The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

Reflections

A Mexican meal in Madrid

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Tlacoyos and chipotle-cascabel salsa, prepared by yours truly in Madrid.

The last time I spent a substantive time in Madrid, in 1998 and 1999, the Mexican foods I missed the most were chips and salsa. I couldn’t even find tortilla chips in the grocery store, which boggled my California mind. When my mom came to visit, she smuggled me in a few bags, along with tortillas and canned enchilada sauce. One night we cooked enchiladas for my Madrid host mom, a loving, generous woman named Maria Rosa.

A few weeks ago I went back to Madrid, and I was lucky enough to stay with Maria Rosa for a few nights. I told her about Eat Mexico and showed her my blog. She said: “You’ll cook us a Mexican meal then!” I nodded vigorously. Of course I would.

Crayton looked at me like I was insane, because what woman cooks a huge meal on her vacation? But I couldn’t think of a better gift than cooking for this person who looked after me during a key period in my life.

So one afternoon, I went to the Mexican grocery store in Madrid called La Canasta Mexicana. I spent $25 Euro on masa harina, dried chiles, tortillas, queso fresco, canned black beans, chipotles enlatados, and canned whole cactus paddles. I went to a separate grocery store and bought cilantro, white onion, chicken and oregano. Then I came back to her house and cooked — chicken tinga, refried black beans, chipotle-cascabel salsa, and tlacoyos.

The latter gave me some trouble. I didn’t know how to use masa harina, and I didn’t follow the directions. I tried to remember how the tlacoyo ladies folded them but I couldn’t get it quite right. The dough was too thin in some parts, and beans spilled out. “The tlacoyos might be a toss up,” I told Crayton. (Which in itself was very Maria Rosa — she always used to worry that her dishes lacked salt or seasoning, when in all actuality they were fabulous.)

When it was time to eat, at the madrileño hour of 11 p.m., I plated the tlacoyos with their diced nopal, cilantro, onion and crumbled queso fresco. I heated the tortillas and wrapped them in a dish towel. Put the salsa in a little bowl, and the extra refried beans in another bowl. Maria Rosa uncorked a bottle of cava and I introduced each dish. Everyone was wide-eyed. Tla-whats? Tinga?

In the end I shouldn’t have sweated the taste, because I was surrounded by people I loved and it showed in every bite.

Do you ever have one of those meals where you feel like your heart is going to burst when you sit down? That was me. I wish I would have taken more pictures, because I don’t want to forget that meal.

A note to my younger self

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Me in front of Madrid's Palacio Real in 2002

In 2002, Crayton and I had just started dating, and I convinced him to take a trip to Spain with me.

I studied abroad there for two semesters in college and I think I won him over by telling him I’d show him around my old Madrid haunts — and that there was this thing called a botellón, a concept now outlawed, that enabled anyone to drink outside, anywhere.

We went for a week and botellón-ed and saw the sites. But it wasn’t a good trip. My Spanish had atrophied. I couldn’t understand anyone. I hated the madrileños’ brusqueness and their lack of patience with foreigners. The food, which I loved when I lived there, suddenly seemed complex and intimidating, and I hated that there wasn’t more variety.

The real problem was that I was terrified I’d become a failure. When I lived in Madrid, I thought I would graduate college and travel the world, and I’d have a job where I could use my Spanish every day. I would live in Mexico and be a freelance writer. Four years later, none of it had come true, and I wasn’t sure it ever would. I spent a lot of my time on that trip crying and willing myself to leave our hotel room, and tearfully asking Crayton if he’d go buy me McDonald’s. (I’m wincing as I type that.)

Last week, we went back to Spain together and the difference between then and now was astounding.

I wish I could have told the 23-year-old me who cried and thought she wasn’t good enough that everything was going to be fine. I will live in Mexico, and I will speak Spanish, and my next visit to Spain in 2012 will be when I’m happy and healthy and confident. I’ll order sepia and chocolate palmeras and pulpo with gusto, and take pictures of everything on my iPhone.

In 2012, I will love the guttural, garbled way Spanish men say “hasta luego” because it reminds me of a time when I was just stepping out in the world. I’ll love that they serve me a fork and knife with my pan tostado, because that’s what they did 14 years ago and they still do it now. I’ll love the shops piled with sweets, because they remind me of sweets in Mexico. And I’ll actually find myself looking up at my surroundings, not down at my feet, and realizing: whoa. Madrid has gorgeous architecture.

When I was 23, I wanted to be exactly where I am now — bilingual, happy and at peace. A woman in a job she loves, and who made the excellent decision to marry the man she went to Spain with in 2002.

The dreams will come true. It just takes time.

I’ve been nominated for a Saveur Food Blog Award!

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You may have noticed a new sidebar to the right. I found out late last week, right when I was returning from New York, that I made it as a finalist in Saveur Magazine’s Best Food Blog Awards.

Out of 40,000 entries, the editors chose my little blog as one of the top blogs in Culinary Travel, along with five others.

This is a huge deal for me. Saveur is one of the top food magazines in the country and I buy it every time I’m in the States. There aren’t many outlets left publishing the kind of work they do: personal, emotion-driven food stories, which have nothing to do with hot new trends.

Will you vote for me? You do have to register your email address, and you can only vote once.
Voting is open through April 26.

Even if you don’t have time to vote, or you feel weird giving out your email address, I want you to know that I appreciate you reading and commenting. (Or, in some cases, not commenting, which is okay too. Being a lurker is perfectly fine.) You guys make this a better place.

I’m up for a Readers’ Choice Award

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The Mija Chronicles is a finalist in About.com’s Readers’ Choice Awards, for Best Mexico Travel blog. If you have a few minutes — and you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read here — perhaps you could mosey over and vote for me? All you’d need to do is submit your email address, or you can sign in through Facebook.

UPDATE: Readers Tricia and William have pointed out that you can vote once a day if you like.

Thank you for your votes!

On graduating from cooking school

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A year and a half later, it’s come to an end. I’m now the owner of a diploma in Especialización de Gastronomía Mexicana from the Escuela de Gastronomía Mexicana in Mexico City.

I should’ve been excited at graduation last week. Instead I was nervous. What if I wouldn’t get my diploma after all? What if there was some weird fluke and they’d left my name off the list?

I was sad, too. I’d made my first tortilla dough here. I learned how to properly salt a mole. And how to toast chiles, how to crack dried beans under the weight of my metlapil, how to appreciate the nuns’ inventiveness, and how to tie little bows made from cornhusks to the edge of the tamale pot so the pot stayed happy and steamed properly.

The class had gotten Yuri and Edmundo a card, and when it was my turn to sign I didn’t know what to say. I looked at Crayton helplessly. How do I sum up into words… ? I felt teary.

Crayton suggested an opening line: “I’m of Mexican-American roots, and you taught me about a culture that was always inside me but I didn’t know existed.” It was exactly what I felt, so I scribbled it down, along with a few other thoughts about them giving me a gift. It didn’t seem like enough.

Toward the end of the ceremony, Dulce, the academic coordinator, called my name and I stood up to get my diploma. I kissed Edmundo and Yuri on the cheek. Crayton snapped a photo. And then that was it.

There’s a sentence at the bottom of the diploma that says I’ve completed 148 hours. Can you believe it?

I keep thinking about the time we made manchamanteles in class and it was so good I ate it cold from my refrigerator the next day. I had never liked manchamanteles, but there I was, not even caring to sit down, standing in front of the open refrigerator with a tupperware and a spoon. That’s what good mole can do to you.

Fall in South Carolina

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Crayton and I spent the past few days in Anderson, South Carolina, visiting his grandparents. The fall leaves are stunning here: fiery burgundies and golds and oranges, set against a deep blue sky. One morning Crayton’s grandma and I just sat and looked at them from her screened-in porch.

Here are a few more shots of them.

And here is my obligatory Clemson University mention, because I am an Anderson, South Carolinian by marriage (go Tigers!):

Clemson isn't too far from Anderson, SC, and everyone is a fan. This is a gift for our 5-month-old second cousin.

We’re in Atlanta now and then we move on to Huntsville. We get home Sunday and then on Tuesday I’m off again, this time to Brazil for a week. We’ll spend four days in Sao Paulo and 3 days in Rio.

Hope your November is treating you well so far!

How to make a Día de los Muertos altar

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A close-up of a Day of the Dead altar at the Escuela de Gastronomía in Roma

I had never built a Día de Los Muertos altar until two years ago. It was my first year in Mexico, so I put up a few photos and some candles, and a sugar skull I’d bought at the Feria de Alfeñique in Toluca. After the holiday was over I didn’t want to take my altar down. It made me feel centered, like I knew where I came from.

This year I was curious about all the altar decorations I kept seeing in the markets. So I took the Día de Los Muertos Ofrendas y Tradiciones course at the Escuela de Gastronomía Mexicana, where I recently (last week!) finished up a diploma program in Mexican gastronomy.

The course would teach us about the tradition of the altar and the history of Día de los Muertos, and we’d get to cook some typical Day of the Dead foods: bean tamales, pan de muerto and calabaza en piloncillo.

Here’s what I learned.

The Elements of a Day of the Dead Altar

First off, you can really make the altar any way you want. There’s no right or wrong way to do it — the idea is that it’s something personal that speaks to you. That said, here are some general elements to include if you’ve never built one before:

1. Flowers

Making a cross out of cempasúchil for a Day of the Dead altar at the Escuela de Gastronomía Mexicana in Mexico City

Cempasúchil, also spelled cempoalxochitl and other various ways, is an orange marigold. It’s Mexico’s traditional Day of the Dead flower and it grows wild in many parts of the country. During Day of the Dead season here, the Mexico City government plants rows of cempasúchil on Reforma. In Mexico it’s customary to include vases of cempasúchil, petals, or rings of flowers on one’s altar. If you live elsewhere, any other seasonal flower would work as a substitute.

2. Fruit — specifically tejocotes and oranges.

A bag of tejocotes, known in English as a Mexican hawthorn apple

Tejocotes are a mild, seeded fruit that taste like a cross between an apple and a pear. No one I know eats them raw. Instead, you boil the fruit in syrup or cook it to make ponche. In the case of the Day of the Dead altar, the fruit, along with oranges and other seasonal items, symbolize the earth’s bounty. And it’s something for your loved ones to eat on their journey into the next world.

3. Papel Picado.

Papel picado for Day of the Dead

Papel picado symbolizes wind. It’s draped around the edges of the altar, or used to decorate the area behind the altar, if needed.

4. Foods your loved ones liked eating.

Food decorations for Day of the Dead altar

A miniature plate of sweet bread and atole, with rice and mole to the left

These little plates of food are made out of sugar and sold at almost any market in Mexico City. In general, the food element of the altar is one of the neatest ways to find out about your loved ones who’ve passed on.

Two years ago, when I was building my first altar, I wasn’t sure what my grandfather liked to eat. He died when I was little. So I called up my mom and asked her. She said spaghetti. (Me: “Spaghetti? Really?”) This year, I put out a little plate of quesadillas for my grandmother. I may also put a few dried spaghetti noodles for my Grandpa Joe.

5. Alfeñique.

Alfeñique Day of the Dead

Alfeñique, the art of making animals and other shapes out of sugar, was imported into Mexico from Europe. Today it’s customary to put a few of these animals on your altar. They’re sold at Mercado Merced and Mercado Jamaica, but the best place place to get them if you live in Mexico is the Feria de Alfeñique in Toluca, which occurs annually in October. Toluca is about 45 minutes to an hour west of Mexico City.

6. Pan de muerto.

Pan de muerto for Day of the Dead

I made this pretty little pan de muerto.

I didn’t realize how regional pan de muerto was. In Mexico City, we’re used to seeing the round domes with thin, knobby “bones” draped on top; in parts of Oaxaca they don’t make bread like this at all. That bread is larger, more eggy, with a woman’s face painted and baked into the top. Other areas of Mexico make bread in the shape of skulls, rabbits, pigs, crocodiles, hearts, or a pretzel shape that symbolizes fertility. It’s customary to place a few loaves on your altar.

7. Bean tamales. The bean symbolizes fertility, too. There’s a lot of fertility associated with this holiday, no?

8. A Xoloescuintle. It’s thought that Xolos helped spirits cross the river into the next world.

9. A glass of water. In case your loved ones are thirsty.

10. Salt. It’s nutritive and it restores bodily fluids. This is usually displayed in a little dish or bowl.

Here’s a final photo of the altar we built at school…

Day of the Dead altar in Mexico City

… and here’s mine at home, which I put together on Sunday.

Did you build an altar this year? What did you include?

Feliz Día de los Muertos!

UPDATE: If you want to make your own pan de muerto, here’s a recipe from Fany Gerson’s My Sweet Mexico that I posted last year.

Food that supports a good cause: CREA

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Mexican peaches in syrup, made by Almíbares Mier and sold by CREA, a Mexico City nonprofit

CREA is a Mexico City nonprofit that supports women entrepreneurs in low-income communities, specifically with the idea to empower them and help them grow their businesses. I found out about CREA through my friend Liz, who is associate director.

Right now CREA works with women in Zacatecas, offering a business course where women can learn accounting practices and other skills, and later pairing up these women with mentors and role models. Many of CREA’s clients make food products: jams, stuffed olives, mole, pipián, peaches in syrup, homemade chocolate. Other women make ceramics, rebozos and jewelry.

A few months ago, Liz mentioned that she’d love to find someone to take pictures of the food products for their website and catalog. Of course I volunteered — I’m a budding food stylist and photographer, and this was for a good cause.

We had a great time. Here are a few items from the shoot:

Chicken in pipián sauce

I took this powdered pipián sauce, made by Delicia Jerezana, to my in-laws in August. All you do is add chicken broth, heat and stir; it’s easy and fast. I ended up making empipianadas for my in-laws, which were a big hit. You can also just heat the sauce and pour it over poached chicken, as pictured below.

Chicken with pipián sauce. The pipián, made by Delicia Jerezana, is sold in powder form.

Chicken with pipián sauce, made using a powdered pipián sold by CREA.

Chocolate cake, using homemade chocolate

Doesn’t this cake look decadent? The main ingredient is homemade chocolate, which CREA sells in blocks of about 1 lb.

This chocolate cake was made by chocolate from Delicia Jerezana, one of CREA's clients.

Apple marmalade

Apple marmalade, sold by CREA

Made from apples grown without pesticides, by producer Comenopal. It’s really good stuff — I ate both of these pieces of bread afterward.

Pinole

The most difficult thing to shoot was the pinole, a drink made from ground corn. The drink is fantastic, but I couldn’t figure out how to get that feeling across in the image. If you have any suggestions for me, I’m open to them.

Pinole, made by Delicia Jerezana and sold by CREA

Finding CREA’s products near you

If you live in Mexico, you can buy any of CREA’s food products right now via their online Christmas catalog, which has the products arranged into gift baskets. Unfortunately they’re not available in the U.S., although Liz says CREA staff are working to place them in Peet’s Coffee & Tea, Mi Pueblo supermarkets and REI. Fany Gerson also has plans to sell the homemade chocolate in New York.

I’m happy to share some recipe ideas, if you end up buying any of the products.

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.