Pan Dulce: The Curious Case of La Mujer Misteriosa

I drove home feeling more than a little annoyed at myself for wasting my precious gasoline and getting laughed out of every Mexican bakery in town. Foolish to think any panadero [baker] in his right mind would hand over to a stranger with a blog his super secret recipe for pan dulce. I got down from my car and walked up to my gate.  It was then when out of the corner of my eye I saw her step out of the shadows.

She was all ruby lips, high cheekbones and flowing dark hair. There was a pair of 5-inch heels on her feet and a peacock blue satin sheath on her curvaceous canela-colored body. It looked like she was dressed for a fiesta, but I got the feeling those lovely legs of hers had never seen the insides of a pair of jeans. I could smell her Maja perfume, she was standing so close.

She smiled with a kind of defiant confidence as if to say, ándale [go ahead], stare at me all you want, see if I care. All the while, her large eyes examined mine.

“Buenas tardes, Señora Clementina, that is your name, isn’t it? There is something I would like to show you.”

Dangling in front of my face was a piece of paper. In large flowery writing was the recipe no panadero in town was willing to part with—pan dulce. A sort of sly conspiratorial grin came over her face.

“I would like you to have it, gratis.”

I smiled back, but my middle-aged bones knew this muchacha’s motives were far from altruistic.

“¿Quién eres?--Who are you?” I asked.

“Una amiga.”

“So you won't tell me your name.  Well, a-mi-ga, why are you doing this? Are you in some trouble?”

Almost immediately, her face darkened and the haughty smiling María Felix mask fell off, revealing a shiny-eyed almost tearful wistfulness. But it lasted just for a moment. By a powerful but subtle force of will, the confident cool veneer came back to her face.

“I have my reasons.  You can't expect me to tell you everything, que no?  There are secrets every woman should keep to herself.”

“Ay, si.  I know what you mean." I smiled.  "We all have our secrets, but I know yours—it’s a man. Hasta lo puedo oler—I can even smell him.”

“Look,” I said as gently as I could. “No me andes con misterios—don’t get all mysterious on me, okay? You want me to put this recipe on my blog, right?”

“Sí, quiero que lo mire todo el mundo—I want the whole world to see it.”

“Including el panadero you stole it from?”

“Especially el panadero I stole it from. I want to see him suffer when he sees that his precious secret recipe isn’t so secret anymore.”

“Oooooo, qué castigadora—you’re a tough little torta, Señorita.” I laughed.  Only a panadero of all people would consider this the ultimate act of betrayal.

“Tell you what. Go back and make up with that panadero of yours—ó mándalo a la porra—or tell him to get lost. Forget you even knew him. It’s just not worth it.”

“I see."  Her ruby lips dropped a couple of inches. "Pues ya me voy—I’m leaving now.” Then she stopped and looked at me with the furious eyes of a tigresa [tigress]. “You know, Doña Clemen, I thought you were different. I thought you of all people would understand me, but I see you are just like every other vieja celosa—jealous old hag.”

With a sudden motion, she reared her face against mine.  For a second, I was afraid she would knock me down or push me against the gate.  Instead she crumbled the paper with the pan dulce recipe on it and threw it at my feet.

“Here! Take the recipe for all I care.”

And with that she stalked off, her 5-inch heels making tacón-tacón-tacón sounds as she headed to the curb.

“Espera—wait!” I cried after her, but it was too late. I ran up just in time to see her shiny black ’59 Chevy Impala roaring past me. Its back lights grew ever smaller as I stood silently watching them before they disappeared onto Whittier Boulevard.

And that was the last I saw of her.

Who was that mujer misteriosa who walked out of the shadows that evening? I cannot say. All I know was that she was beautiful, her voice was as sultry as a hot city street after sunst—and she was out for the sweetest recipe of them all—revenge. Whoever that hombre is, whatever he did to wrong the heart of a woman like that, I have only one thing to say to you, Señor Panadero. You had it coming.

(As much as I wish there was a mystery woman standing by my gate with a secret recipe, this story is pure fiction.)

“Conchas” de Pan Dulce

Mexican Sweet Bread “Shells”

The recipe for pan dulce is no great mystery, but those of us who have always eaten them from a panadería are in for a sweet surprise. Who can resist a pan dulce when it’s hot from the oven, with its soft, yeasty just right sweetness and that incomparable crumbly, shell shaped vanilla-cinnamon or chocolate topping? Wake up early on a Sunday morning to bake them and find out why el panadero wants to keep this recipe under wraps. Most recipes call for all-purpose flour, but I love the lighter texture bread flour gives these panes dulces. Serve them the traditional way, with Mexican hot chocolate.

4 cups bread flour (or, all-purpose flour if you prefer a denser pan dulce)
2 ½ teaspoons dry active yeast
½ cup warm water
1 cup warm milk
1 teaspoon salt
1 egg, room temperature
1/3 cup butter, melted
½ - 1 teaspoon ground cinnamon

For Chocolate and Vanilla-Cinnamon Toppings:

2/3 cup sugar
¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon
½ cup butter, softened
1 cup all purpose flour
1 tablespoon powdered cocoa

In a medium bowl, stir together yeast and warm water. Add milk, ½ cup sugar, 1/3 cup melted butter, salt and eggs and mix well.

Pour the flour and cinnamon onto a large flat surface. Make a large “hole” in the middle of the flour.

Gradually pour the wet ingredients into the flour and stir together using a large fork until the dough starts to come together.

Knead the dough for 7 or 8 minutes until it is smooth and elastic. The dough should be moist and “bouncy”. Do not add too much extra flour.

Place the dough in a large greased bowl. Turn the dough to coat, then cover with a loose towel. Place the dough in a warm place (the top of a warm oven or dryer is ideal) and wait until it rises and doubles in size, about 1 hour.

Make the chocolate and vanilla-cinnamon topping: In a medium bowl, beat 2/3 cup sugar, cinnamon and ½ cup butter until fluffy. Stir in the flour and mix until it resembles a thick paste. Take half of it and set it aside. Take the other half and mix it with the powdered cocoa until well blended. Wrap the toppings in plastic and put them in the refrigerator to firm up.

Remove dough from the oven. Cut and shape the dough into 12 - 24 balls, depending on the size you want. Line a cookie sheet with lightly greased parchment paper. Place balls on the cookie sheet and gently flatten each ball with the palm of your hand. Space balls 2 ½ - 3 inches apart.

Roll out the chocolate and vanilla toppings under plastic wrap as shown.

Take a bowl or a glass that is wider than the balls of dough to cut the topping into circles.

Use a steel spatula to gently lift each circle . . .

. . . and gently place it over each ball of dough.  Use a small sharp knife to score the toppings in a clam shell pattern or any pattern you want.

Preheat oven to 370° F. Let the balls rise for another 30 to 40 minutes. Bake for about 20 minutes or until golden brown.  When they have cooled off, you can give them a light dusting of granulated sugar (optional).

This Bowl of Comfort

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.

Not So Innocent

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.




The Pumpkin Moon Empanadas is now available on Amazon.com.
(Artwork courtesy of Sarah D. Thomas)

 

 "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.

Scene from The Pumpkin Moon Empanadas
(Artwork courtesy of Sarah D. Thomas)

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.

Pumpkin Filling:

1 29 oz. can pumpkin puree (not filling); or, Fresh Roasted Pumpkin Puree (recipe to follow)

3 tablespoons butter

1/4 teaspoon or less of salt

1 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/4 teaspoon ground cloves

1/4 teaspoon ground nutmeg

1 cup brown sugar

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 tablespoon freshly grated orange peel

Pastry:

3 cups all purpose flour

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

3/4 cup butter

3 tablespoons vegetable shortening

4 to 8 tablespoons ice-cold beer (or, ice-cold lemon-lime soda if making empanadas for kids)

3/4 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons granulated sugar

1 egg, separated

1 teaspoon water

Fresh Roasted Pumpkin Puree Recipe:  Preheat oven to 350 degrees F.  Cut one 8 to 10 lbs baking pumpkin into large pieces.  Remove seeds.  Place pieces skin-side down on a greased baking sheet, cover with aluminum foil and roast for 30 minutes to 1 hour , or until skin is easlily pierced with a fork.  If pumpkin is sogg, uncover and roast for about 10 minutes more.  Remove from oven and let cool away from little fingers.  Spoon out the pumpkin flesg abd whirl in a blender until smooth.  Puree should be moist but not at all soggy.  Save 3 1/2 cups.  Use instead of canned pumpkin puree for this or any other recipe.

Directions:

To make the filling:  In a medium saucepan, mix together the canned or fresh roasted pumpkin puree, butter, salt, grated orange peel, brown sugar, cinnamon, vanilla, cloves, and nutmeg.  Adjust the spices and sugar to taste.  Cook uncovered over low heat for about 10 minutes.  Stir occasionally.  remove from heat and let cool.

To make the pastry:  On a hard flat surface, use a pastry cutter or a chopping knife to mix the flour, shortening, butter, salt and sugar.  The mixture should resemble coarse cornmeal.  Gradually add the 4 - 8 tablespoons of ice-cold lemon-lime soda until the dough comes together, but do not over-knead.  Let the dought rest in the refrigerator for about 1/2 hour.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.

Lightly beat the egg white in a small bowl.  Beat the egg yoke with 1 teaspoon water in another bowl.  Set both aside.  Roll out the pastry dough to 1/8 inch thick.  Place the open part of a small bowl or large drinking glass (about 4 inches in diameter) and press it into the pastry dough to create circles.  Remove the excess pastry dough.  In the middle of each circle put a tablespoon of pumpkin filling.  Brush some beaten egg white along the edge of each pastry circle.  Use the tines of a fork to seal the edges.  Keep working until all the pastry dough is used up.

Carefully lift the empanadas and place them on 2 parchment-covered cookie sheets.  Brush each empanada with the egg yoke mixture.  Poke a small hole in each empanada to let steam escape.

Bake the empanadas for 20 to 25 minutes or until they are golden brown.  Once out of the oven, sprinkle the empanadas with a mixture of ground cinnamon and granulated sugar.  Let cool for 5 minutes.  Makes about 3 dozen small empanadas.

Tip:  To make large empanadas, use a dinner or a salad plate instead of a bowl to cut the pastry.  Use a generous amount of filling but don't overdo it--you don't want the filling to gush out.  Make 3 small slits to let steam escape.

Bratty Little Mocoso Snot-nosed Kids

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.

The Wondrous Voyage of Flan

Really, you are too kind. First you put up with my whining about writer's block and making you cook albóndigas soup. Then, I tried to ruin your figure by tempting you into wolfing down scrumptious little lumps of lard and flour called bizcochitos. And now this:

Flan clásico. How will you ever forgive me?

Its sweet creaminess, the luscious combination of eggs, milk and caramelized sugar create the perfect ending and counterpoint to the spiciness of a perfect Mexican meal. Take your spoon and feel its cool silkiness glide across your tongue. Now wasn't that maravilloso?

I have tasted a lot of flans, but I must say that no flan recipe calling for canned evaporated and condensed milk can compare with a flan prepared with the best ingredients you can find like fresh eggs, organic whole milk and pure cane sugar. The result is richer and more satisfying, and most certainly does not taste store-bought, the kiss of death as far as my taste buds are concerned. It is real. This flan, mi chiquita, is the one. If you don't want to take the time and trouble of cooking it from scratch, then don't start now—because I am warning you, a flan made with canned anything will never do after you try this.

A few years ago on a trip to la Madre patria, I must have eaten flan in Barcelona, in Valencia, in Madrid, and in a village on the Cantabrian Sea which bears the name of my husband's family (visiting that lovely place was the happy realization one of his childhood dreams). And with almost every bite, I thought of all the women who over the centuries emigrated to the New World alone or with their husbands or parents and brought this recipe with them.

When their ships pulled out of port to sail across the deep waters of the Atlantic and onward to the Port of Veracruz, when they watched Spain disappear over the horizon, how many tears did they shed because they knew that they would probably never return or ever again see the loved ones they left behind? Or, did they rejoice to be free from some of the constraints of the traditions of the Old World? Did they dream of gold and silver, of land and cattle and great haciendas? Or did their dreams turn to polvo—dust, only to be blown away by a cold Zacatacas wind? Did they love this strange new land with its chilies, corn tortillas and cactus? Or, were they as bewildered and as lonely living in the New World as our some of our mothers were when they first came to America?

What else did they put in their flan besides eggs and milk and sugar, but all the feelings to which fragile humans are prone, like heartbreak and hope, recuerdos and regret sometimes but also love?

These mujeres valientes—mighty women settled in The New World and shared their recipes with their own Mexican daughters, who in turn helped create a mingling of the cocinas of Spain and of The New World—Mexican cuisine as we know it today. They in turn shared what they knew with their daughters, and so on through the generations, until eventually some came to America, who shared what they knew with us, their daughters and grand daughters. And here I am today, sharing this flan recipe with you.

I hope that this flan will speak to me, that this old but very special recipe will reveal the secret to the courage and strength of all those women who dared to create a new life in a land half a world away, and who together with their indigenous sisters created a wondrous cuisine that never fails to to captivate mi corazon.

Flan Clásico

Adapted from Mexico the Beautiful cookbook, which is a classic in itself.

What you need:

2 saucepans

Measuring cups and spoons

Bundt cake mold or round cake pan

Large baking pan

Melt-proof spatula to spread caramelized sugar

Egg beater or whisk

Strainer (if needed)

A thin knife

Ingredients:

1 ¼ cup cane sugar

4 cups whole milk

1 tablespoon vanilla extract—less if you are stingy

pinch of salt

4 eggs

3 egg yolks

1 tablespoon cornstarch

1 tablespoon cold water

Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Place ¾ cup of sugar in a saucepan over medium heat and keep swirling until the sugar melts and turns a golden brown (CAUTION: The sugar is HOT!) Pour the caramelized sugar into mold or baking dish and make sure to cover the bottom and all sides. Do this quickly as the sugar cools fast. Set aside. (Note: if the caramelized sugar is difficult to spread because it has cooled down too quickly, do this: If your mold or pan is glass or ceramic, place in the microwave for about 15 seconds or so to melt it a bit. If using metal, partially submerge it in boiling water for a little while. Be careful, it is still very hot! Better yet, preheat the mold or cake pan in the oven for a few minutes prior to putting in caramelized sugar. It will swirl much easier that way.)
In a separate saucepan, combine milk, the rest of the sugar, vanilla and salt. Bring to a boil and lower heat to a simmer uncovered until it is reduced by half, up to 15 minutes but no less than 10. Set aside.
Beat eggs and egg yolks in a large bowl. Separately, mix together cornstarch and 1 tablespoon cold water and pour into egg mixture. Gradually pour in sweetened milk. Mix well. Strain out bits of "cooked egg" from mixture, if any. Pour into mold or baking pan.
Cover mold or baking pan with foil. Set it in a larger pan and pour boiling water into the larger pan up to 1 inch. Carefully place in the preheated oven and let it bake for 40 to 50 minutes; OR, until a knife inserted in the center of the flan comes out clean. Make sure you check doneness a little earlier if you are baking the flan in smaller bowls or individual-sized molds.
Remove from the oven and let the flan cool for about 30 to 40 minutes. Refrigerate for at least 2 or 3 hours, but overnight is best.
To remove flan, run a thin knife around the top edge. Then partially submerge pan or mold in hot tap water for a few seconds to loosen. Invert the mold or pan on a platter and serve cold.
If you find that the caramelized sugar is hard and is sticking to the bottom of the pan, just place it quickly over hot water to soften it.