Crayton

Crayton decided a few days ago that he wanted to make figgy pudding for Christmas this year.

He’d been humming “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” on Wednesday night when he suddenly asked, “What is figgy pudding, anyway?”

We looked it up on the Internet and discovered it was a cake filled with dried, boozy fruits. We found a recipe by Dorie Greenspan and it seemed easy enough: whip up a type of cake batter, add some spices, scrape it into a bundt pan. The cake did need to be steamed, which meant we’d cook it on the stove top in a water bath. But we could do that. I had a new tamale-steamer that could double as a stock pot.

So, on Christmas Eve, I shopped for figgy pudding ingredients while Crayton worked. Found everything quickly except for the dried figs, which took me two hours to find. Eventually scored them at the El Progreso spice shop near Mercado San Juan.

On Christmas Day, Crayton made the whole thing almost entirely by himself. I hovered nearby and washed the dishes, and chopped the apricots. I prayed he wouldn’t burn the house down. Lighting the cake on fire is a key part of figgy pudding presentation, and that’s all he kept talking about: “We’re going to make figgy pudding and light it on fire!”

Mixing the butter and eggs together

Folding together the eggs, sugar and fresh breadcrumbs, which Crayton pulsed in the food processor

Alcohol-soaked figs and raisins, softly burning in a very safe area of our kitchen

The thick batter, ready to be scraped into my cathedral bundt

The finished bundt, ready for steaming

The pudding finished cooking in about two hours. Crayton used a knife to loosen the pudding’s edges, just like the recipe said. (He’d printed out a copy and placed it on the kitchen table, for handy reference.)

When he was done loosening the cake, I started to advise him on how to invert it onto our wire cooling rack.

Before I could say more than two words, though, he simply picked up the pan and tipped it over. Plop. The pudding fell out in one big mass. I winced.

But the cake looked fine. More than fine — it was pretty.

And it tasted fantastic: hearty, moist, and soaked in bits of alcohol-drenched fruit. I liked the apricots the best, but Crayton loved the raisins. “They’re little booze bombs,” he said.

No lie. We had wine with dinner and after one slice of cake for dessert, I felt my head swimming. Crayton asked if I wanted to see Avatar later on that evening, and I shook my head. “I’m drunk,” I said.

But three hours and many glasses of water later, I felt fine. We saw Avatar after all. It was good, if you disregarded the dialogue.

Oh, and Crayton did light the cake on fire, fulfilling his one Christmas wish. The flames only burned for a few seconds before they went out. Next time, I’ll pour the rum while he has the match ready. We’re making figgy pudding an annual Christmas tradition.

Recipe below.
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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!

Oh, bring us some figgy pudding

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