The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

Lesley Tellez

Mole xiqueño — it’s worth the trip to Xico, Veracruz

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Mole xiqueño at El Campanario in Xico, Veracruz

The first time I had mole xiqueño — mole that’s made in the style of Xico, a town in the state of Veracruz — was at El Bajío in Polanco. I didn’t know much about it, so I had expected something heavy and sweet, like a mole poblano. The dish ended up being more complex: delicately sweet like a slice of fruit, and slightly bitter, with hints of smoke and ash.

When Crayton and I decided to take a trip to Xalapa, I told him we had to go to Xico. I really wanted to try this mole at the source.

Roy drove us from Xalapa. Coffee plants and banana trees lined the road. We pulled over at a little factory that advertised homemade mole, and they gave us a scoop of paste stuck to the end of a tortilla chip. It was delicious — a mix of chiles, spice and dried fruit.

One of the jars I bought to take home.

We entered Xico proper a few minutes later. We’d happened to arrive during the Fiesta de la Magdalena, Xico’s biggest yearly festival that celebrates the town’s patron saint. Strands of papel picado hung between the streets. The town looked like it ran directly up into the mountains — behind all the buildings, you could see them there in the background, covered in thick clouds.

Before we could get to lunch at El Campanario, the restaurant I’d painstakingly chosen as my primary mole xiqueño experience,
a woman on a side street waved us over. She was selling toritos, a milky drink full of a boozy, rum-tasting liquor. She gave us little shots through the passenger-side window: piña colada, strawberry, peanut, coconut. At this point I was loving Xico.

Then, finally, we arrived at El Campanario for lunch. While we mulled over the menu, the waitress dropped off a plate of fresh corn tortillas, drizzled with melted lard and a scoop of chunky tomato sauce.

We ordered a few of the house specialities: sopa xonequi, made with a wild green that grows in Xico, and of course the mole.

Then the food came…

An airy Veracruz-style gordita.

Sopa xonequi

Enchiladas de nata, filled with pork, apples, plantain, almonds, raisins and tomato.

A shrimp molcajete

The mole wasn’t like anything I’ve ever tasted. It was much fruitier than the mole I’d tried at El Bajío, with these lingering hits of apple and banana and blackberry-ish chile ancho. And it had texture: you could feel the spices under your teeth. The last thing I got before swallowing was a sense of balance — it was tangy, toasty, sweet, charred. I wanted to keep eating more, just to see what else I could detect.

Thinking about it now, I should’ve tried to interview some of the restaurant staff to find out how they make it. Instead we left the restaurant happy, and off to wander Xico. We caught part of a procession as we were walking.

There are several restaurants that specialize in mole xiqueño — the ones that were on my list, but I didn’t try, were El Xicoteco and El Mesón Xiqueño. If you’re planning a trip and you want to eat well, I also found Karen Hursh Graber’s MexConnect article on Xalapa, Xico and Naolinco super helpful.

I’ll post the rest of my Xico pictures in the next post!

A weekend in Xalapa, Veracruz

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Dancing to huapangos at Xalapa's La Casona del Beaterio

Crayton and I have a friend, Chris, who works as a biologist outside Coatepec, Veracruz. Last month we finally had a chance to visit him. Originally I’d wanted to combine a trip to Veracruz City, too, but a helpful email from Leah at In Veracruz cleared that up — traveling to Coatepec and nearby Xalapa was enough for one weekend.

We caught an early-morning bus from Mexico City’s TAPO terminal and arrived bleary-eyed in Xalapa at about 11 a.m. We decided to use Xalapa as our homebase because friends had told us great things about the city. One friend compared it to Seattle, with its drizzly weather and coffee shops. On Lonely Planet’s Thorn Tree forum, though, people weren’t as nice — some said it was ugly and urban, and not worth spending even a day there.

In the end, Xalapa was just okay. It’s a little too gritty to be Seattle, and the coffee shops weren’t as abundant as I thought they’d be. Also, I expected the people to be a little nicer. At the market one day, two vendors brushed me off when I asked what type of chiles they were selling. “No sabría decirle,” they said, which roughly translates to, “I wouldn’t know.”

I also had trouble hunting down good regional food. Taxi drivers pointed me to an al pastor stand and a grilled meat place. I thought there’d be something more specifically Xalapeño. Maybe I didn’t ask the right people.

I did take a really cool bike tour in Xalapa, though. And I enjoyed the Anthropology Museum. In the end, I’d recommend stopping in Xalapa for a day and a night, and then moving on to some of the smaller villages in the area — specifically Xico.

Here’s a list of a few things I liked in Xalapa. The Xico post is coming in a few days, with lots of gorgeous food.
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Just another day in the Centro Histórico

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“Hola bonita, buenos días.”

It was a stranger. I didn’t see his face. I mumbled buenos días and kept walking, stepping up onto the empty sidewalk near the Chedraui.

From the other side of the street, a chicken vendor yelled out, “Hola guerita!”

You’d think they had never seen a girl before. I pressed ahead, not looking at anyone.

Then, just about 10 paces later, the first guy’s voice again:

“I’m trying again, I wanted to say hi, because I very much feel like I want to know you.” Intento otra vez, te quería saludar porque tengo muchas ganas de conocerte.

His earnestness made me laugh. I didn’t want him to think he was having an effect on me, so I just pressed my lips together and walked more quickly to Mercado San Juan. Avoided Chicken Row on my way back.

How to take taxis in Mexico City, without getting ripped off

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I don’t have a car, so I take cabs in Mexico City at least once every two days. I’ve been pretty happy with the cabs here, but a small number of drivers have tried to cheat me, usually by giving me an inflated fare. Yesterday for the first time, a driver gave me the wrong change and then laughed when I told him he owed me 10 pesos. “I can’t give you 10 pesos because I don’t have it,” he said. “Sorry.”

This galled me. Sorry, I don’t have it? What was I supposed to do with that?

This morning I woke up before the sun came up and started thinking about all the things I’ve learned about taking cabs here over the past 2 1/2 years: always ask whether there’s a meter, pay attention to the route, carry small bills. I thought this might be interesting to other people, too, particularly people who live here or visit frequently.

I’m not complaining about Mexico City cab fares being too high, by the way. Taxis in Mexico City are much cheaper than what you’d pay in the States, and in fact I think rates in Mexico City are too low for the amount of time the drivers spend on the road.

But in the interest of ensuring that consumers get a fair rate — and in making sure they’re conscientious riders — here’s my advice on taking taxis in Mexico City.
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Southern California in pictures

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I’m back from vacation. Spent last week trying to catch up on emails and tour requests, and ignoring the nagging voice whispering, “You haven’t updated your blog!”

We had a nice time. In California, I made salsa for my grandma. It was the first time I cooked for her and she was wowed — she kept saying “I didn’t know chile could taste like that.” We also sipped strawberry margaritas by the pool. Penny had commanded me to visit La Casita Mexicana in Bell, so my dad and I went and stuffed ourselves with queso fundido, mole and chile en nogada. (My first of the season! It was fantastic.)

In Arizona, Crayton and I lazed by the pool, and I read three books on my Kindle: The Butterfly Mosque, Stillwater Saints and A Wild Surge of Guilty Passion. I also got to meet Chef Silvana Salcido Esparza — she’s the chef at Phoenix’s Barrio Café, and a firecracker of a woman. If you’re in Phoenix, you should go to her restaurant and save room for the cajeta-filled churros.

A few photos from my trip:

Watering my grandma's lawn at sunset

Chips and mole from La Casita Mexicana in Bell

Mole made with tuna roja, anchos and guajillos at La Casita Mexicana

La Casita Mexicana's luscious chile en nogada. If you live in Southern California, you MUST try it.

Charring the purplish-green miltomates I found at the Mexican grocery store in Pico Rivera

Blending the salsa. My dad took this picture, which was very sweet of him. (He actually took several of me making salsa.)

My roasted tomatillo and chile de árbol salsa. Grandma loved it.

Salad, grilled nopales and chicken

The famous strawberry margaritas

My grandma's backyard at sunset

Lesley and Chef Silvana of Barrio Café

Smoky grilled romaine and radicchio salad, with parmesan and tomato

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I’m hanging out with my in-laws in Phoenix, and one of the things they like to do for dinner is grill steaks. I love my in-laws and appreciate how much time they put into planning our meals here. But the steak-eating gene skipped me. No me enloquece, you know? (It doesn’t drive me crazy.) What does drive me crazy is salad. It drives my sister-in-law crazy, too. She’s a vegetarian.

She and I are both here in Phoenix this week, which has been a blessing. When the parents decided to do steaks, we whipped up this salad: grilled romaine and radicchio with cherry tomatoes, parmesan slices and avocado, with a tart citrus vinaigrette. She’s a bread fiend, so we added homemade croutons, too.

When it came time to eat, I served myself a piece of steak and promptly forgot about it. Instead I kept piling more salad onto my plate. Two servings… three… I think I might’ve gone for four. Grilling the lettuce gave it this faint smoky flavor, which matched perfectly with the avocado and the sweet-tart dressing. And the croutons — crispy on the outside and softer in the middle. Dude. They were gems.

The next morning I ate the salad for breakfast, even though it had already been dressed and was a teensy bit soggy. It was so good that I took out my new computer and decided I had to tell you about it now, instead of waiting until I got back from vacation.

Grilled romaine and radicchio salad, with parmesan and tomato
Serves about 8 as a side dish

Note: You may have a few extra croutons left over. I’ve used them to make a breakfast scramble/strata type-thing, by soaking them first in egg for five minutes, and then cooking them in a little butter, sautéed onion and greens.

Also, we only used half of the radicchio mentioned in the recipe. The rest can be stored in an airtight container in the fridge and eaten as leftovers, with any leftover dressing.

Ingredients

1 boule or a chunk of fresh bread of your choice, sliced into cubes (about 2 1/2 to 3 cups’ worth)
1 head romaine, cut in half
1 small- to medium-sized head radicchio, cut in half
1 avocado, cut into thin slices
1/2 package cherry tomatoes (about 1 cup)
Thinly sliced parmesan to taste

Dressing
Taken from this Food Network recipe, with a few tweaks

1 garlic clove, minced
1 tablespoon lemon zest
1/4 cup lemon juice
1 tablespoons white wine vinegar
2/3 cup olive oil
Dollop of honey

Directions

Place the bread cubes in a bowl and drizzle with olive oil and salt. Mix together with your hands until the cubes are evenly coated. Place on a baking sheet and bake for about 15 to 20 minutes at 375F, until the tips look golden brown. (They won’t turn an even golden brown because we’re not using enough oil — which is fine, they’ll still taste great, I promise.)

While the bread cubes cook, warm the grill or grill pan. Lightly brush the romaine and radicchio with olive oil. Place the lettuce cut-side down on the grill and cook for about five minutes, until the lettuce is partially charred on one side and slightly wilted, but not completely falling apart. Remove and slice with a sharp knife.

In a serving bowl, combine lettuce, croutons, avocado tomato and parmesan. Mix together salad dressing in an airtight jar, saving the olive oil for the end and shaking vigorously. Drizzle dressing over the salad and serve.

Off to L.A. and Phoenix

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It’s been quieter around here than I would’ve liked this week. I’ve been running around like a crazy woman, finishing up last-minute errands. I’m headed to L.A. for a few days to see my grandma and my dad, and then it’s off to Phoenix to see my suegros (in-laws).

I’m purposely not taking my computer so this feels more like a vacation. Have I mentioned to you how much I need a vacation? I’m already envisioning the frosty margarita I’ll be sipping poolside at my in-laws’ place in Phoenix.

Hope you have a great week!

Would you eat this? Rethinking the role of the food stylist

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We’ve been learning about food styling in my cooking class lately — specifically how to dress up a dish for a photograph, even if that means using something no one would ever eat.

That ice cream you see above is really a mix of lard, sugar and chopped chocolate chips. In other classes we’ve made fake margaritas, fake beer, and fake coffee. (Jugo Maggi was key.) Next week we’re making mole that’s not really mole.

As someone who loves cooking and photographing real food, this whole thing makes me feel a little weird. I understand the role of the food stylist. He or she is needed to make sure the food photographs well, and to know what happens to food under certain conditions. If I owned a business that produced an unappetizing (but tasty) product, I’d want a food stylist to make the item look its best.

But… haven’t the rules changed, as far as fake food goes? We’re in an era where natural is in. Messy plates. Crumbs. Imperfections, to me, mean the food was made with love. It feels disingenuous to me that we should be promoting food, and at the same time giving off the message that it’s too ugly to photograph.

I have no idea how many magazines and newspapers continue to use fake food. But these classes really got me thinking about how traditional media and blogs continue to move in two different directions. It would be blasphemous for a food blogger to post a photo that wasn’t the real deal. So why is it okay with the rest of the media at large? Is it naive to think that food stylists should use real food, instead of fake?

More Mexico City street sounds: The wandering curtain-fixer

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I was at the nail salon in Polanco yesterday when I thought I heard a rooster crowing. Then I realized, wait — that’s not a rooster, that’s a man. He was yelling the same phrase, something unintelligible, over and over.

I asked the nail lady who he was, and she said, “Oh, he fixes curtains.”

A wandering curtain-fixer! We don’t get those guys near our apartment. Even though I live next door to a fabric store.

When I left the salon, I found him: a guy maybe in his 30’s, wearing a backpack and nice jeans. To yell, he’d cup his hand on one side of his mouth. Then he’d walk on, whistling a little tune.

Listen below — I think he’s saying “Arreglo cortinaaaaaaaas!” Sometimes he’d throw in a “persianas” as well, which is the Spanish word for venetian blinds. You can also hear him whistling.

I’m not sure exactly what “arreglo cortinas” would mean in this instance. Does he hang curtains? Measure them? Fix broken curtain rods?