Lesley Tellez

Día de los Muertos in Pátzcuaro, Michoacán

October 12, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Remember my trip to Patzcuaro? It was a research for an article on Día de Los Muertos there. The article was just published American Way magazine, American Airlines’ in-flight publication.

Check it out here.

And now, since I’m currently sick, I’m going to go back to sipping manzanilla and ordering groceries online from Superama. But I can’t pick anything too crazy, because then they might not have it, even though it appears right there on the screen. (They let you order it, and then they call and say, “Señora Lesley? No tenemos espinacas. Lechuga romana está bien?”)

If you know of any homeopathic ways to relieve sinus pressure, I’m all ears.

Korean food in Mexico City

October 8, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

As I’ve mentioned before, Mexico City’s Korean neighborhood sits just a few blocks from my house. A few weeks ago, we finally made it out to a restaurant there, courtesy of my friend Hugh.

He’d raved about this certain Korean restaurant in an email, saying he didn’t know the name, but it was at Oxford and Hamburgo in the Zona Rosa, “the spot next to the strip club, with the suits of armor out front.”

A big group of us agreed to meet there on a Saturday night at 7:30 p.m. We walked up and sure enough, there were two suits of armor. (Great landmark, Hugh!) The restaurant ended up being a narrow, two-story building next door, with a terrace overflowing with balloons. A back room on the first floor held one table just big enough for the 11 of us.

While we waited for the staff to clean it, a group of Korean kids, maybe nine or 10 years old, stared in awe at our friend John, who happens to be really tall. One kid walked up to John and jumped up and down, eager to see what life might look like in John’s orbit. It was adorable.

The Mexican waiter brought us thick menus, and I felt a little panicked. I’ve eaten Korean food a few times before, and loved it, but it’s kind of overwhelming to stare at five pages items, and you’re not entirely sure what they are. We all agreed to share everything family style, so I ordered soup with merluza (hake), egg and vegetables, and we got several orders of grill-and-your-table ribs and skirt steak, and bibimbap, more soups, and dumplings.

Just a few minutes after we ordered, the waiter brought out dozens of small dishes: kimchi, plates of what looked like glass noodles, a type of mayonnaise salad with apples, tempura shrimp….

We nibbled. And then the meat came out. We turned on tabletop grill, and designated Joy’s friend H. as grillmaster.

When the meat was done, H. showed us how to make these lettuce-wrap packets, by grabbing a lettuce leaf, slathering it with spicy red sauce, adding garlic, a piece of meat, and then a jalapeño. Of course I had to add two jalapeños, because I’m hard like that. Then my eyes started watering and I had to take a break.

The food was great, though. I loved the communal aspect of the meal — passing the small dishes, the lettuce leaves, holding up our plates to the grillmaster, and waiting for our little gift. And it was amazing how many flavors and textures were represented — anything from the mild mayonnaise salad with apples, to the starchy, eyewateringly-hot bibimbap, to the garlicky kimchi.

After we’d paid the bill — and by the way, Korean food is expensive for Mexico City — the owner came out and introduced himself, and shook all of our hands.

I think we rolled ourselves out the door, but it was worth it. I’d go back again in a second. (As long as I haven’t eaten much that day. This is a huge meal, people.)

GO THERE
The Unnamed Korean Restaurant*
(*unnamed to us; it does have a Korean sign, if you speak the language)
Located on Oxford Street, just north of Hamburgo, next to the black building with the suits of armor out front
Avg cost per person, including drinks: $30-$40 USD
Note: To drink, they offered Mexican beers and Korean soju, a distilled beverage typically made from rice. I haven’t seen soju yet here, so this was an interesting find.

A peek at Colonia Cuauhtemoc, my Mexico City neighborhood

October 7, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Back when we started our apartment hunt, I had my mind set on living in trendy Roma or Condesa. They’re pretty much where all the American expats live. (Unless they’re trailblazers living in the Centro.)

After looking at a few Condesa apartments, we realized what our budget would buy there — a bathroom with mold splotches, or a spotless, but small, one-bedroom. In Roma, which I adored for its colonial buildings and leafy plazas, we didn’t see anything we liked in the short time frame we had.

And so we moved to Cuauhtemoc, because it was the closest to Crayton’s job. It’s a quiet, middle-class colonia bordering the Zona Rosa. Most of the cafes and restaurants cater to the business crowd, and comida corrida is abundant. After 9 p.m., the streets are pretty empty.

For the first month we lived here, I felt a pang whenever my Condesa and Roma friends talked about the cool cantinas they went to, or the cool salad spot they visited for lunch. We lived in residential, middle-classville. We did not live in the hottest neighborhood. Basically I needed to get over it.

Now, seven months after moving in, I actually really like it here. I love living a half-block from Reforma, and being able to walk to the Zona Rosa. (Which is gritty, and loud, and has cheapity-cheap beer.) We can walk to Roma Norte if we want a glass of wine. And we have a tianguis a 10-minute walk away, in Parque James Sullivan. I love my cheese dude there. We bought a jalapeño asadero from him a few weeks ago.

Last week, after walking to San Rafael to see a free concert, we wandered by a neighborhood jazz joint I’d been wanting to check out, Papa Beto’s. We peeked in the windows and the place was packed — maybe here was where all the Cuauhtemoqueños were secretly hanging out.

The doors were locked, so we ended up at Las Máximas, a beer joint about a stone’s throw from the Telmex building on Parque Via. We played some futbolito and Crayton won. (By pure luck.) Then we walked home.

Have I mentioned how much I love not driving?

Here are a few more places I like visiting in my neighborhood, in case you ever find yourself passing through. (Or in case a friend of yours ever raves about Condesa, and you can say, “Umm… I heard Cuauhtemoc was kind of cool too.”)

Tacos El Caminero. Seriously, best salsas EVER. It’s at Rio Lerma 138, a block from the American Embassy.

Berretín. This is an Argentinean restaurant with great pizza and a good wine list. It’s at the corner of Rio Lerma and Rio Guadalquivir, just a few doors down from Papa Bill’s.

Comida Libenesa. Great falafel, but unfortch the guy takes foreeeever to make one sandwich. Worth it if you’re not in a hurry. At the corner of Rio Nazas and Rio Tigris.

Mezzo Mezzo. A warm little pizza joint with hip clientele, a vegetarian-skewed menu and thin-crust pizza, baked in a brick oven. Try the poblano and corn pie. Downside: They don’t serve alcohol. (Sometimes a girl wants a glass of wine with her pizza!) Rio Neva 30A, between Rio Lerma and Reforma.

Bar Gold. A cantina at the corner of Antonio Caso and Serapio Rendon in San Rafael. Great place to grab a beer, eat free popcorn, and listen to a salsa band churn out the hits.

Tandem. Sometimes open and sometimes not, but great for a pint and ambient house music. Rio Nazas 73, at the corner of Rio Tiber.

Juega el Gallo. Attentive staff, great salads and tacos, and loud and crazy on fútbol nights. My only gripe is that they close around 8 or 9 during the week. How can a place call itself a cantina, and close at 8 p.m.? Rio Rhin 75, at the corner of Rio Papaloápan.

Mexican plastic wrap hell

October 6, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

About a month ago, while paying the visit to the chicken lady at Mercado Cuauhtemoc, I spotted a guy selling paper goods and remembered that we needed plastic wrap. Without thinking much about it, I picked out one for 20 pesos (less than two bucks) and took it home.

I have since cursed every day of this plastic wrap’s existence. This is it below.

(Yeah, Wezer Shine! I’ll “Wezer Shine” you, in the eye!)

It’s not that it’s not sticky. It’s too sticky. It clings to everything. It clings to its own cardboard tube, causing holes when I try to peel off a piece. It clings to my fingers. It clings nicely to a bowl, but that result is not worth the horror it takes to get there.

This box has no metal teeth. Did you know they even make plastic wrap boxes without metal teeth? I didn’t. This means I have to dig out a pair of scissors every time I want a piece of plastic wrap. And of course the wrap clings to the scissors, too.

When I do manage to cut off a piece — it took me awhile, but I learned the secret’s in the angle of the scissors, juxtaposed with the angle of the wrap — the plastic immediately shrinks back onto its tube. (Like a snake scurrying back into its hovel!) So if I want to cut another piece, I can’t tell where I started. There are no seams, people. NO SEAMS.

After two months of this crizzap, I decided to say basta. Last time I was in the States, I bought a tube of plastic wrap from Target. It looked really pretty. Especially when placed daintily on a table runner.

I cannot wait to use it.

How to watch the NFL in Mexico — Crayton finally speaks!

October 5, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Editor’s note: Today we have a guest post from Crayton. While he usually prefers to remain the “silent partner” on The Mija Chronicles, he has come across some information that he thinks you may enjoy. Here it is.

Watching the NFL in Mexico is a lot like watching it in the States. The broadcast networks, plus a couple of cable channels, air the games, so if you’re a general-interest fan you can get your fill.

The problem arises for a person like me who is a devoted fan of a particular team, in this case the mighty Chicago Bears. In the U.S., it’s impossible to see every game each week without the Sunday Ticket package, available on DirecTV. Mexico carries Sunday Ticket as well, through Sky, the country’s biggest satellite provider.

We aren’t in a position to get a satellite at the moment, so no Sky for us. (A note from Lesley: Whaaa? You mean we aren’t getting Sky?) That led me, on our first NFL Sunday in Mexico, on a desperate search for a place to watch the majestic Bears demolish the Seahawks.

A side note: If I were in most other countries besides Mexico and the U.S., I could stream the NFL games through the NFL’s own website, which offers that service in most parts of the world. Mexico is blocked since Sky offers Sunday Ticket here.

A few weekends ago, riding around town in the GPS-equipped SUV of my friend Dr. Lic. Carlitos, who likes to put Darude’s techno anthem “Sandstorm” on blast, I popped into several establishments to inquire about the availability of the Sunday Ticket.

Let’s just say it’s not a household name here. Several waiters and bartenders at cantinas and Irish pubs said they did have NFL games, but when I asked them to grab a remote control to pull up the menu for their Sky set-top box, it was apparent they didn’t have ALL the games. (Lesley: Yeeeah, cantina dude! Top that!)

A gentleman at the host’s stand at an Irish pub in the ritzy Polanco neighborhood suggested we go to Caliente, a gambling establishment about 10 minutes away, which has a sports book. Unfortunately, Caliente was not a Caesar’s-Palace-style sports book.

The Polanco location featured a quiet, well-lit room with gamblers seated at cafeteria-style tables. There was little running commentary, only the occasional cheer when someone’s team scored. A waiter brought drinks from a restaurant downstairs, but the service was spotty and unpredictable. Meh. I don’t know about you, but when I’m watching some football, I need the beers to keep on coming. (Lesley: This is true.)

For this past weekend’s game against the pitiful Lions, I wanted something better. So I did some Internet searches. A series of sort-of-handy Yahoo Answers led me to a bar you might be familiar with if you’re from the U.S.: Hooters.

Hooters has one location on the route of Mexico’s Metrobus route on Insurgentes Sur, in the Colonia San Angel.

I placed a call.

“Hi, I’m looking for a place that has all the NFL games, even those that aren’t available on cable TV. Do you have those?”

“Yes, we have NFL games.”

“But do you have ALL of them? Because some aren’t available on cable.”

“Yes, we have all of them. We even open early, at noon, so people can watch the games.”

“OK. So you have ALL of them.”

“That’s the case.”

I was suspicious. I’d been burned a few times. But we stopped by yesterday around 12:30, and true to the Hooters dude’s words, the place was blanketed with LCD screens showing every single NFL game in progress. I made my way to a barstool, suffered through the first half and then enjoyed the more lopsided Bears victory in the second period.

“But Crayton,” you may be asking, “what was it like to watch the game at Hooters in Mexico?” (Sorry, that was me, Lesley, again.)

I’ve never been to a Hooters in the U.S., so I can’t really provide a comparison. The servers wear orange shorts and pantyhose, and some glide around on roller skates. I assume this is common. All I know is that the beer was cold (if not cheap by Mexico standards) and the game was on. That makes me a loyal Hooters customer, at least here in Mexico City.

GO BEARS!

Acitrón, the crystallized cactus

October 2, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

While at Central de Abastos last week, I spied squares of this jellied, lemon-yellow substance. “Acitrón,” a hand-painted sign read. They were 15 pesos each. (That’s little over $1.)

I remembered reading something about acitrón in the newspaper awhile back, but I couldn’t remember exactly what. So I bought some. Took it home, did a little googling, and found out that it’s crystallized biznaga cactus.

Not only that, but it’s semi-hard to find — the Mexican government declared the biznaga cactus in danger of extinction in 2003. Since then, according to El Universal, breadmakers all over Mexico have scrambled to find a substitute for acitrón in their Rosca de Reyes recipes, a traditional bread eaten during Three Kings Day. Most now use ate (pronounced AH-tay), another traditional type of jellied fruit.

I wasn’t up for making bread, or chiles en nogada, which is the other popular way to use acitrón. So a few days ago, I diced it and tossed it in a salad with toasted pecans. It had a mild, vegetal flavor I liked, despite being doused in sugar.

Apparently you can also eat it plain, as a dessert with your digestif. This woman chopped it up and stirred it into muffins, with figs and dried cranberries.

If you have any other acitrón suggestions, let me know. I’d love to hear them!

UPDATE: Check out the comments section for LaZorra’s very cool link to a photo of the weird-looking, roly-poly biznaga cactus.

The Mexican concha roll taste test, round two

October 1, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Earlier this week, while pondering the ethereal concha roll (why is perfection so out of reach?), I suddenly had an epiphany. Why am I limiting myself? I could be searching for the best bakery, while I’m searching for the best concha. The best bisquet. The best cuernito. The best… pan de muerto.

Yeah.

The list might be longer than I thought. I’m gonna need a bigger pair of pants.

Suddenly fueled up about having a purpose in life, I hit the streets on Tuesday with a taxi driver I like, Memo. We hit seven bakeries in three hours, and finished at my friend Julie’s house for the final taste-test.

Did anyone best Bondy, La Reina de la Concha? You’ll have to find out.
…

The Central de Abastos: La madre of all Mexico City markets

September 30, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Nearly every piece of wholesale produce in Mexico City starts out at the Central de Abastos. The gigantic maze of tunnels — can it even be called a market? — is huge. It has 2,000 stands. It shelters more than 30,000 tons of produce each a day. Located south of town, it’s the one meeting point for food that ends up at taco stands, fruterías and fondas all over the city.

It’s open to the public, and I’ve been dying to go there, just to witness the spectacle. So Alice and I went last week.

We got lost on the way there. Her guidebook said to get off at Metro La Viga. We did, and all we saw was a man on a bench reading a newspaper. We asked him where to go.

“Take the Metro to Aculco,” he said. “No, better yet, ask the poli in the metro station.” Poli (pronounced POH-lee) is slang for policeman.

Inside the metro station, we asked the woman inside the ticket window. She shook her head. “Ask the poli.”

Finally, we asked the policeman, who looked bored while he leaned against the turnstiles. Yes, he said, Aculco was correct. And then after that, we should take a pesero that said Central de Abastos.

About 1 1/2 hours after we started our journey, we hopped off the pesero and walked over a sky bridge to the Central.

Once inside, the first thing we saw were the bananas, hanging from one stand. They were so bountiful, they looked almost fake.

And then there was the garlic.

Alice tried to buy some, but the woman said she only sold it by the half-kilo, minimum. That’s 12 bulbs of garlic, más o menos.

I wanted to wander down the aisles, open-mouthed. Maybe zen-out over the mound of watermelon.

But we really couldn’t. The place was too busy. Men carted around produce on their backs, pulling dollies stacked high with produce boxes. Most had at least a half-dozen or more. They’d whistle — a sharp tweet-TWEET! — if you were in their way. I got whistled at a lot.

The onion aisle was pretty, empty though. Probably because of the overwhelming smell.

We wandered around some more, marveling at the burlap sacks of dried chiles, the plastic buckets of loose cereal (guess this is for the morning street vendors), and the buckets of wholesale cajeta, yogurt, and fruit marmalades.

Central de Abastos also had a regular, neighborhood-style market, where you can buy produce by the half-kilo or less, or by the piece. It didn’t have much beyond what my local tianguis would carry, but it was fun to just walk around in a daze and stare at the lettuce, grapes, peppers, pimply noni fruit, guayaba, strawberries, a few random chocolate fountains, cheese, chorizo, honey. They were also quite a few stalls selling kitchen items: mops, cheese graters, lime juicers.

As we walked, we literally could not see the end in sight. The aisles stretched on that long.

“Crayton would be in hell,” I told Alice. He hates wandering and browsing without a specific purpose in mind.

We wandered a while longer, until our feet hurt. Then we found our way out and hopped on another pesero, which took us to the Cerro de Estrella metro station in Itztapalapa. Got home about an hour later.

Overall, I would highly, highly recommend the trip for anyone who’s interested in Mexican food, or Mexican market culture. Just be
prepared for a long day. The place ain’t easy to get to, and it’s exhausting to walk around and see everything.

What I ended up purchasing, if you’re curious: 1/2 kilo green Veracruz oranges, a block of acitrón, 2 cups of unsalted peanuts, 1 head red-leaf lettuce, 1/2 kilo of dried guajillo chilies

Central de Abastos
To get there: Take Metro Line 8 to Aculco, and then grab a pesero right outside the Metro station that says “Central de Abastos.” The stop is at the end of the line, past the long row of seafood empanada stands.

A trip to the Pumas/Chivas soccer game

September 28, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Riot police guard the Chivas fans at the Pumas soccer game on Sept. 27, 2009

Crayton’s co-worker Carlos is a huge Chivas fan, so on Sunday we trekked out to the Estadio Olímpico at UNAM to see Chivas play Pumas, one of their biggest rivals.

This was my second Mexican soccer game, and I gotta say, I’m becoming a fan. (As fan-ish as I can be. I tend to get very nervous during close games, and then my stomach starts flip-flopping, and then I can barely watch. So I try to stay low key about the whole thing.)

Compared to Estadio Azteca, Estadio Olímpico is on the small side, with two tiered sections of seats. But Pumas fans are notoriously rabid, and so it took us awhile to actually enter the stadium. First, an employee at our ticket gate shooed us away, saying that Chivas fans had to sit “in section 23.” When we walked to that section, we were told to go to another. At the third gate, the employee there told us we should go back to the first one we went to, where the girl had shooed us away.

We finally found seats — with the help of a high-up stadium employee with a walkie talkie — just after the game started. The seats were okay. They lay directly behind Pumas’ goal during the first quarter, meaning we didn’t have an aerial view of the field. But we were immersed in red-and-white, which was fun.

The guy behind me kept whining, “No maaa-mes!” whenever Pumas approached the Chivas goal. And there were several shouts of, “Dale Chicharo!”, urging on Chivas player Javier Hernandez.

My favorite part was the trash-talking. Pumas fans would launch into their traditional “Goya” cheer, which goes like this:

Gooooya!
Gooooya!
Ca-choo Ca-choo RAH-RAH
Ca-choo Ca-choo RAH RAH
Goooya!

Chivas fans would basically pee on it, singing it back and then tacking on a “Chíngala tu madre!” on the end. You can listen to an audio link of the original Goya cheer here.

A few more pictures from the game:

Starting to realize riot police on horseback are a typical sight for a Mexican soccer game

Pumas haven't exactly been doing well this year, so this sign -- tacked onto a gate in front of the stadium -- basically means: "Don't worry Pumas! We won't turn our back on you!"

A sign tacked on the stadium gate, basically meaning: 'Don't worry Pumas, we won't turn our backs on you.' The Pumas haven't been doing too well this year.

A sea of red-and-white Chivas fans...

...compared to even more Pumas fans, probably all dying to toss cupfuls of beer on our heads.

Beer sales stop just after halftime, as written on the very helpful jumbo-tron.

This Chivas fan led the trash-talking Goya cheer.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLL! (Chivas ties the score, 1-1.)

After the game we went to El Charco de Las Ranas for tacos. Of course, afterward I also had to try a gaznate from the vendor out front. It’s a typical Mexican street-food dessert, comprising a tube of fried dough filled with a creamy meringue mixture. Been eyeing them for weeks, wondering how they were… but I didn’t like it. Too sweet and heavy. Oh well.

A close-up of the juicy tacos al pastor at El Charco de Las Ranas

The gaznate, which despite its good looks, I won't be trying again.

Where has all the cilantro gone?

September 25, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

A few days ago I went to Superama to buy a few groceries. As I made my way to the herbs, I noticed cilantro was missing among the bunches of epazote, mint and flat leaf parsley.

I wanted to groan. This store NEVER has cilantro. Or… maybe it was hiding somewhere.

I asked an employee standing nearby if they had any. He shook his head. “It hasn’t arrived,” he said.

Arrived? Arrived from where? We live in Mexico. It should take up half the space in the produce truck! I didn’t say any of that, though. Instead I told him, “You know, four out of five times that I shop here, the store has no cilantro. Isn’t that odd?”

“I guess you have bad luck,” he said.

I bought the rest of my groceries, and ended up stopping for cilantro at the mercado near my house. But I didn’t see it immediately, which caused me to get all worked up all over again. (What the eff is going on in this country?) The guy there asked me what I needed, and I said in the sweetest voice possible, “Do you have any cilantro?”

He led me down the aisle, and pulled a thin, rather wimpy bunch of cilantro out of a grocery bag. I thought about bad-mouthing Superama to him, but I didn’t.

Later that night, I deconstructed the story in detail to Crayton. He told me that since Superama is owned by Wal-Mart, there is probably a reason why our local store never has any cilantro.

“They’ve determined there isn’t a high demand for cilantro in the community,” he said, very business-reporter like.

“That’s CRAP!” I exploded. Although I didn’t say crap. Sorry mom.

I don’t know why cilantro has me all worked up, but it does. This is a basic staple in Mexican cooking. I should be able to find it on every corner. And actually, it IS on every corner, chopped finely as topping for tacos. What about the poor ama de casa who just wants to make tofu dip, dammit?

I didn’t have enough for my tofu dip, so I ended up using it in a layered tortilla casserole. Which fell apart in the oven.

Somewhere up there, the cilantro gods, in shackles and chains, are doubled over and laughing.

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