add the fideos, the diced onion (if you like them in your soup) and the dried chile. Continue frying them and stirring them until the fideo turns golden brown. Add the powdered cumin and fry it for just a minute—no longer.

Add the tomato mixture, roasting them over medium heat until the moisture is gone, and the bottom is slightly burned. (See picture)

Quickly pour in the chicken broth, and stand back! Now is the time to add the sliced zucchini and the chicken pieces. Adjust seasonings to your taste, bring the soup to a boil, and cover with a lid. Lower the heat to a simmer for about 13 minutes.

Do not open the lid. The zucchini slices will continue to "cook" in the hot pot until they are tender. If the soup is a little dry for your taste, just add a little bit of chicken broth and reheat.

Eat the chile.

Serves a family of four.

Cool Ceviche For Lazy Summer Nights

2009-08-28T08:19:00.001-07:00

The bad news is that it is late August, which means it's hot and muggy outside, which also means that I am cooking-lazy (again). Bad news because I am crazy hungry but don't want to heat not even one tortilla lest my kitchen become a blazing infierno. Then, before I know it, I'll be eating tuna out of a can, just like my cat.

The good news is that I can always make some cool tilapia fish ceviche (Seh-VEE-Cheh) tostadas instead.

Now that summer is almost through, I hope you don't mind if I scoot in this recipe at the last minute. I have to thank my friend Gloria for this one. She is from Eastern Jalisco, where there are no white sandy beaches or fancy sweet tropical drinks with little umbrellas. It probably is the last place you would expect to find a simple yet jump-for-joy no-cook tilapia ceviche recipe. It is a small town, more like a rancho to be exact, not too far from Guadalajara.

So when Gloria and Armando invited my viejo and me over for dinner, I was somehow hoping for something else. I was wishing for something like birria de chivito—stewed baby goat—a dish that is all together authentic and in keeping with the romantic notion of what I think of as rustic Mexican food. Something that could only come out of Mexico's heartland, not anything oceanic if you catch my drift. What I found instead was a huge bowl of this tilapia ceviche with corn tortilla tostadas. I could say that I was disappointed, though in retrospect, I am happy that the poor baby goat was granted a reprieve and did not have to be sacrificed just to satisfy my cravings. Stewed baby goat will have to wait for another day.

Always one to create an event by performing a simple but dramatic act, Gloria presented us with a large bowl of guacamole. It was nothing more than smashed avocado with a bit of salt—and just perfect, not gussied up with salsa or lime juice this time. No need for further embellishment, it really tasted gorgeous just like its fresh green color. The real surprise, though, was when Gloria instructed us to spread mayonnaise on the tostadas before topping them with the ceviche and the guacamole. Its tangy creaminess framed the hot and lemon-tinged ceviche, grounding it, making it more substantial so that it wouldn't just float away as some ceviche recipes do. Of course, the ceviche didn't float away, but I did.

Whenever I enjoy a dish that I know I will be thinking about for a long time, I always ask the cook why she likes it, and why did she decided to cook it this time. I was half expecting Gloria to say, "Eating ceviche reminds me when I saw the ocean for the very first time. There was a flaming orange sun setting over the calm waters of the Pacific just off Puerto Vallarta. Draped across the sky were shades of orange and violet—then a soft twilight descended over us, suffusing everything in a soft, pinkish glow. And suddenly I knew that I couldn't bear to live without it, to listen to the ceaseless bounding of the surf for the rest of my life." Or something quasi-poetic like that.

Instead she rolled her eyes and replied, "Don't you know that I was lazy and I didn't feel like cooking?"

Ay, amiga mía, my sentiments exactamente.

Tilapia Ceviche Tostadas

This is so easy that you really don't need a recipe. This is just a guide so that you can make as little or as much as you want. However, if you have to have a recipe, here it is. Make sure that you use only a non-reactive bowl, such as plastic, stainless steel or glass, while the lemon juice is "cooking" the fish and onions in the frig. It is a no-brainer to say that this dish tastes best icy cold, so lay the bowl of ceviche on a bed of crushed ice.

8 oven-fried tostadas (see recipe below); OR, 8 store-bought tostada shells (for hot, muggy days only!)

1 pound tilapia or red snapper filets, chopped into small bite-sized pieces

The juice of two medium lemons

½ cup diced white onion

½ cup diced green bell pepper, finely chopped jalapeño or serranos, or any combination thereof*

½ tomatoes, the sweetest you can find

1/3 cup fresh cilantro, chopped

salt to taste

1 mashed avocado

mayonnaise (optional)

bottled Mexican-style hot sauce, or fresh chile salsa

In a medium-sized mixing bowl, mix together the chopped fish and diced white onions. Pour in the lemon juice, and using a spoon, mix it with the fish and onions. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and place in the refrigerator for an hour or two, or until the tilapia is opaque. The tilapia is now cooked. Add the chiles, tomato and cilantro. Add salt to taste.

Mash the avocado and place with the pit in a separate bowl. I made mine plain, but you can gussy it up if you want.

Before serving, spread some mayo on each tostada. Add a large spoonful of the ceviche and serve immediately. Serve with the guacamole, cut limes, and the hot salsa.

*(Variation: If you have the time and don't mind standing over a hot stove, omit the bell pepper and add diced roasted poblanos instead. It is certainly worth the sweat!)

OVEN FRIED TOSTADAS RECIPE: I adapted this recipe for great oven-fried tostadas from the January/February 2006 issue of Cook's Illustrated. They are crunchy without being too greasy.

about 1 tablespoon vegetable oil

8 store-bought mini corn tortillas

Salt.

Brush each tortilla on both sides with a little oil. Salt them to taste, and arrange them in a single layer on a cookie sheet. Place the tortillas in a pre-heated 450˚oven for about 5 to 7 minutes, or until they start to turn color. Flip them on the other side and continuing baking until they are golden brown, about 2 to 3 minutes. Remove them at once.

A Shrimp By Any Other Name

2009-08-07T16:33:00.001-07:00

"Camarón? You want to name your kid camarón?"

"No, ΄Amá, CAM-er-on. CAMeron. Can't you say it right?" Leave it to his mother to ruin the name he and his wife had carefully chosen for their unborn child.

She spit out the name.

"Ca-mah-RÓN . . . Ca-mah-RÓN? Why do you want to name your son after a shrimp? Because that's what a camarón is. Pónle Prudencio—call him Prudencio like my father. We can call him "Tencho" or "Prudi" for short.

Oh great, might as well start a fund for his therapy now, because, with a name like that, his kid was going to need it. Suddenly, he imagined his future offspring bearing an uncanny resemblance to "Kiko", that sniveling mama's boy and punching bag from El Chavo del Ocho on Spanish TV.

"Well, if you don't like Prudencio, name him Perfecto or Tiburcio like your Tío Tiburcio. How do you like Margarito or Florentino?"

"Like them? Why would I want a paisa* name for my kid? We're not living in the rancho anymore, you know."

"Are you're telling me that your abuelito's name's not good enough for you?"

"I didn't say that—."

"Ay sí, Meester George Looney—."

"It's Clooney."

"Clooney, Looney—a mi qué m'importa—what do I care. Ya que que eres muy matón—now that you're some Big Shot, you're not Maximiliano anymore—" Her voice then took on that of a goat's. "Your name is 'Maaaax.'" She lowered her head, but her eyes bore down on him with a gaze of stern maternal disapproval.

Suddenly she brightened up and remarked, "But that's okay, mi'jo, if you have a girl, you can name her Pachita like me." He groaned. She ignored him and proceeded to enumerate a laundry list of her favorite names: "Fidumina, Eufemia, Gertrudis, Marcaria, those are all beaut—"

"Ya párale, por favor—please stop already—." He held his breath for a second or two, for he knew that what he was about to say was about to go over as well as a stale tamale laying in the pit of one's gut.

"We have already decided on a name for a girl: Mackenzie. Arwen. Pérez."

"Ma-QUÉ??" With a look of complete shock, his mother put her hand over her mouth. She tried saying it again, but only a contortionist could have helped her wrap her tongue around "Mackenzie". As for "Arwen", she was slack-jawed and mute. Nowhere did she hear her own name as she had not so secretly hoped. "Camarón" was bad enough, but those nombrecitos—those ugly little names, "Makení" and "Aw΄"— ¡Uf! ¡Dios mío de mi vida!

"Mira," she held up her hands, and then proceeded to point a long finger in the general direction of his face. "You can name your son "Shrimp" if you want, but if it's a girl, I'm calling her Pachita! And if you don't like my paisa name, then don't eat my my paisa food. Sangron."

And with the bestowal of that heartfelt blessing, The Matriarch de la familia wiped her hands on her apron and swept out of the kitchen with the dignity of a battleship sailing out to sea. Siiting there alone as the day's cooking boiled over, her wayward son began to reflect on the error of his ways.

In the end, I'm happy to report that my friends decided to eat this Mexican Shrimp Cocktail, not name their son after one, thus averting the misfortune of being called Camarón for the rest of his life. Much to everyone's satisfaction, they named their baby Maximiliano after his father. He is the joy of his parents and the apple of their eyes.

But they call him Prudi for short. Well, at least his abuelita does.

*paisa--slang. An unsophisticated country bumpkin. Short for "paisano", or "countryman".

Mexican Shrimp Cocktail

(Coctél de Camarón)

1 pound of uncooked shrimp; OR, 1 pound shrimp, precooked, shelled, tail and veins removed

1 8 ounce jar of clam juice; OR; shrimp stock (cooled)

1½ cups good quality ketchup (no off-brands)

1 large cucumber, peeled and diced

1 ripe avocado, chopped

1 lime, cut up

A squirt of Mexican-style bottled hot sauce or fresh chile salsa to taste

1 fresh jalapeño, seeded and chopped (optional)

1 cup diced green onion, including stalks; OR, any mild onion, diced

1 cup fresh coarsely chopped cilantro

Dash of dried oregano to taste

½ to 1 cup water or shrimp stock(optional)

Salt and pepper to taste

If you decide to use uncooked shrimp, put them a large pot of wáter with salt, pepper, garlic, and cilantro or parsley. They cook up fast, so remove them as soon as the shrimp turns bright pink. Quickly submerge the shrimp in ice water. Save and chill the shrimp stock and use it instead of the clam juice and the water. Make sure to peel the shells and tails off the shrimp and remove the veins. Of course, you can always make it the "lazy way" using precooked shrimp. If you prefer a "watery" cocktail as I do, just add the ½--1 cup shrimp stock or water. Adjust the seasonings accordingly.
Rinse and drain the shrimp. Mix all ingredients, except the lime, in a large bowl and refrigerate for about one or two hours before serving. Add the avocados at the last minute. Serve with wedges of lime. This cocktail deserves to be served with salted corn tortilla strips that have been just cooked in hot oil—¡sabroso!

Serves 4 to 5 people.

Bratty Little Mocoso Snot-nosed Kids

2009-07-16T15:48:00.001-07:00

If you don't want kids to like you, then don't, please don't make these Mexican-style paletas.

If it's fun to scare little children with your nasty presencia. If the mere thought of living and dying alone, unloved and unmourned, amidst the stench of rotten half-eaten Mc Donald's hamburgers, leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside—then it is a very foolish thing to even think of making these delicious and healthful treats made with fresh spring and summertime fruits like mango, watermelon and coconut and pineapple. You see, if you make these paletas, all those screaming little brats with their mocoso—snot-nosed faces will come flocking to your house and you will never have a moment's peace. Why ruin a good thing?

Well, I've come here to destroy your summer's day and the rest of your poor miserable life as you know it.

Because I'm going to take you on a fantastic culinary journey to Tacumbo, a town in Michoacán, México, where the townsfolk have erected a statue of a giant popsicle to honor the Birthplace of The World's Best Paletas. Then I will fly you back to relive those chunky peanutbutter smog-filled days of my Los Angeles childhood, where my own young self is sitting on the curb, looking hot and bored out of my little mind. That is until El Paletero (The Popsicle Man), with his dark Indian features wearing his white native garb and huaraches on his feet, looking so out of place as to make one think that he was beamed up and has now landed in another world (he has), comes walking by with his cart, shouting ¡paletas! ¡paletas! at the top of his lungs. You will see my look of amazement when I sink my teeth into those natural tasting paletas made with fresh fruit, some with fresh chile bits, others cool and creamy like the one studded all over with huge pieces of pecan. Next, you will taste my madrecita's own sweet paletas made from a simple mixture of smashed bananas, whole milk with a little bit of sugar and vanilla, making my sisters and me the happiest muchachitas en todo el mundo. And then perhaps you will tell me, if a life with no little children with smeared paletas faces in it is a really a happy one after all.

But, if you enjoy the pitter-patter of little patitas. If you love being told, "I love you," by a honest little person who has no desire to impress you. And, if that somehow makes you believe that, despite your foul disposition and changeable ways, you are not such a bad person after all, only then will you be truly deserving of a fresh fruit paleta inspired by the tasty little masterpieces of Tacumbo.

(Dedicated to my own not-so-small-anymore sobrinas. Yes, they are the beautiful young girls in theses photos. I wanted to get them in touch with their Inner Mariachi Girl by photographing them wearing my sombrero and my charra suit. All play musical instruments. All of them, together with my sobrinito, are sweet and smart and a credit to mis hermanas—my sisters and their spouses. All of them are mi corazón. May they one day cook Mexican food just as delicious as their little abuelita who is longer here.)

Gracias to my brother-in-law I.G. for letting me post his picture of his daughter playing her violin.

Mango, Watermelon and Coconut-Pineapple Paletas

These are not recipes per se, but guides to making as little or as many paletas as you want. Of course, you can always double the recipe if you wish, especially if you have lots of slightly overripe fruit like that left-over watermelon that you have in the frig right now. If you not have any popsicles molds on hand, you can easily improvise by using small paper cups. If you want the popsicles sticks to stand up straight, simply fold some aluminum foil over the top rim of each cup, make a small center slit with a sharp knife, and insert a popsicle stick (available in supermarkets or craft stores.) To loosen the paletas from the cups or molds, just run them over with warm water from the faucet for a minute or so.

MANGO PALETAS:
2 ripe mangos, peeled and finely chopped (about 2 cups)
Thick Simple Syrup (recipe to follow)
1 lime
popsicle molds; OR, small paper cups, popsicle sticks, and aluminum foil

Thick Simple Syrup Recipe: Combine 4 tablespoons granulated cane sugar with 2 tablespoons water in a small saucepan. Heat over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until the sugar dissolves completely. Remove from heat and set aside.

Use a vegetable peeler to peel away the skin of each mango. Then, slice the flesh as close to the pit as possible. Chop the mangos into very small pieces. Take half of the chopped mango and whirl in a food processor or blender until smooth. The mixture will be thick. Pour the mixture into a bowl and dilute with a generous squeeze of fresh lime juice. Add the rest of the mango to the mixture. Add Thick Simple Syrup, one tablespoon at a time, until it is as sweet as you want (it should not be too sweet.) Pour into molds or cups.

Place them in the freezer and wait about 3 hours or until frozen.

Makes about four servings.

Sprinkle some chili powder over the paletas for a taste you will just love, I promise!

WATERMELON PALETAS:

About 2 cups fresh watermelon, chopped into smallish pieces

Thick Simple Syrup (recipe above)

1 lime

Combine the chopped watermelon and a squirt of lime. Add Thick Simple Syrup, one tablespoon at a time, until it is as sweet as you want (it should not be too sweet.)
Pour into the molds or cups. Place in the freezer and wait about 3 hours or until frozen.
Makes about four servings.

COCONUT-PINEAPPLE PALETAS:
Equal portions of sweetened shredded coconut and fresh/frozen/or canned chopped pineapple—about 1 cup shredded coconut and 1 cup pineapple for this recipe.

About 2 tablespoons whipping cream (my favorite), half-and-half, milk or any other dairy product you happen to have on hand just to moisten and bind together the ingredients. If the mixture seems a little too thick, add teeny bit of pineapple juice. No need to add any sugar or Simple Syrup.
Combine all ingredients. Pour into mold or cups. Place in the freezer and wait about 3 hours or until frozen.

Serves four.

Something to Crow About

2009-07-03T07:25:00.001-07:00

Perhaps you'll excuse me as I strut around this blog the way a mariachi singer struts around the stage while I proclaim something that we mexicanitas had long suspected. Let me cry a triumphant ¡ajúa! to the very few—and very sad—Mexican food haters who think that Mexican food is bad for you (until they read this post). Because this misunderstood and supposedly fat and mean cuisine is not just delicioso, but it can also cut your risk of coming down with breast cancer if eaten everyday.**

Well, duh, we don't need no stinkin' scientific study from the April 2008 Journal of Clinical Nutrition to know that Abuelita's native home cooked comida is not just beyond delicious, but healthy as well, now do we? Not when we consume a diet high in fiber, low in fat (yes, you read right), and abundant in fruits and vegetables such as cabbage, chiles, squash, corn, and lean meats, fish and cheeses. Not when we eat beans almost everyday, or when we enjoy hearty but low fat water-based soups, tomato-based sauces and salsas and corn tortillas. Our cheeses, most of them partly skim, are the supporting players and not the main attraction to our dishes. It's actually no surprise here that the breast cancer risk for Mexican women is two-thirds less than the general population—so if you need an excuse to eat enchiladas, well, did you ever really need an excuse???

Which brings me to the subject of Chayote Salad, a little recipe from Morelos, and the perfect introduction to this green, pear-shaped, sometimes smooth, sometimes dangerously spiny relative of the gourd and squash families. Of course, when you bite into it, you might not think that it tastes like much of anything, except perhaps a cross between a zucchini and a cucumber, but it can absorb any flavor you want, combining beautifully with almost any dish. In a soup, it will impersonate a potato. Peel it and cut it into small pieces and add it raw to a green salad, and it will satisfy those crunch cravings. Simmer or steam it, peel it and slice it into wedges and allow it to absorb the flavors of red wine vinegar, olive oil, garlic and fresh roasted and dried chiles, and, of course, those sweet little grape tomatoes—all fussily arranged into a shape of a flower to amuse and perhaps annoy your family like I do mine. Now that it is warm outside, and I am able to look at a cold salad in the face again, I promised myself that I would eat something more exciting than just a green tossed salad from a plastic bag that you buy in the grocery store. It seemed just too easy and a tad boring, frankly.

And there is more: the green wrinkled split-brain look of a chayote conjures up images of the outdoor mercados (marketplaces) of Mexico where you will find an overwhelming variety of exotic fruits and vegetables and other ingredients. Then it hits you, this food is healthy and good. These are people who are downright passionate about their food—even those persnickety little 80 year old viejitas (little old ladies), who, if they lived in Florida, would be taking it easy playing bridge or getting their hair done, are instead running around cooking up a storm or terrorizing the produce venders by loudly commenting on every fruit and vegetable they see and sniffing everything in sight. If they can live this long and healthfully by eating all of that Wicked Mexican Food, then I want in. And if that means that I have to peel a nasty looking chayote, and getting stuck by a stinger or two, then it is a sacrifice I am willing to take (though you don't have to).

They say that revenge is sweet, but I believe that there is something else that tastes entirely more satisfying. Really, what can be more delicious than a plate of vindication for my favorite cuisine with a little gloating on the side, especially when it is served hot and spicy?

So stop eating all of those golocinas y "purundangas" (sweet stuff and our family's word for junk food) that your madrecita warned you about and eat a chayote, okey?

**Note: Cancer is an equal opportunity disease, cutting across all social, national, and ethnic barriers. If you have any Spanish-speaking friends or relatives who are battling cancer, please have them check out Lance Armstrong's Livestrong Foundation's Spanish-language webpage so that they can have access to support and necessary resources.)

Chayote Salad

Ensalada de Chayotes

Make sure that the chayotes are fresh. They should be firm with no brown spots or sunken areas. The original recipe has no chile in it, so you don't have to add any to the recipe if you don't want to. I found, however, that the grape tomatoes, toasted garlic, fresh roasted chiles and bits of red hot dried chiles and some chopped cilantro added some wow factor to this cold salad. You can remove the heart of the chayote if you want, but I like its nutty flavor. You can omit the red wine vinegar and olive oil and garlic and use your own low-cal or bottled red wine vinegar dressing if you wish. Adapted from Mexico The Beautiful Cookbook.

3 smooth skinned chayotes

grape or cherry tomatoes, split in half, as many or as little as you want
6 tablespoons olive oil

3 or more tablespoons red wine vinegar to taste (3 tablespoons are never enough for me)

2 cloves garlic

½ teaspoon sea salt

¼ teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon dried oregano

¼ to ½ cup finely chopped fresh cilantro (optional)
½ red onion, finely sliced
1 fresh Poblano chile, roasted, thin-sliced or diced; OR, 2 serrano chiles, roasted and chopped if you want more fire; OR, both chiles (Click here to learn how to roast chiles.) (optional)

1 dried whole or cut up chile de árbol or any small dried red chile (optional)

Cooking Instructions:
Put the chayotes, one clove of garlic, and a pinch of salt in a large pot. Cover with water and bring to a boil. Then lower heat to a simmer. Cover and cook for about 30 to 40 minutes, or until the chayotes are tender when you pierce them with a fork.

In the meantime, roast and peel the chiles. Toast the other garlic clove in its skin over a hot skillet for about 5 minutes or so.

Discard the water and let the chayotes cool for about 5 to 10 minutes.

Take a potato peeler and peel the chayotes' outer skin. Cut each chayote in half lengthwise, then cut into quarter wedges, and then cut into eighths (see picture, top). Chill them in the refrigerator for an hour or so.

Remove the chayotes from the refrigerator. Take some paper towels and dry them off to remove any excess moisture. Peel the toasted garlic

In a small bowl, stir together the olive oil, vinegar, the toasted garlic, oregano, salt and pepper and let the flavors blend.

Chop the cilantro and dice the roasted chiles.

Toss together all the ingredients, including the red hot dried chile. Add more seasonings if you wish. Let stand for a few minutes before serving.

Agua de Jamaica Infatuation

2009-06-18T13:24:00.001-07:00

You know about my horchata cravings, but now that summer is less than a week away, I think I should introduce you to my latest infatuation: none other than la agua fresca de la flor de jamaica (Hibiscus Flower Tea) one of the many, and, need I say, most stunning of Mexico's delicious aguas frescas, natural drinks made from fruit and other ingredients. Once you gaze into this brilliant garnet-hued drink and taste its dark cranberry and herbal green flavor, refreshingly astringent but sweet, you will know why the dried seedpod and sepals of "The Flower of Jamaica", as Mexicans call it, is, in its various recipes, from jelly to wine and more, especially loved from Mexico and Central America to Thailand to India to Iraq to Turkey to Sudan to Jamaica and the rest of the Caribbean and back to Mexico again. I guess you can call it an around-the-world favorite.

Ha! And you thought that it was just some ordinary tart drink at your local taco shop.

Among its purported benefits, agua de jamaica helps reduce fevers, is mildly diuretic and lowers blood pressure. Some say that it reduces blood sugar, helps digestive and kidney function, relieves neurosis (my ailment, for sure), and, according one study, even reduces drunkenness in chickens (now who funded that? And, why didn't we know this that back in the day when my papá was getting our roosters drunk on cheap tequila?)

I don't know if all of those claims are true. All I know is that it tastes cool and refreshing on a long hot summer's day, especially when I fiddle with the recipe and add the freshly squeezed juice of an orange and a touch of lime peel. Adding a little rum and nutmeg to this blend, Jamaican style, only adds to the excitement of serving this to my paisanos--most who are Mexican food puristas like me. I have a sneaky suspicion that once they get over their initial shock it will be bottoms up. Now that my cooking laziness is coming to an end, what with chayote salad with roasted chiles and tomatoes and piña colada paletas (popsicles) and other goodies coming around the bend this summer, I think that some freshly brewed agua de jamaica will be not just my infatuation, but my constant companion.

¡Que viva el verano!—Let the summer begin!

Agua Fresca de la Flor de Jamaica
(Hibiscus Flower Tea)

You don't have to add sugar if you don't want to. Feel free to add your favorite no calorie sweetener like stevia. I like to drink mine straight with no sugar and tons of ice. Too tart for some, but perfect for me. This drink is served year round, so feel free to serve it anytime, and not just with Mexican food. If this drink is too tart for you, just add more water and sugar to taste.

Ingredients:
½ to 1 cup of dried jamaica flowers (available in Mexican markets, health food stores or online)
1 cup cane sugar, or, your favorite sweetener
6 cups water—divided

Directions:
In a medium-sized pot, bring 3 cups of the water, jamaica flowers and the sugar to a boil. Using a wooden spoon, stir the pot to dissolve the sugar. Cover and lower the heat to low. Simmer for about 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and let sit for 15 to 20 minutes. Add the remaining 3 cups of water into the pot. Strain out the flowers and let the agua de jamaica cool off. Pour the agua de jamaica into a pitcher and refrigerate for at least 3 hours. When ready to serve, poor la agua de jamaica into tall glasses. Garnish with an orange slice if desired.

Serves 4 to 6 persons.

A Fiesta in Mi Jardin

2009-06-02T15:15:00.001-07:00

I've been gone from this blog for almost a whole month, and for a person who is supposed to love cooking, exchanging a cook's mandil (apron) for a gardener's mandil, a dinner fork for a pitch fork, and a spoon for a shovel, it has been a refreshing change. To dig in la tierra, to plant flowers and vegetables like tomatoes and chile plants, is not only good for the body, but I think I finally succeeded in clearing off some wintery cobwebs from my mind. I'm flipping some sad springtime memories, hoping to create some pleasant ones instead.

Now that the garden is ablaze we are going to have a fiesta for Beatríz and Marina, a pair of beautiful young women, sisters, who will be getting married to Mateo and David. All sets of parents are our dear friends, so I don't think they won't mind it a bit if we borrow their children for a little while to partake of their happiness.

I decide to pick the tomatillos myself. They are for the green enchiladas I am making for the fiesta. The tomatillos must be plump and firm, smooth and shiny, a little sticky to the touch. Their husks, delicately veined, are almost as translucent as those of the wings of a dragon fly lightly skimming the water. The enchiladas will be stuffed with a savory tomato-y garlic-y chicken/potato filling that blends perfectly with the green light tanginess of the enchilada sauce. What better way to celebrate spring and summer and new beginnings than with an enchilada dish that tastes as beautiful as it looks? As much as I love spicy red enchiladas, I think I prefer eating them during the fall and winter months, when cool weather calls for big, bold flavor.

My husband and I start preparing for la fiesta. I cook the chicken and enchilada sauce the day before. My husband, the real baker (though not the butcher or the candlestick maker) of us two, whips up not one but two cakes. One is chocolate, his favorite "vegetable" as he calls it, studded all around with almond slivers; the other is a vanilla cake—its insides stuffed to the gills with fresh strawberries he bought from a neighboring field. He tops it with a little plastic wedding cake ornament and some tiny pink satin ribbon roses. Leave it to my viejo to make a homey cake, perhaps a little corny but very heartfelt (and not to mention out of this world delicious). When our friends sit down a la mesa, there is a huge green salad, beer marinated barbeque chicken, tender carne asada, sopa de fideo con tomates (a "dry" pasta soup made with chicken broth and tomatoes), corn tortillas, fresh from the tortilla factory, a blazing hot red chile salsa. Gloria brings a large bowl of pico de gallo. Lina shares some creamy beans made Puerto Rican style made with secret spices and chicken broth.

Celebrating en lo fresco with my husband and friends who are also family, surrounded by my garden of flowers, the sounds of our favorite mariachi music, my mother's manteles (tablecloths) and candlesticks, I feel the past and present converging in a brightly colored kaleidoscope of emotion. In my garden, there is mingling of joy and una dulce tristeza (a sweet melancholy)—as exquisite as the tangy coolness of some hot green tomatillo enchiladas on a brilliant spring afternoon.

As evening descends on the fiesta, we all look on as Beatríz and Mateo and Marina and David cut my husband's cake.

Green Tomatillo Enchiladas with Chicken/Potato Filling

Traditionally, enchiladas are not heated up in the oven. However, if you are cooking for a crowd and need to heat them up in the oven for a little while (pre-heated to 350º), make sure to add a bit of enchilada sauce to the bottom of the casserole dish so the enchiladas won't stick to the bottom. I don't know about you, but I like to fry my corn tortillas before dipping them in the enchilada sauce. They maintain their shape better and I love the toasty flavor. If you are concerned about fat, do yourself a favor and don't smother these beautiful enchiladas under a fat-laden blanket of cheese. Let the wonderful flavor of the tomatillo shine through. A little queso fresco or cotija will do just fine. Also, save any left-over chicken broth, chicken filling or enchilada sauce to make delicious soups or tacos.

Ingredients for Chicken/Potato Filling:
1 whole chicken, rinsed, with giblets, neck, etc. removed

2 large potatoes, scrubbed

water

½ white onion

1 carrot, peeled and cut up

2 sprigs cilantro or parsley

1 large red juicy tomato, puréed in the blender; OR, one 8 oz. can of tomato sauce (If your tomato isn't super sweet and juicy, this time I'd go for canned tomato sauce.)

1 Knorr's® chicken flavored bouillon cube (optional)
¼ teaspoon black pepper
1 bay leaf

pinch oregano or to taste

Ingredients for Green Tomatillo Enchilada Sauce:

2 lbs. of tomatillos, husks removed

1 to 3 serrano chiles, stems removed

¼ to ½ white onion

2 cloves garlic

chicken broth

½ to 1 cup fresh cilantro to taste (optional)

1 tablespoon lard or vegetable oil

pinch of powdered cumin
seasoning salt to taste

crema mexicana, or sour cream(optional)
12 (one dozen corn tortillas)

To Cook Chicken/Potato Enchilada Filling:

Put the chicken in a large pot and fill with water to cover. Bring it to a boil. When the water becomes scummy, remove the chicken from the pot and discard the water (who likes scummy broth anyway? I don't.) Rinse the pot and put the chicken right back in. Add potatoes, pureed tomato or tomato sauce, bouillon cube, cilantro, onion, garlic, bay leaf, cilantro, oregano, and pepper. Add water to cover the chicken. Bring to a boil, then cover and lower heat. Simmer for 30 to 45 minutes, or until the chicken is tender. Remove the chicken from the pot and set aside. Remove the vegetables from the broth and discard. Skim some of the fat off the chicken broth. If you are preparing the enchiladas a day in advance, let the chicken and the broth cool down before putting them in the refrigerator for the night. The next morning, you can skim off the fat from the chicken broth if you wish.

To Make the Green Tomatillo Enchilada Sauce:

Put the tomatillos and one inch of chicken broth in a medium sized pot. Bring to a boil, then cover and simmer for about 10 minutes or until the tomatillos are soft and fully cooked. (In the meantime, shred the cooked chicken, peel and chop the potatoes into small bite-sized pieces. Cover and keep warm.) Put the cooked tomatillos in a blender with ¼ white onion, garlic, serrano chile(s). Blend until smooth. Now add the cilantro and blend for a few seconds more.

Heat a tablespoon of vegetable oil in a saucepan. Add the tomatillo mixture, a pinch of cumin and seasoning salt to taste. Simmer for about 10 minutes. If the sauce is too thick, add a bit of chicken broth. If it is too thin, reduce by simmering uncovered for a little while.
Take a corn tortilla and heat on a hot heavily oiled skillet or griddle. Flip it once or twice until the tortilla is soft and flexible, about 10 seconds (don't worry if the tortilla is a little toasty). Using a spatula, lift the corn tortilla and dip it into the warm enchilada sauce for a few seconds. Then transfer the tortilla to a plate or other flat surface. Add a large spoonful of chicken/potato filling to one end of the tortilla. Using your fire-proof macha fingers, tightly roll up the tortilla and place seam side down on a platter or a casserole dish. Pour some hot enchilada sauce over the enchiladas and top with thinly sliced green onion, sliced black olives and or your favorite real cheese or crema mexicana (or sour cream). Serve immediately.

Never Judge a Nopal By Its Stingers

2009-05-03T21:53:00.001-07:00

I have a confession to make. I want something so badly that I'm willing to steal it.

I'm going to take my long sharp knife and risk life and limb to get me some, even if it means jumping the wall into Doña Hortencia's backyard and facing down Diablito, that psychopath ankle-snapping chihuahua of hers. Just to get my hands on those fresh and tender nopalitos—the flat paddle-shaped pads of the prickly pear cactus (how's that for a bit of alliteration?). And for any of you who think that I'm one tortilla short of a stack for wanting to commit such a foolish and criminal act, all I have to say is that only a Mexican who doesn't have a cactus of her own knows how I feel.

Some of my friends smile at me indulgently with the kind of a look that they usually reserve for little children or people who are loco en la cabeza whenever I mention nopales. Why eat anything as prickly and as slimy and just plain dangerous, they ask? Poor souls, if they only knew. For lurking beneath its nasty agüates (stingers) and forbidding exterior lies the tender heart of a saint. If you like the fresh taste of farm fresh green beans and asparagus with a hint of lemon, then you are on your way to loving nopales in just about anything Mexican: With your scrambled eggs with pinto beans and a homemade tortilla for breakfast. In salads. In tacos. In the Mexican classic, Dried Shrimp Paddies with Molé Sauce, a favorite of mine. And, if that weren't enough, nopales just might lower blood sugar levels (listen up, my diabetic friends). If you are concerned about its okra-like baba (slime), well, it doesn't have to be if you cook it right. Give it a try, and you will find that even unattractive things have a beauty beyond just mere appearance.

I looked over into Doña Hortencia's backyard today. That was all it took for the aptly named Diablito to come charging, bearing his canines and bursting my ear drums with his mad incessant yapping, jumping up and down, frantically trying to bite off my fingers. Somehow, my heart failed me just then. I did not relish the prospect of turning into a fur-lined maniac's taco. So I knocked on Doña Hortencia's door instead and pleaded with her in the most pathetic tones for some nopalitos. There was a trace of amusement in those old brown eyes of hers. She must have seen me peeking into her backyard.

She hesitated for a moment and then replied:"¡Pues, claro qué sí!—Why, of course you can!"

What ever possessed me to think I could steal some nopales from such a nice viejita?

Tomorrow afternoon I'm bringing my big long knife and I'm going to lop off some nopalitos, some for me and some for Doña Hortencia .

Boiled or Sauteed Nopalitos, Salad Included.

You can buy nopales at the supermarket pre-chopped and stripped of their stingers, but I find that the ones that are fresh off the cactus tastes best. Each cactus pad should be no more that 8 inches in length (about the size of your hand), and exhibit a fresh green color. It should never look shriveled or tough. This is not a recipe per se, but a guide to making as much or as little as you like. Depending on the recipe or your preference, you can boil or sauté them until they are perfect.

First step:
Wear a pair of gloves and trim off the outer edge of the nopales. Then using the sharp edge of the knife, scrape off all of the stingers. Cut about an inch off the lower end of nopal. Rinse the nopales under cold running water and closely examine them, making sure that there are absolutely no stingers left.

To Boil:

Bring some water to a boil in a large pot or pan with about half an onion, one or two smashed garlic cloves, and salt to taste. Put the whole cactus pads in the boiling water. Lower heat to medium and boil the nopales for about 15 minutes or so, or until they are easily pierced with a fork. You can pre-chop the nopales if you wish, but I think that boiling them whole preserves more of the flavor.

Drain the nopales into a colander; cover them with a damp cloth, and let them sit for about half an hour or so while any excess moisture drains into a bowl.

Using a sharp knife, dice or slice the nopales according to your taste. You can now scramble them with your eggs for a new take on breakfast.

Here's a simple but utterly delicious recipe for NOPALES SALAD:

Mix the boiled nopales with fresh chopped tomatoes, sliced green onion, fresh minced jalapeño and chopped cilantro. Just add some quality bottled red wine Italian salad dressing or your own homemade vinaigrette. (See picture at the top). Add some queso fresco and eat it with anything Mexican (except dessert!).

Sautéed:
On a hot skillet add 1 tablespoon olive oil, 4 cups diced or sliced fresh nopales, 2 cups white onion, 2 cloves garlic, minced, any finely chopped fresh chile (optional) and garlic salt to taste. Over medium heat, continue sautéing until the slime completely evaporates and the nopales are slightly charred and the onion is sweet and golden brown. Remove the nopal mixture from the heat and add finely chopped cilantro to taste. Add a corn or flour tortilla and a bit of salsa and you have the perfect vegetarian taco.

Springtime For Carnitas

2009-04-14T17:07:00.001-07:00

Ay,¡qué laureles tan verdes!

¡Que rosas tan encendidas!

Oh, how green are the laurel trees!

The roses are all aflame!
(--José López, "Los laureles", an old mariachi song)

You may think that all I ever do is dream about Mexican food and refried beans. Not so. When la bella primavera—springtime—rears her lovely head at my garden gate, and the days are cool and bright with the scent of jasmine filling the air, when new roses and freesias and elegant, stately alcatraces (calla lilies) are en flor, the last thing on my mind is cooking over a hot stove or spending time indoors watching Mexican soap operas. Propped up outside my door are some large fat iris bulbs that will produce flowers the color of golden sunshine. They are waiting for me to plant them around the lovely blue-hued hortencias (hydrangeas) just outside my window. What do I care about albondigas (Mexican Meatball Soup) or homemade flan as I watch little jewel-toned chuparosas (hummingbirds) dive bomb around the hot pink and purple fuchsia plants looking for nectar and a little romance? I listen to the song of an orange-breasted little robin perched on a branch nearby tree. Who needs food when there is so much beauty? . . .

Wait. Did I just hear you say carnitas?

Caramba, how I wish you hadn't. Because now I can't think of anything else.

Its tender, citrusy-sweet meat resting on a hot off the comal homemade corn tortilla, together with a tangy cool hot green tomatillo salsa with chopped green onion and cilantro is just the thing that will send me in a beeline to la cocina. Now add a squirt of fiery red hot salsa and a squeeze of lime plus a spoonful of guacamole that makes me and just about everybody else just SWOON (as the whip smart Emma would say) when they taste it. And now that my friends Margarita and Roman have lent me their beautiful copper pot to cook it Michoacán-style, how can I resist?

Never having cooked carnitas Michoacán style, I wasn't too sure I could pull it off. So I cooked it both ways: the way I was taught, which is to cook the pork in a spice and orange scented water. Then, when it is tender, shredding the just cooked meat (use your fingers if you're macha and don't need no stinkin' forks) and placing it under the broiler for a few minutes with some fresh pineapple. The result is a fragrant tender-crispy piece of joy. Or, cooking it Michoacán style—in a skillet, or in this case, the copper pot. The pork is cut into chunks and is cooked in spicy water with a whole orange peel thrown in for added flavor. When the pork is fully cooked and very tender, you fry it in lard or bacon grease and the juice of a sweet orange until the chunks are crispy on the outside, tender and succulent on the inside. Each method is delicious, but I think the next time I make it Michoacán-style, I will use my old stand by, a heavy cast iron skillet. Perhaps I am not a carnitas experta, but the carnitas came out a little charred than I was hoping for—perhaps the fault was mine and not the pot's.

So here I was with a mountain of carnitas when I should have been outside planting my yellow irises. Presently our friend Orlando came over, so I served him and my viejo some carnitas tacos with the homemade corn tortillas I had made for lunch. In their typical, too kind manner, both swore they loved the carnitas, saying that they liked the "smoky" flavor. Then Joaquín showed up and, like most teens whose shark-like metabolisms demand constant feeding or they will die, he wolfed down three tacos and a lot of the guacamole and the chopped roasted pineapple. Later that evening, Lupe and her brood came by, and, together with my husband and me, we polished off the whole thing. We didn't have any Bohemia beer to drink with the carnitas, but the agua de jamaica (hibiscus flower punch) had just the right tartness to counterbalance the sweet n' heat savoriness of the carnitas tacos.

Today I will step out into my garden once again. The iris bulbs are still by my front door, patiently waiting for me, but springtime planting can wait hasta mañana. I'm making another batch of carnitas.

Carnitas

Mexico has arguably the best fast food in the world, and carnitas is pure pork genius on a tortilla. Just walk into a busy taquería anywhere in México or in certain parts of the US and inhale the sweet smoky aroma of a pineapple infused carnitas tower that has been cooked by the able hands of a master taquero. Who says that you can't try to duplicate this at home (at a fraction of the price)? Serve it on homemade corn or flour tortilla, hot red chile or green tomatillo salsa with a bit or guacamole, some chopped white or green onion and a sprig of cilantro. Don't forget the squeeze of lime!

Ingredients:

1 3 lbs pork butt or shoulder, whole or cut into 1 ½ to 2 inch chunks. (Note: for Michoacán style carnitas, cut the pork butt into 1 ½ to 2 inch chunks.)

Water

One whole medium sized onion, cut in half

3 cloves whole garlic

1 tablespoon sea salt

A dash of dried oregano

A dash of ground cumin

1 bay leaf

The juice of a navel orange or 2 tangerines, the sweetest tangiest you can find

Sliced fresh or canned pineapple (optional)

1 to 2 tablespoons lard or bacon grease (for Michoacán style carnitas)

Orange peel of a whole orange (for Michoacán style carnitas)

Put the pork in a large pot or Dutch oven. Add onion, garlic, salt, oregano, cumin and the orange juice. (Note: for Michoacán style, omit the orange juice for now.) Add water to cover the meat. Bring the pot to a boil; reduce heat to medium, and cover. Simmer for about 1 ½ to 2 hours, or until the meat is very tender. Using a slotted spoon or a pair of tongs, remove the meat and place it on a platter or baking dish. (You can use the pork broth to make Mexican rice if you wish.) Use your macha fingers to shred the pork. Then, spoon a tiny bit of the pork broth just to moisten the pork a little bit—do not drench the meat. Add the pineapple slices (you can omit this step if you want and serve the pineapple cold and chopped). Place in the broiler for about 6 or 7 minutes, or until the carnitas are crispy. Watch out! Do not let the carnitas burn! Remove immediately and cover with foil or a kitchen towel. Chop the roasted pineapple and serve with the carnitas.

For Michoacán style carnitas:

Follow instructions as above, only do not put the pork chunks in the broiler. Do as follows: In a heavy skillet, melt the lard. When it is very hot, add the orange juice (STAND AWAY FROM THE STOVE!) and the pork. Do not cover. Cook over medium heat until the pork is brown and crispy. Make sure to drain off excess fat, if any, by placing the carnitas on paper towels.
Do not discard the excess fat! You can make wonderful tasting flour tortillas with that lovely bit of lard-o. Just store it in the refrigerator or freezer until you need it.

Corn Tortillas: Or, The Female Valentino

2009-03-16T15:28:00.001-07:00

She was billed The Female Rudolph Valentino, the dark exotic beauty from Hollywood's Silent Film Era. Orson Welles, ten years her junior, fell deeply in love with her and called her the "most exciting woman he had ever met." And yet I doubt that the fabulosa Dolores del Río knew how to make homemade corn tortillas.

As I see these vintage publicity shots of her wearing the fine gowns that the best designers of the day created just for her, I cannot see this daughter of an aristocratic Mexican family mixing the ground corn, lime and water with her lady-like hands or rolling the masa (dough) into balls or flattening them in a tortilla press. It is hard to imagine her standing over a hot fire while she heats up those homemade corn tortillas on a cast iron comal and serving them with beans and rice to her family. And why would she? Leaving behind a Mexico that had been ravaged by a bloody revolution that left at least a million dead, she came to Hollywood and gained international acclaim as a singer, dancer and actress. And yet, despite her extraordinary talents and undeniable beauty, the advent of Talkies revealed her foreign accent and so her star gradually began to fade. By the 1940's she returned to her native country and made some classic movies that are a part of the canon of The Golden Age of Mexican Cinema.

Who can forget María Candelaria with Dolores in the title role, which won Mexico The Cannes Film Festival's Palme d'Or Award for Best Picture in 1943? Her portrayal of Maria Candelaria, the beautiful but doomed Indian girl is heartbreaking to watch, so much so that is hard to believe that Dolores did not understand how it felt to be poor and dark and misunderstood. In other films, hers is the tragic but stoically dignified face of the rural woman who loses a husband or son to war. Watching her films as a young girl, I think I finally found a window into the world that my mother spoke about but is no more.

Perhaps I was wrong about Dolores del Río. Could it be that her world was not as rarified as I thought? Maybe, just maybe, this beautiful and fine artist knew a thing or two about making corn tortillas after all.

Homemade Corn Tortillas

It is difficult to image Mexican food without corn tortillas for their history goes back thousands of years to Pre-Hispanic times. Once you make them at home, you will see tacos and tortillas in a whole new light—like homemade bread, its flavor is irresistible. No dried out, store-bought corn tortilla can compare. Besides being lots of fun to make, those friends of yours who have never tasted a homemade tortilla will forever rave about your cooking. It's true!

Depending on how hard you press your tortilla press, your tortilla can be thin or as thick as you want. I like mine a little thick. I like to buy my flour at the Mexican foods market in my neighborhood, but you can find corn tortilla flour at almost any grocery store, especially in the Western part of the United States.They are absolutely no trouble to make. Just make only as much as you need, because if you make a lot, you are going to eat way too many of them, and what will happen to your waistline?

(Note: I couldn't help but notice that that corn tortilla flour that I buy at my Mexican market makes the softest and flexible corn tortillas I had ever tasted. Their secret? Just add a bit of Harina La Pina flour to your corn tortilla masa as I have done in this recipe. This is especially nice if you have to save a few tortillas for later but you don't want them to harden. Still, an all corn tortilla is more flavorful.)

Ingredients:

2 cups corn tortilla flour

1 1/3 cups hot water water

To make soft corn tortillas (optional): Add 2 to 3 heaping tablespoons of Harina La Pina white flour that is made especially for making flour tortillas. Add 1 tablespoon water for every tablespoon of white flour. Please do not use all purpose flour.
Instructions
Pre-heat your griddle to medium-high heat (cast iron is best, but any griddle will do). When a drop of water sizzles and dances on the griddle, you are ready to heat the flattened corn tortilla.

While the griddle is heating, take the corn flour and water and mix them together. Knead the masa (dough) until it is no longer sticky. (If you have added Harina La Pina flour, the balls will be somewhat sticky.) Form into small to medium size balls and put each one between two plastic sheets and press flat it with a tortilla press as shown.

Carefully peel the plastic sheets away from the flattened tortilla and carefully lay it on the griddle. Heat the tortilla on the heated griddle for about 30 seconds or so, and, using a steel spatula, flip it on the other side. Flip the tortilla once again, and put in a tortilla warmer or wrapped in a cloth. Put any unused corn tortilla masa in a plastic bag and store in your refrigerator. It will keep for about a week. Before making the tortillas, bring the masa to room temperture so they will not come out stiff.

Enjoy corn tortillas with any kind of Mexican food, or do as I and most Mexicans do: eat them with everything, even with a hotdog and mustard!

Ah, Horchata!

2009-03-05T09:44:00.001-08:00

I'm writing to you today with the knowledge that perhaps I shouldn't be sharing this recipe for horchata with you. You see, after consuming pre-fab taco joint horchatas, you might think that all horchatas are emulsified and homogenized and are just a little too perfect and a little too sweet. But, if you see beauty in imperfection, if you get lost in the deliciousness of a homemade beverage that might have tiny bits of rice in it, whose cinnamon taste comes from the bark the cinnamomum verum tree of Sri Lanka and not from a powder, if you love to drink it from a handblown glass with a thick ultramarine blue rim, then I must declare that you will never have enough horchata to satisfy your cravings—and what will become of you then?

Take my Belgian friend Claudine that tall and thin, elegant in an island-vibe, free-spirited kind of way, funny and talented and oh so insouciante Mexican food loving horchata-connoisseur artist friend of mine. She had been hounding me about making her some. So we struck a deal. She offered me some of her prized Belgian chocolate in exchange for my homemade horchata. How could I say no to that?

Of course, there are many ways to make horchata. The Spanish drink an horchata made from the tiger nuts, a starchy root that grows in the Valencia region of the country and are called chufas. (Monna of Slow Blogs, a Canadian teacher living in Barcelona, Spain, is probably enjoying one right now come to think.) Mexicans love horchata made from rice and cinnamon, almonds sometimes, with a few drops of lime juice. Regardless of how you make it, it is one refreshing drink, perfect for those winter days when it is a blazing 80 degrees outside like it was just last Sunday here in California (so I'm bragging). I can always count on an icy horchata to quench the flames when chiles burn hot and furious on my tongue. I love to ladle it up from a large beehive shaped glass jar that has pieces of cinnamon bark floating on top. In Mexico it is part of a colorful and delicious line up of aguas frescas like garnet colored agua de jamaica (hibiscus flower tea), agua de tamarindo (tamarind water) and other natural fruit flavor drinks that are found all over the country.

It is a little surprising to me that people can be oh so particular about this white sweet drink. Some like it watery, others thick. Some put milk in their horchata, others don't. So I decided to experiment. I wanted a classic Mexican tasting horchata strong on cinnamon and a just a hint of lime. Sweet without being cloying, full bodied without being thick. Chalkiness was positively out of the question. Most of all, Claudine had to love it.

I think I have come up with a good one. And the best part is that you can adapt it to your taste. It can be as sweet (or not) or as milky (or not) as you want. One thing is for sure, it will pack a cinnamon wallop that is essential to any great tasting horchata. Will it look or taste just like your Mexican abuelita's? I'll let you fiddle around with the recipe until it does.

So, if you can appreciate something natural and unrefined and are willing to forgo ready-mix powdered horchata "perfection", then give this horchata a try. You might find that imperfection has a beauty all its own.

Horchata

How well your horchata turns out will mostly depend on the preparation. Grittiness or lack of it depends on how well you strain the cinnamon and rice. Use a very fine mesh strainer or a cheese cloth over a large wire mesh strainer. (I like to use a thin cotton flour sack cloth or something similar instead of cheese cloth.) If you want your horchata to be thick or thin to the point of wateriness depends on how long you blend the rice and how much cold water and/or milk you add to the almost finished drink. So, add it one cup at a time until it is at the consistency you like best.

Ingredients:

4 ½ cups raw long grain white rice
3 long sticks of cinnamon bark, shredded
¼ cup of almonds, coarsely chopped (optional)
7 cups of boiling water
4 to 5 cups cold water and/or milk
couple of drops of lemon or lime juice
simple sugar syrup (recipe below)

Instructions:
To make the sugar syrup mix 1 cup of raw sugar with 1 cup water in a small sauce pan and boil together, stirring constantly, until the sugar is completely dissolved. Set aside and let cool. About 3 minutes or so. Set aside.

Take the shredded cinnamon bark and toast in a skillet over medium heat for a few minutes. (Do not burn.) Remove from skillet and place in a medium to large sized pot. Add rice and almonds. Pour 7 cups of boiling water into the pot. Cover and let it sit overnight or for about 7 hours.

Next, ladle some of the water, rice, almonds and cinnamon bark into a blender. If you want your horchata to be a bit watery, blend for only a few seconds. If you want a more milky consistency, blend until the mixture reaches an almost paste-like consistency. Now, take the blended mixture and strain over a wide-mouth pitcher using a steel mesh strainer that has been covered by a cheesecloth that has been folded 4 times over to ensure that the horchata will be smooth and not gritty. Repeat this step until all the rice and cinnamon have been blended.

Now, add about 4 to 5 cups cold water and/or milk into the pitcher, or until the horchata is as thin or as thick as you like. Add a few drops of lemon or lime juice. Add simple sugar syrup to taste. Don't forget to add a few drops of vanilla extract if you wish.

Refrigerate for a few hours. Stir before serving. Pour over ice and enjoy the warm winter's day. Makes approximately 2 quarts. Serves 4.

Fighting Mexican Grandmas

2009-02-19T21:35:00.001-08:00

CHILES AND CHEESE go together like a slice of lime with a Corona beer, like Cheech goes with Chong. Now imagine combining these two flavors when you stuff a fat Poblano chile with a great tasting melting Mexican cheese like Queso Enchilada, Asadero or Oaxaca. And it gets even better when you dredge it in a fluffy egg batter, frying it until it is golden brown, and finally topping it off with a fresh tomato and garlic salsa. You know, I can just feel my lips just pucker with the eager anticipation of chomping down on the creamy, hot enchantment of this beloved Mexican dish.

But I used to have a big problem with chiles rellenos.

You see, my chiles rellenos were sad, pathetic things: they reminded me somehow of self-exploding dark green rats with the tails still attached, their little cheese guts squishing out of their mushy little chile bodies. Uh-oh, perhaps I shouldn't mention dead rats in a food blog, but I think you get the picture. Every time I see a recipe for chile relleno casserole, I think it really started off as a chile relleno recipe gone terribly, terribly wrong. And believe me, my previous efforts to create the perfect chile relleno have resulted in a mess of a "casserole" more times than I care to admit. (That's what I get for fleeing the kitchen at every opportunity instead of watching my mamá cook—tsk, tsk, tsk! Poetic justice, indeed.)

Of course, my mamá sometimes did make them picadillo style with ground beef with tomatoes, onions and spices sometimes, but cheese-filled chile rellenos are my, and it appears, almost everybody's favorite. So here I am, facing down my chile relleno fears, challenging myself that if I am my mother's daughter, not only will I make one that tastes sabroso, but it must look beautiful, just like hers. So I decided to ask two very opinionated abuelitas—grandmas—how they make their superb chiles rellenos. And after annoying them to tears, I think I have finally found two idiot-proof ways of making them right.

Abuelita #1 told me to roast them and to put them in a plastic bag and covering them loosely with a kitchen towel so they can "cook" for no more than 10 minutes or so before taking them out and peeling off their charred skin. Test first before taking them out of the plastic bag. They should feel tender to the touch but not mushy. If they are mushy, then it's best to make something else out of them (like the aforementioned rat guts casserole which no one will eat).

Abuelita # 2 instructed me to parboil the Poblanos in rapidly boiling water for about 6 minutes. Then, taking a pair of metal tongs and the holding the chiles, one at a time, roast them over the gas burner of the stove. Quickly peel off the skin as fast as you can and store them in a plastic bag, covering them loosely with a kitchen towel until they are ready to be stuffed. The chiles will be tender-firm without being mushy. It was fun watching the skin popping and practically peeling itself off as soon as the Poblano touched the flame. This was my preferred method.

When I mentioned to each Abuelita the way the other roasted her chiles for the perfect chile relleno, they were aghast. Looking like opposing bookends, they threw up their hands and exclaimed a loud "¿Qué? ¡Así no se hace!—What? You don't do it like that!" By the look on their otherwise kindly faces, I saw that these two seriously doubted the other's sanity. To the Mexican Grandma, just the thought of making chiles rellenos differently from the way she was taught, well, don't you know that it borders on heresy?

Then para acabarla de fregar—to really mess things up, I them invited them over to the house. Remind me to never again put two Mexican abuelitas in the same kitchen—suffice to say that it was not pretty.

In the end, it really doesn't matter which method you choose. You will have the perfect chile relleno—they are a joy to behold and to eat as you savor every hot delicious cheesy little bite. And yes, this time they looked and tasted just like my mamá's.

Un millon de gracias to Abuelita #1 and Abuelita #2 for sharing your knowledge of la cocina mexicana. You have made this prodigal casserole-making daughter very happy.

Only just don't grab each other by las greñas (the mane) if I am not there, okay? I want to be there to enjoy the show.

The Fighting Abuelitas Chiles Rellenos with Tomato-Garlic Salsa

Unlike roasted Anaheim chiles, which are firm fleshed and hold their shape, Poblano chiles are thin skinned and need special care in the roasting process. It is worth testing to see which Abuelita's method for roasting the Poblanos you prefer. Either way, make sure to choose the "straightest" chiles you can find—not the "bent" ones that are hard to roast. If you can't find any Poblano chiles, then it is perfectly okay to use an Anaheim chile instead. (To learn more on how to roast chiles, including Anaheim, click here.) Make sure that you peel every last bit of the charred skin so the flour and egg batter will stick to the chile. Also, prepare the Tomato-Garlic Salsa beforehand and keep it warm on the stove as you are preparing the chiles. As I have mentioned many a time, measurements need not be precise, so this is a guideline.

What you need:

A non-stick frying pan

A pair of metal tongs if you are roasting over the gas burner of the stove.

A plastic bag and a kitchen towel

A couple of plates

2 medium-size to large-size bowls

Blender or food processer

A platter to hold roasted chiles rellenos

Paper towels to drain off fat after frying

A cheese grater

An egg beater of a whisk

A thin knife

Large spoon or spatula

Ingredients:
Poblano chiles (about 1 or 2 per person)
Eggs, with the whites separated from the yolks (about 1 egg per 2 Poblanos)
Grated Mexican cheese that melts easily such as Enchilado, Asadero or Oaxaca, enough to stuff the chiles. You can substitute Jack or Mozzarella cheese with a bit of grated Parmesan cheese thrown in to kick up the flavor.
Cooking oil
A pinch of cream of tartar (optional)
A pinch of salt
1 cup or more of all purpose flour
Tomato-Garlic Salsa (recipe to follow)

Instructions:
Take the Poblanos and roast them like Abuelita #1 or Abuelita #2—the choice is yours. The object is to roast them, but not to the point that they cannot retain their shape. Then, open a slit along one side of the Poblano and remove the seeds, but do not remove the stem. Take a generous amount of cheese and stuff the chiles with it (but do not overstuff.)
Sprinkle some all-purpose flour on a plate. Lightly cover the chiles with flour. Set aside.
Now, take a bowl and beat the egg whites and pinch of cream of tartar with a whisk or egg beater until stiff peaks form. In a separate bowl, beat all the egg yolks together. Then, fold the yolks into the egg whites.
Pour a generous amount of cooking oil (about 3/8 inch deep) into the frying pan and place over a medium-high heat.
While the oil is heating, dip the chiles into the egg batter to cover. Test the oil to see if it is hot enough by putting a bit of egg batter in the oil. If it sizzles, when gently slide the chile in. Immediately lower the heat to medium. When the bottom of the chile is golden-brown, about 1 or 2 minutes, carefully flip the chile to cook the other side.
Remove from the chile from the frying pan and place it on a platter with paper towels on it to drain off excess fat.
To serve, plate the chile rellenos and pour some hot Tomato-Garlic Salsa over them. Let them sit for a minute or two and serve immediately.

Tomato-Garlic Salsa

This super easy salsa, adapted from Mexico The Beautiful Cookbook, has no chile in it. If you want to make it hot, just put a little fresh jalapeño in the salsa when it is cooking. This recipe is for the minimum amount needed, so feel free to add more tomatoes and garlic if you need more salsa.

Ingredients:

Two or three large juicy tomatoes

2 cloves garlic

1 bay leaf

Salt and pepper to taste

About one tablespoon vegetable cooking oil

One jalapeño pepper (optional)

Coarsely chop the tomato and garlic and whirl in a blender or food processor. Set aside. Then heat the cooking oil in a saucepan until it is hot. Quickly pour the tomato mixture into the sauce pan. Add salt and pepper, jalapeño and bay leaf. Stir the salsa and bring to a boil. Lower the heat to a simmer and cover. Continue cooking the salsa while you are making the chiles rellenos. When the chiles rellenos are done, fish out the jalapeño when you are ready to pour over the plated chiles rellenos. If you feel that it is too thick, put a little bit of water in it and heat it up again.

When serving chiles rellenos I like to keep it simple (and low carb) with a bowl of pinto bean soup, garnished with fresh chopped cilantro, green onion and ninced serrano chiles, and mashed avocado on corn or flour tortillas.

Eating Fire Without Getting Burned

2009-02-10T16:51:00.001-08:00

In almost every Mexican family there is someone whose love for hot spontaneous combustion-inducing chile peppers surpasses belief. And in my family, that distinction belongs to my sister-in-law who I will call María, a woman whose love of hot chiles is downright infernal. She cannot leave the house without carrying in her purse a baggie of fresh chiles de árbol or some habañeros, two of the deadliest little chilitos known to man. Whenever I see her pop them into her mouth like candy, I feel the same horrified fascination that one feels when one watches a fire-eater at a circus. You know, she looks terribly smug and oh-so-cool—never breaking into a sweat or clutching her throat while crying out me enchilé! me enchilé! She simply looks at me with that beatific smile of hers. . . .

Really, her secret is no gran misterio. Just start with the mildest chile and build on from there. In time, you will taste the seductive sweet flavor lurking just beneath the searing heat of the chiles. You will feel it calling to you, enticingly beckoning you to eat and eat and eat while savoring every delicious bite. Only then will you understand why it is possible to eat fire without getting burned.

Los Chiles

Although many of the world's cuisines use chiles in their dishes to delicious effect, it is in Mexico where the chile is given its fullest expression. One can honestly say that it is the heart and soul of Mexican food. Whether fresh or dried, roasted over a comal, or blended with other ingredients, they create an explosion of taste that I could only liken to an exciting rollercoaster ride of flavor. With almost 200 varieties of chiles, it is impossible to list them all, but please give these a try and start eating a little fire of your own.

RED BELL PEPPER (not pictured): Very Mild. With a Scoville Unit (heat index) of zero, this is the perfect "training wheel chile" for little kids and nervous adults who don't eat chiles. More popular in Spanish and Italian food, it nevertheless deserves a spot in Mexican food because of its great color and its lovely sweet flavor. And besides, it is a chile after all, ¿no qué no?

ANAHIEM: Mild to Medium. A firm fleshed chile about 5 to 6 inches long, it is excellent for chiles rellenos and other dishes. A nice, not too sweet green flavor. It turns red and is sweeter to the taste when it is ripe. There are two kinds of Anahiem chiles: The mild Anahiem is still mild enough for those who want a little heat in their chiles without having to call the paramedics. When ripened and dried, it is called California Chile. The hotter dried version is called New Mexico Chile.
GÜERO (Goo-eh´roh): Mild. This is the chile my mamá used in her salsas for us kids. When I was a child, I thought it was hot, but tolerable. Now, this light colored and rather small chile hardly makes a dent. It is mild, but spicy enough to compliment Mexican food.

POBLANO (Pob-lah´noh): Medium-Mild. Fat and dark green, but pointy at the tips, this is the traditional chile for chile relleno. Although it is comparatively mild, its spicy and flavorful flesh will make you want to roast it and add it to almost any Mexican dish, whether it is a soup or a salad, a taco or almost anything you can think of. When roasted, it doesn't hold its shape as well as the Anahiem chile, but I think you will agree that its flavor more than makes up for the extra care that goes into making an authentic chile relleno.

JALAPEÑO (Hah-lah-peh´ngoh): Medium. This is the chile most Americans associate with Mexican food. It is a good all around chile for salsas, chopped up in soups, casseroles, with cheese. The list goes on and on. Smoked jalapeños are called chipotles.

SERRANO (Sehr-rah´noh): Medium-Hot. This dark green and rather thin chile is about 2 ½ inches long has the same basic uses as the jalapeño. Do not think that it is just a hot version of the jalapeño—it has a taste all its own. I sometimes like to put one in the pot while I am cooking my beans.

DE ÁRBOL (Deh Ahr´bohl): Hot. Don't be fooled by its shrimpy size. It carries a hot little sting that is tantalizing and addicting. Do as my sister-in-law does and kick your food up a notch by nibbling on this little stick of dynamite. It makes an excellent dried chile for fiery hot chile salsas and other sauces.

MANZANO (Mahn-zah´noh): Hot. This lovely orange or red hottie is almost apple-like in appearance and in flavor. Only no Granny Smith can burn you down to the ground as deliciously as this one. About 2 ½ in length and almost as wide, its firm, thick flesh is perfect in salsa fresca and in cooked salsas.

HABAÑERO (Hah-bah-ngeh´roh): Extremely Hot. Beneath its innocent bell-like face lays the heart of a killer. This muy matón of chiles with the sweet, fruity taste is very high in beta carotene--and an excellent truth serum if you suspect that you have a no-good mentiroso (liar) of a boyfriend. Just drop this little bomb in his salsa to find out. It is also available dried.

(Note: All chiles vary in heat intensity, even within the same variety. What is mild to me may not be mild to you. If you are not used to eating chiles, then please have some dairy product handy, such as milk, sour cream or yogurt, in order to smother the heat. Rice or bread can help, too. Don't drink water. It just doesn't help.)

In Your Neighborhood

2009-01-31T20:33:00.001-08:00

Maryann, that sweet and fabulous home cook from Finding La Dolce Vita, has pointed out to me that it's hard to find authentic Mexican cheese in the Hudson River Valley, New York, where she lives. She might have a point, though it probably won't be that way for long. If you look closely enough, Mexicans are now found almost everywhere in America—even in Manhattan, where some of my peeps are busy cooking up a little boeuf bourguignon in the kitchens of those fancy French restaurants (you really didn't think that celebrity chef Anthony Bourdain does all that cooking by himself, now did you? By his own admission, he's too busy helping himself to barbequed goat in Puebla, Mexico.) And look out my friends who hail from the South East and the Midwest—I am happy to inform you that your cultural and culinary world just got a little more delicious, because these warm, hardworking people are moving to your towns, too! (Don't be alarmed—you'll be just fine.)

So, if you see someone who looks a lot like me walking around your neighborhood, just stop her and say hello. If you don't speak Spanish just repeat this ultra-simple phrase, "DOHN-deh "Eye" KEH'-soh Meh-hee-CAHN-noh?"—"Where do you find Mexican cheese?" (Don't worry about sounding ridiculous. How in the world are you going to learn to speak Spanish otherwise?) Once she realizes that you mean no harm, but are an actual fan of her native cuisine, she will reward you with a friendly smile and will happily point you in the direction of the nearest Mexican cheese. Who knows? You two just might hit off, and the next thing you know, you are invited over for lunch. Woo-hoo!

Once you are inside her aromatic kitchen, she might serve you a rich complex molé, or a carne asada taco in a fresh homemade corn tortilla—or she might serve you this simple little dish of sautéed zucchini with fresh tomatoes and chili peppers—"comida de casa"—comfort food of the highest order that you probably will never see on the menu of a Mexican restuarant. What can be more satisfying and healthful than some warm vegetables, especially on a cold winter's day? Isn't amazing how something that you put together almost as an afterthought can taste so good? You can use just about any vegetable you might have lying around in your refrigerator. Well, perhaps not just any vegetable come to think of it. Turnips or rutabagas would not do at all. I don't have anything against them really, it's just that I don't think they go well with tomatoes and chilies—it's sort of like listening to actor Sean Connery singing a Mexican song in his Scottish burr, if you can only imagine--well, let's not. But zucchinis—or calabacitas—"little squashes", sautéed in a bit of corn oil together with garlic and chopped white onion and bits of your favorite fresh chili pepper, now that's la combinación perfecta. Now throw in some juicy chopped tomatoes, or even your favorite red salsa into the mix, and cooking it until the calabacitas are tender. Then, just before you bring the bowl to the table, put some grated Oaxaca cheese in it. Watch as it melts over the tomato-y little goodness.

My favorite way of eating this simple homey little dish is when I have it the next morning with my fried eggs and pinto beans. Not your typical breakfast, it's true, but if your Mexican friend cooks this up for you, then you're more than just a friend—you're familia.

Calabacitas (Zucchinis) With Chile and Tomato

You can make as much or as little as you want of this comforting dish. Remember, measurements need not be precise, so feel free to improve with this fool-proof recipe. Sliced fresh Poblano chili peppers are traditional, but using any other chili pepper is fine. For this dish I used an Anahiem chili, which is a great introduction for chili boot camp.

What you need:

Any skillet or pot with a well-fitting lid, whether large or small, depending on how much of this recipe you are cooking

Cooking utensils such as chopping knife, cutting board and large spoon

Ingredients:

1 or 2 tablespoons corn oil, or more, depending on how much of this recipe you are making

Fresh zucchini—1 or 2 for a small amount, 3 or 4 for a medium amount, 5 or more for a large amount, chopped or sliced any way you like

Chopped white onions—about 1 small onion, or more depending on your taste

1 or 2 cloves minced garlic, or more, if you like

1 or more chili peppers, sliced cross-wise, or cut into long strips. Remove the seeds.

3 or more juicy tomatoes, finely chopped; OR, your favorite red salsa, preferably homemade, but who's looking?

Pinch of oregano to taste

About one heaping tablespoon, or more, chopped fresh cilantro

Salt and pepper to taste

Grated Oaxaca cheese (preferred), or Jack or mozzarella cheese

First of all, make sure that you have enough salsa or chopped tomatoes for this recipe. If your tomatoes are not juicy enough, it is perfectly acceptable to add a little tomato sauce. This recipe is meant to be moist, but not watery.

Over medium heat, sauté onion, chopped or sliced chili peppers, and zucchini and in oil until the onion is just golden. Lower heat to medium-low and add minced garlic. Continue sautéing until the onion is a nice golden brown.

Next, add the oregano, cilantro, the diced tomatoes and/or the salsa. Lower heat to low and cover and continue cooking until the tomatoes and/or salsa "melt" and blend with the rest of the ingredients and the zucchini is nice and tender. (Note: If the dish is too watery, cook uncovered for a few minutes until it is as moist or as "dry" as you like.) Add salt and pepper to taste. Top with grated Oaxaca cheese, or mozzarella or Jack.

Variation: Take some corn kernels that are either fresh, or some frozen corn that has been thawed, and add them when you add the zucchini. You can also add a little chopped cabbage, too, if you want.

Tastes oh-so-good the next day.

Say Si to Real Mexican Cheese

2009-01-15T13:17:00.001-08:00

Please do as our Mexican-born cousins and eat only authentic cheeses on your Mexican recipes. Why? If I may be allowed to damn with faint praise, using anything else is just eh. Cheddar or colby cheese? Good for mac n' cheese, only so-so on authentic Mexican food, especially when it is so smothered with the stuff you can hardly taste the forrest for the cheese. And please don't even mention gooey nacho flavored "cheese product" that is just one molecule away from plastic in my delicate presence, porque me voy a morir--because I'll die if you do.

Taste these quesos and see for yourself that they are just perfect for the strong flavors of Mexican food. Somehow they just go together in a beautiful ballad of heat and cool, salty and sweet that makes me want take in all of that chili-laden flavored deliciousness until I can have no more. If you are mystified as to what is the right cheese to put on enchiladas and other Mexican dishes, then look no further. Here is a list of some excellent Mexican cheeses that, while no means complete, will make you say bye-bye to radioactive nacho-cheese poison:

COTIJA (coh-tee΄hah): A white cheese that is dry and grainy, salty, sometimes with the texture of feta. Like Parmesan, it has a strong aroma with a sharp flavor. It tastes oh so sabroso grated over refried beans or a large platter of enchiladas, in salads, soups, on tostadas and tacos. It also available pre-grated for added convenience.

QUESO FRESCO (keh-so fres´coh): In Spanish it means "fresh cheese". It is also known as queso casero and queso ranchero. Slightly grainy in texture, it is part-skim and more delicate tasting. Its slightly salty, slightly sweet flavor is perfect crumbled over beans, or enchiladas, in salads, soups or tostadas. If cotija is too strong for your palate, then queso fresco is the way to go. Some say that feta cheese is a good substitute, but I disagree. Feta is much saltier than queso fresco.

PANELA (pah-nel´a): A semi-soft, cool, delicately flavored, part-skim cheese. It is smooth textured and, like queso fresco, is the perfect accompaniment for the hottest chili sauces and salsas. Just cut it up in wedges and serve it to your guests. For a quick snack or pick-me-up, just put some in a hot corn tortilla with a bit of super hot salsa. Or, eat it with a piece of fruit. I don't know about you, but I'm hopelessly in love with panela.

QUESO CREMOSO (keh´so creh-moh´soh): A rather soft and creamy cheese with a high fat content.

QUESO ENCHILADO(keh´soh en-chee-lah´doh): (See top picture.) This lovely cheese is coated with chili powder and is crumbly and semi-soft, but firm. Don't let its fiery exterior fool you—the inside is as mild as can be. It is a good topping for tacos, beans, or salads.

QUESO QUESADILLA (keh´soh keh-sah-dee´yah): Okay, this is it—the perfect cheese for all of those Mexican dishes, like chiles rellenos and quesadillas that call for a cheese that melts beautifully. It's a nice topping for nachos or if you prefer melted cheese over your enchiladas. Once you taste it, you will forget that ghastly orange stuff for all time. Also available with bits of roasted chili peppers.

ASADERO (Ah-sah-deh´roh): With the same properties as queso quesadilla, but stronger tasting.

QUESO REQUESON (keh´soh reh-keh-sohn´): The Mexican ricotta cheese. Stuff a chile relleno with this cheese and cubed queso quesadilla. After eating one, I think you can die happy now. QUESO OAXACA (keh´soh huah-hah´kah) This cheese is braided into a cute ball and melts easily. When served fresh, it is just like string cheese. Similar to mozzarella cheese, but a little more flavorful. I love it in soup or over some calabacitas (zucchini) with tomato and poblanos.

What I especially love about these cheeses is that contain only milk, salt and enzymes—that means nada artificial ingredients and colors. Arriba!

Where to buy them? Right in the cheese section of your grocery store. If it doesn't carry them, then talk to your grocer and ask him or her to order some for you. Better yet, go across the tracks to the other side of town and shop for them at the Mexican foods market. (For those readers who are not familiar with Mexican markets, you will find foods that you will never find in a regular supermarket. (Prickly pears, anyone?) If all else fails and you cannot find these sabrosisimos cheeses, well, perhaps Monterey Jack, feta, or any Italian style cheese, such as parmesan, ricotta, or mozzarella will have to do I suppose.

Just make sure it's an honest piece of queso.