Streets & Markets

A visit to the tianguis in Col. Santo Domingo

April 17, 2012 by Lesley Tellez

A mixiote taco from the tianguis on Coyamel street in the Col. Santo Domingo.

My friend Mojdeh does cultural tours in Mexico City, and for more than a year we’ve been planning for me to go visit her neighborhood south of town. She lives in the Colonia Santo Domingo near Metro Copilco, almost to the UNAM.

There are several tianguis (the Nahuatl word meaning outdoor neighborhood market) in Santo Domingo. The one near her house is on Coyamel street on Wednesdays.

She told me I was going to love it, and she was right. The Coyamel tianguis was larger than the two markets near my house, full of people eating and saying hi to each other and pushing shopping trolleys. Smoke billowed from a taco stand offering fresh cecina cooked on a wood-fired grill. Mojdeh and I waited 30 minutes, along with 15 other people, just for tortillas — one woman sold blue and white versions, plus sopes, tlacoyos and gorditas out of big boxes lined with dish towels. Her steamy, delicate blancas were worth the wait.

We ate and wandered, and ate some more. I bought some gorgeous tomatillos that the vendor told me were from Ixtlahuaca, past Toluca. I bought fresh requesón and homemade pan de pulque, and a white zapote, which tastes kind of like sweet avocado. And I spotted a quelite I’d never seen before — trébol de carretilla (medicago polymorpha).

A few photos:

Tomatillos from Ixlahuaca, in the State of Mexico

Spotted this unusual cinnamon bark. The vendor said he grows it in Tuxtla, Veracruz. It smelled much more intense than the usual Mexican cinnamon.

The cinnamon vendor

A big pile of trébol de carretilla

Serving tacos de mixiote from a gigantic steam pot.

A vendor makes cecina tacos, known as tasajo in Oaxaca, from a wood-fired grill.

A taco with grilled cecina and longaniza. This tasted even better with a few spoonfuls of crema on top.

Here’s a map to the location, in case you want to visit yourself someday (click to open in Google maps):

Do you know this Mexican vegetable?

February 18, 2012 by Lesley Tellez

I found this skinny vegetable, which almost looks like oversized baby corn, at Mercado La Merced a few days ago. The vendor, an older woman with gray hair, told me the name. But she spoke softly and I was too embarrassed to ask her to repeat it. It sounded Nahuatl.

She said you remove the leaves, boil the cob and then shave off the kernels. She also said I could serve it with mole.

Have any of you seen this before? Each piece is roughly a foot long, with bumpy, somewhat soft flesh.

Adventures in quelites: Flor de nabo

February 16, 2012 by Lesley Tellez

The first time I saw flor de nabo was a few years ago on a sidewalk in the Roma. A woman was selling it out of a big plastic bag, and I, ever the quelite-scouter, stopped to ask her: “Qué tipo de quelite es?” She said flor de nabo. I loved how pretty it was, so I bought a kilo right there.

It turns out flor de nabo is brassica rapa, a type of spicy, peppery green that’s in the same family as rapini or broccoli rabe. They look similar.

Flor de nabo drifted out of my life until last week, when I saw it on the menu at Rosetta, an Italian restaurant in the Roma. Then a few days later I found a sidewalk vendor selling a bagful near the Meracdo Portales.

Cooking flor de nabo

When raw, flor de nabo tastes bitter and sharp. Cooking it for a long period of time in broth brings out its natural sweetness, with little touches of mustard and pepper. Because it was so rainy and dreary outside, I bought a kilo from the Portales vendor and decided to make soup. (Another day I’ll maybe try to attempt Rosetta’s garlickly flor de nabo with orecchiette pasta.)

The soup ended up being just what I craved: comforting and hearty, with just enough pizzazz to brighten up the gray day. Here’s the recipe, in case you’re needing some comfort-food inspiration.

Chicken Soup with Flor de Nabo, Carrots and Noodles

Ingredients

For the broth:
1 chicken breast
1 small piece onion (about 1/4 chunk of small onion)
1 bay leaf
5 or 6 peppercorns
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1 big clove garlic
Salt

For the soup:
1/2 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
3 carrots, chopped
About 1/2 pound flor de nabo, chopped (stems included)
100 grams noodles of your choice
Salt to taste

Directions

Place the chicken breast in a pot and cover with water. Add onion, bay leaf, peppercorns, thyme and garlic, with a few pinches of salt. Bring to boil, skim off any scum and then lower the flame. Cover and simmer for 40 minutes, or until chicken is cooked. Note that the time is variable — my chicken breast weighed about a pound, but for smaller chicken breasts and regular altitudes, I’d start checking at the 25-minute mark.

When chicken is cooked, remove from the flame and cool while you chop your vegetables. Then strain the broth and reserve both the broth and the meat separately.

Heat about a tablespoon of oil in a heavy-bottomed pot. Add the onion and cook until translucent; then add garlic and stir, cooking with the onion until aromatic, about 30 seconds. Add the carrots and mix well. Then add the chopped flor de nabo, some pieces of chicken breast (I just tore some off with my hands and shredded it directly into the pot) and your reserved chicken broth. (You can add as much broth as you want, depending on how thick you like your soup.) Season with more salt and black pepper.

Bring the soup to a boil, then lower the flame, cover and simmer for 20 minutes. Add noodles and cook until al dente. Season for more salt and pepper and serve hot.

Tacos al pastor in Mexico City

February 9, 2012 by Lesley Tellez

I snapped this a few months ago at Plaza Meave on Eje Central, in the Centro Histórico. They’ve got the biggest spit (trompo in Spanish) that I’ve seen in the city. It’s always crowded, and fun to just sit and watch — the taquero works like a madman, slicing meat with one hand and catching it in a tortilla.

The tacos are decent. I’ve only had them at mid-day, when the meat isn’t quite caramelized enough. If you want to go, it’s located on Eje Central, north of Mesones.

Adventures in Mexican produce: Quelite cenizo

October 10, 2011 by Lesley Tellez

I’ve mentioned it several times, but I’m a big fan of quelites. The word is an umbrella term for any wild, native Mexican green, usually one that has small leaves (smaller than spinach or chard).

Mexico City supermarkets don’t sell them. I usually find them on the outer edges of the tianguis, where the vendors often come directly from farms. They set up directly on the sidewalk and sell gorgeous, non-uniform produce: round, plump squash with raised ridges; prettier than usual squash blossoms, tortillas, tlacoyos, and bags of these quelites.

In the past I’ve bought quintoniles, which have a purplish tinge. But last week I saw another type of quelite I’d never bought before — quelite cenizo. The name translates to “ash quelite,” because some of the leaves look like they’ve been dipped in ash. My batch was pretty much all green.

I’ve never paid more than 15 pesos (just over a dollar) for a kilo of quelites. They don’t cook down as much as spinach does, and they’re highly nutritious, so there’s really no excuse not to buy them.

What do you do with quelite cenizo?

As is the case with most quelites, you can stew them. In Mexico, this is known as “guisar.” The traditional preparation calls for washing the quelites very well beforehand — they tend to collect a lot of dirt — and them simmering them gently in a pot of water until tender.

From there, you can chop them up (or not, if you’re lazy like me) and sautee them in chopped onion and garlic. You could add a chile sauce, like tomatillo with serrano. But I like them plain. After cooking, you serve them with beans and tortillas.

Last night I used my quelite cenizo as an enchilada filling. Post on that to come. I’ve also mixed them with vegetables and served them over quinoa.

What does quelite cenizo taste like?

They’re mild and slightly sweet, similar to quintoniles and other quelites I’ve tried. The great thing about them is they don’t turn slimy once you’ve simmered them in water. All quelites I’ve tried, including one called nabo, hold their texture.

If you eat quelites, let me know below — what’s your favorite way to prepare them?

The food of San Pedro Atocpan and Milpa Alta, in southern Mexico City

October 5, 2011 by Lesley Tellez

I’m friendly with the guy who sells me chiles and mole paste at Mercado Medellín. Over the years we’ve talked about me visting him in San Pedro Atocpan, the village where he lives, about 90 minutes southeast of the city center.

San Pedro is part of the delegación de Milpa Alta, which, along with Tlalapan, makes up the southernmost area of the Distrito Federal. (Think about that. You can ride a bus for 90 minutes in this city and you’re still within the city limits.)

A few weeks ago I finally had a weekend free, and so Crayton and I and our friend Chris rode the pesero out to San Pedro early one Sunday morning. The bus took us through Xochimilco, and then on a windy, two-lane road lined with cactus and corn. San Pedro is known for its mole, so I figured we’d check out a few markets and then have mole for lunch. I didn’t count on being completely hypnotized by the food.

The Milpa Alta Market

Once arriving in San Pedro, we took another pesero to Milpa Alta, a slightly larger city nestled in the hills. The produce there was even more gorgeous than in Xochimilco.

At a tianguis in front of the market, vendors sold local bluish-red corn, rabbits, herbs I’d never seen, quelites, and piles of wild mushrooms.

Check out the mushrooms for sale, on the sidewalk outside the market. Aren't they gorgeous?

Chile nuevo, sold outside the market in Milpa Alta. It's not very spicy.

This was just on the sidewalk. Erik, my friend, ushered us inside the market and vendors were selling wild mushroom tamales. I’ve never seen or heard of a wild mushroom tamale in three years of living in Mexico City. It was divine — picture meaty bits of mushroom, soaked in a green chile sauce.

A home-cooked meal in San Pedro Atocpan

I was happy just having gone to the tianguis in Milpa Alta. But Erik and his family had prepared a big spread for us at his house, with several local foods: mixiotes, esquites, fava bean salad, three types of mole. Everything tasted just as good as it looked.

Doña Belia, preparing tortillas at Erik's house in San Pedro Atocpan

Those are the mixtiotes -- it's slow-cooked, spicy meat, cooked in maguey leaves like little purses. These were made with mutton.

Fava bean salad, one of my faves. It has onion, cilantro and queso fresco.

Blue corn esquites! I'd never tried esquites with blue corn in Mexico. These were phenomenal.

Cecina and locally made chorizo.

A basket of goodies.

When in San Pedro Atocpan… try the chicharrón

There was a bowl of chicharrón on the table at Erik’s house, and I’m telling you, it was the best chicharrón I’ve had, ever. It was this deep-brown caramel color, and thick and crunchy, not like the wimpy beige stuff I usually see in the markets where I live.

I asked Erik why it was so good and he said: “It’s homemade.”

I thought all chicharrón in Mexico was homemade? If anyone out there knows the difference between the two chicharrónes — the beige, more mainstream variety and the rustic dark-brown stuff — I’d love to hear about it.

The best chicharrón I've ever had in my life, hands-down.

I’m planning another visit out there hopefully in the next few months. If you’re interested in visiting yourself, San Pedro Atocpan is hosting a mole festival through the end of October.

More Mexico City markets: Mercado San Cosme

July 21, 2011 by Lesley Tellez

Tostadas de pata at Mercado San Cosme in Col. San Rafael

The first time I went to Mercado San Cosme, a woman at a comida corrida stand called me cielo.

“Qué le doy cielo? Tenemos lechita, atolito, cafecito…” What can I give you, heaven? We have a little milk, a little atole, a little coffee…

I’ve gone to the market a few more times since then, and it’s become one of my favorites. The vendors are friendly and everything’s clean. Plus the surrounding neighborhood is charming, in an urban Mexico City kind of way. A stand outside the market sells thick slices of cake, in all different flavors; if you walk down Avenida San Cosme, the busy avenue directly north of the market, you’ll find open-air nail salons, advertised by plastic hands tinged in glittery acrylics.

Penny included the market as part of her photo workshop, so we stopped there one morning a few weeks ago. I felt a little more at ease taking pictures of strangers this time, but still not entirely comfortable — which means I need more practice.

I’m itching to visit another market. Any suggestions for which place I should visit next? And if you own a camera and live in Mexico City, do you want to come?

The cake stand outside the market

Filling a gordita with cilantro, onion and cheese

Check out those squash blossoms. They're one of my favorite quesadilla fillings.

Filling a quesadilla with cheese, before it hits the fryer

Puffy, golden quesadillas, from a stand in front of the market

A morning at Mercado Merced, and being a tourist again

July 18, 2011 by Lesley Tellez

Banana stalks, trimmed of their leaves, bunched together at Mercado Merced

Mercado Merced is one of the biggest markets in Mexico City. Up until recently, I wasn’t a fan. I did my shopping as quickly as I could and got the heck out of there, before the crowds could swallow me up. The place felt like the subway during rush hour. Except with offal just a few inches from my face.

Penny said she wanted to visit Merced for her photography workshop, the one I was helping her with as her guide and fixer. I tried to dissuade her.

“I’m overwhelmed every time I go, and I live here,” I said.

“I think it’ll be okay,” she said.

I still wasn’t convinced, but Penny enticed me with conchas at El Popular. So off we went one Saturday, after breakfast, the five of us, all women: Cindy, a photographer from San Francisco; Susan, a photographer from Washington state; Penny and I, and Averie, a blogger from San Diego.

At 8:30 a.m., Merced was the quietest I’d seen. The dude advertising anti-fungal medicine was there on the Circunvalación, blaring his ad full blast. (“Do you have problems with fungus? On your fingernails? Elsewhere?”) People bustled about the streets, getting on and off the peseros. The clothing and shoes vendors, the ones directly in front of the produce building, hadn’t opened yet. That meant we could walk in peace. No loud music, no taco vendors yelling about diez por diez, and nobody heaving gigantic bags of merchandise into our elbows and shoulders.

Mercado Merced is not just one market. It’s a complex of several buildings ringed with dozens (hundreds?) of open-air stands. These vendors sell anything from blenders to scrubbing brushes, to strainers for your tomato caldillo. To get to the meat and produce, you must walk past these vendors first. Or you can take the metro, which exits directly into the fruit-and-vegetable building. The most confusing thing to do is to take a cab to Merced, because it’s impossible to see anything but a sea of tarps. (We took a cab, but only because I knew where we were going.)

I hadn’t looked at Merced with a tourist’s eyes in a long time. The market awed me when I first moved here, with its dried chiles stacked over my head and its energy. I wanted to bring my camera several times. But that urge gradually faded away. I wasn’t a gringa tourist anymore, I was a chilanga who actually bought her dried corn and tamale flour here.

Since I had to leave fairly soon, Penny offered to walk around with me and help me with my camera settings. This meant I had to take photos and look for moments — moments meaning people. The idea scared me. What if the subject got mad and yelled? What if they glared at me? Penny said that if anyone didn’t want their picture taken, no pasa nada, I should just move on.

After a few minutes, I found my first moment: a guy tearing banana leaves off the plant’s long stalks. I liked that he was framed by bunches of plants that he’d already cleaned. I took out my camera and hesitantly started taking a few photos.

“Get closer!” Penny urged.

I got a little closer, and the guy gave me a funny look.

“Keep going. Stay there. Ignore him,” Penny said.

I stayed where I was and kept snapping.

The pictures were not particularly fantastic. But I felt like I’d crossed a line. It was like that first time I rode across Chapultepec Avenue on my bike, pedaling furiously, worried that someone would hit me and I’d get in an accident. Halfway across I realized it was a beautiful, breezy day, and all I had to do was forget about the traffic and relax and feel the wind in my hair. The banana-leaf guy probably thought I was a weirdo, but once I stopped thinking about him, I could concentrate on what he was doing: running a knife down a smooth, green leaf, folding its ends over each other, quickly, expertly. Watching him without fear — this is where the magic was.

My heart pounding (I took a picture of this guy and he didn’t get mad at me!) I told Penny I wanted to hit the meat market. I’d wandered around there on a recent shopping trip, gawking — I know I’m supposed to be a chilanga, but I couldn’t help it — at the chicharrón prensado stacked up eight and nine rows high. Do you know how insane that is? Mountains of chicharrón prensado, destined for the city’s gordita stands. The meat market stood for so many things I loved about Mexico City: the chaos, the absurdity, and all of its glorious pig parts used in so many different ways.

This time I was a little more bold.

A vendor chopping chicharrón prensado

In all, I spent about 40 minutes in the market before I had to leave. But it was enough to make me feel giddy — and just the teensiest bit guilty. Where had I been this past year or so? Why hadn’t I taken more pictures? I lived in one of the greatest food cities in the world, and I have all of this at my fingertips. I needed to remember that more.

For some amazing pictures of Mercado Merced, and Mexico City street food, you should visit Susan’s blog.

Mexico City Street Food

July 11, 2011 by Lesley Tellez

I’m helping out my friend Penny de los Santos with her photography workshop this weekend. I’ve been leading folks around, taking them to markets and street food stands, and encouraging them to try pulque and mezcal.

In return they’ve encouraged me to take out my camera from its lonely hiding place. It’s not that I haven’t been taking pictures — I have, but in the comfort of my own kitchen and not on the streets.

Here’s just a small set of what I shot, of Mexico City street food. (I’m ignoring the little voice that’s telling me that several of these could’ve been better.) I’ll have more over the coming days, and a little more about what I learned while hanging out with Penny.

Baked, sugar-dusted sweet potato with condensed milk

Palomitas, chicharrones and more for sale on the sidewalk

A carnitas taco

Roasted elote, served with cheese, chile powder and lime juice

Sprinkling salt -- or is it cheese? -- on the roasted corn

Papas, or potato chips, with Valentina sauce

Late night tacos al pastor... more to come on this stand later.

Scouring Mexico City’s food stalls with Penny de los Santos

June 10, 2011 by Lesley Tellez

Penny de los Santos was in Mexico City this week on assignment. I’ve written about her before — she gives photography workshops and works often for Saveur, and is generally always doing a million cool things at once.

We’re friends, so I sent her a little note suggesting we get together if she had time. She responded with a better offer: Would I mind being her assistant? The payment would be street food.

Dude. Would’ve done it for palomitas.

I didn’t really know what being a photo assistant meant, but it turned out to be a lot of hanging out (looking for “moments,” as Penny says), and holding the light reflector and flash bulb. The flash duties ended up being a lot of fun — I squeezed with Penny into a cantina booth and aimed the light at a serenading musician’s face, and then later captured a churro-maker in the Centro Histórico. I’m a timid photographer generally, but this flash stuff was liberating. I suddenly didn’t care if anyone yelled at me.

Really, the best part of the gig was watching Penny. She has this unbridled enthusiasm for her job. If she liked a certain fonda or a certain scene, she’d just stand there dumbfounded for a second and then exclaim, “This place is freaking awesome!” with a smile like she couldn’t believe this place existed, that the world could even come up with a place like this. And then she’d squeeze her way in, walking behind the kitchen counter to snap photos of pots bubbling on the stove, or standing on a chair, or walking up to a group of people eating to stick her lens between their shoulders.

It’s funny, because people seemed to forget about her after a few seconds. That seems like the real gift — how do you arrive on the scene as a photographer and then disappear?

I brought my own camera with me on these trips, but it stayed in my purse most of the time. Finally, on the third day, I got a little bolder. I even asked Penny how to adjust my white balance. She gave me a sort of pained look, like, “You really don’t know how to do that?”

Penny’s giving a workshop in Mexico City in July, if you’re interested in catching her next time she’s in town. I’ll be helping her out as a guide.

Here are a few shots I took when I finally dragged my camera out of its hiding spot.