Amiga Mia

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.

Agua de Jamaica Infatuation

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.

Ah, Horchata!

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.