The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

culture

The most popular Mexican condiments, and why I love them

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After a year-and-a-half of living and eating here, I’ve finally started to understand Mexicans’ deep, intense love affair with condiments.

For those of you who aren’t as well acquainted with how Mexicans — specifically chilangos — eat, here are a few examples:

1. People here eat pizza with Worcestershire sauce (known in Spanish as salsa inglesa) and snow cones with chamoy.

2. They eat sushi, gleefully, with gobs of cream cheese.

3. They pile tortas with layers of ingredients (do you know the torta cubana?) and mix seafood cocktails with ketchup and hot sauce.

4. Jugo Maggi, a concentrated, salty sauce, is ever-present at restaurants, to sprinkle on soup or meat or pasta. The vinegary, hot Salsa Valentina is often served too, to drench on saltine crackers, potato chips, peanuts and fruit.

Basically, a dish is not appetizing here unless it is salty, spicy, creamy, meaty and acidic all at once.

I used to turn my nose down at the whole 12-tastes-at-once flavor profile. But recently — maybe it’s taking my cooking classes or starting Eat Mexico — I’ve become much more appreciative of how peculiar and Mexican this is.

The torta, for me, has become a thing of wonder: a single sandwich, the base of which is avocado, tomato, beans and mayonnaise. (That’s the base!) The bread is scooped out to make room for the fillings, because it is not acceptable to pile less than one-inch’s worth of two types of meat, cheese, pineapple and a fried egg. (Depending on what you’re ordering.)

While cream cheese is not an authentic sushi ingredient, it is quite utilitarian in holding your Mexican sushi roll together, especially when said roll contains grilled onions and camarones al ajillo. Worcestershire sauce adds a salty umami kick to pizza. After taking a few bites, regular pizza suddenly feels… plain.

Lately I’ve taken to sprinkling Salsa Valentina on saltine crackers. It’s kind of like an appetizer and bar snack rolled into one. A year ago I would’ve never, ever done this.

I’m curious whether you find yourself adding a bunch of condiments to your food, too. What are your favorites?

Indulging in the “sobremesa”

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When I first moved to Mexico, I was annoyed, frankly, by the amount of time it took people to eat here.

At a typical restaurant, the waiter would drop off the menu and disappear. He would reappear to take our drink order, and then disappear again.

It was unnerving how no one, except me, cared about this. I’d be at a restaurant frantically trying to catch the waiter’s eye (should I stand up? should I go get him?) while every other Mexican looked happily oblivious. Lounging over their post-dinner coffees like they could have stayed there all night.

In Spanish this after-dinner lingering is called the “sobremesa.” An exact equivalent doesn’t exist in English, but it basically means chatting with friends after a meal and letting the food digest.

Basically, the sobremesa means that meals in Mexico — or rather, lunch, which is the biggest meal of the day — can stretch into two hours. Or even four, if you’re hanging out with your work buddies and throwing back tequilas.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever be one of these sobremesa, hanging-out-in-a-restaurant-all-afternoon types of persons. Patience is not one of my virtues, and after a meal I like to go home. But I’m happy to report that the change is underway.

Consider the evidence:

1. When I was in New York recently, I felt ambushed when the waiter appeared to take our order, five minutes after we sat down. Were we supposed to be reading our menus this whole time? Didn’t everyone else just want to have drinks and sit for awhile? It turned out, no. All the Americans were ready to order except me. I asked everyone nicely if we could please order appetizers first, and then decide later on our main plates.

2. We had lunch with Erik and Jesica recently, and the four of us hadn’t hung out in awhile. We met up at 2 p.m. at Barracuda Diner. At 3:30, we were still talking… at 4 p.m., still talking… and finally at 4:30, Crayton and I had to leave to pick up our friend at the airport. But I could have stayed longer. It was fantastic, this sitting after a meal without a care in the world except the company we were with. Two hours had ticked by, and I hadn’t once fretted about some task that had to be done at home.

3. I now love when the waiter drops off the drink menu and disappears. I think it’s classy.

What about you? Do you like lingering after a meal?

How Mexicans celebrate Cinco de Mayo (hint: it’s not with sombreros and maracas)

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It’s funny. Last year I don’t remember there being such hoopla in the States over Cinco de Mayo. Or maybe there was and I ignored it because it seemed normal. This year, multiple friends in the States have asked me about Cinco de Mayo celebrations here. My Twitter feed and Google Alerts have blown up with various Cinco de Mayo party tips and recipe ideas.

It seems a little strange, because people in Mexico — or at least, people in Mexico City — don’t celebrate Cinco de Mayo. No one has the day off. There are no two-for-one margarita happy hour specials. (Chilangos don’t drink margaritas, unless they have American friends in town.) No one really throws any parties, and there aren’t any parades in the streets. The latter is really saying something, because there are parades for just about any holiday here.

Mexico City’s largest newspaper, El Universal, doesn’t even mention Cinco de Mayo on its website today. There is a big story on Paulina Rubio being pregnant.

The truth is, Cinco de Mayo has become more important in the United States than it has in Mexico. Kind of cool, isn’t it? It’s the one day out of the year when we get to acknowledge that Mexico has influenced who we are as Americans, through food and drink and music. (For a little Cinco de Mayo food history, check this AOL News story, which traces the American roots of a few popular dishes.)

The most important part of the holiday, to me, is the idea that Mexican influence and Mexican-American identity are positive things, and not anything we should ignore or view with suspicion.

My senior year in college, my roommates and I threw a big Cinco de Mayo party and I remember being really happy about it, because at the time — living in Boston — I felt pretty culturally isolated. (Most Latinos in the city then were either Puerto Rican or Dominican.)

I remember standing by the stove for much of the night, and not minding it at all, because I was warming tortillas and making quesadillas and who knows what else. People seemed very impressed that there was another way to warm tortillas besides in the microwave. And very few people had ever had homemade Mexican food before. We played mariachi music and I wore an embroidered Mexican blouse, which I promptly spilled red enchilada sauce on. It was a great night.

For a detailed history on Cinco de Mayo and how it’s celebrated in the United States, I highly recommend Wikipedia.

Feliz Cinco de Mayo to you!

El Super Tazón (or The Super Bowl in Mexico)

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While Lesley’s studying at an ashram in India, her husband Crayton is guest-posting. Please be kind to him.

Wow, that was an impressive victory by Los Santos in el Super Tazón. I don’t know how to say “onside kick” in Spanish but:

“First down” = “Primer diez”
“Second down” = “Segunda oportunidad”
“Touchdown” = “Anotación”

Interestingly, Mexico has four different ways to watch the Super Bowl. You can watch on one of the two national broadcast networks, Televisa and TV Azteca, and on two cable networks, ESPN and Fox Sports. No matter what you watched last night, El Who’s halftime performance was weird, with the vocals out of sync with the video. We chose Fox Sports for the broadcast. The announcers, who called the game from a studio with occasional “color” feeds by cellphone from a guy who was actually in Miami, just seemed a little more knowledgeable than the rest.

American football (as opposed to “football,” which is soccer, guys) is quite popular in Mexico. In my first year in el DF, the Steelers seemed to me to be the most popular team based on the jerseys I saw, so I’ll be interested to see if that changes now that we have a new champion. The Cowboys are perennially popular, along with the Pats and the Broncos. I’ve spotted a good number of jerseys of my team, the Bears. I think the north of Mexico is pretty exclusively Cowboys territory, but the capital is a little more diverse.

Someone once told me that the Steelers – the Acereros – are popular in Mexico because the NFL first started broadcasting in the country in the 1970s, when the Steelers were pretty much everything one would want in a football team.

I ‘ve posted a bit before about how to watch American football in Mexico. You can get the Sunday Ticket here if you are able to get a satellite TV receiver. There’s no (legal) way to do it over the Internet here, though you can sign up for Internet broadcasts in other countries further away from the U.S.

That’s where the NBA has the NFL beat.  I’m addicted to International League Pass, the gateway to U.S. professional basketball. I can watch my Phoenix Suns play every night, along with every other game in the league. Thanks, Internet!

OK, i just checked. “Onside kick” is “patada corta.” Now you know.

(Oh! I almost forgot! Some people like to watch the Super Bowl just for commercials! Not so much in Mexico, where there are just regular commercials for cars and such, nothing special. To watch the Real Super Bowl Commercials, expats must rely on the Internet once again. Pass the guacamole!)

New Year’s Eve traditions in Mexico

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On New Year’s Eve, our friends Carlos and Daniela invited us to spend the evening with Carlos’s Mexican grandmother.

She lives in a quiet colonia north of the city, and so we drove up and hung out with Carlos’s father, little brother, aunt, uncle and a few cousins. The grandmother, who I’m going to call Lila (I think that was her name but I don’t entirely remember), had prepared a big feast: spaghetti with tomato sauce and cheese, bacalao, pork loin in achiote sauce, creamy apple salad with pecans, and romeritos with mole.

We munched on strawberry ate and cheese and crackers, and sat down to eat around 9:30 or 10 p.m. We talked about the difference between New Year’s Eve in Mexico and in the U.S., and how in the latter, the night’s mostly built around partying with your friends.

At midnight, we each got a small plate of grapes.

“Make a wish for each one you eat,” Lila told me.

I did. Then we poured champagne, and Daniela took off her wedding ring and slipped it into her glass.

“For good luck,” she said. I did the same.

After that, we walked out the front door and took turns tossing a cup of water into the front yard, to signify less tears in the New Year. We threw coins on the sidewalk, for financial stability. Then, Lila gave us each a tote bag, and we walked into the street.

“Córrele!” she said to me, smiling. Run!

Carlos, Daniela, Crayton and I ran down the street with our tote bags, all of us trailing behind Lila, who is very spry.

The longer we ran, the more exotic locations we’d travel to in 2010, or so the thinking went. Since Crayton and I are already planning to go to India, Carlos joked that we’d have to run 16 blocks. I made it maybe one and then came back.

Next New Year’s Eve, I’m wearing more comfortable shoes.

A Mexican YouTube Classic: “Edgar Se Cae”

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[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b89CnP0Iq30&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Edgar Se Cae, a video about a chubby Mexican boy who falls into a creek while shrieking, “No guey!”, is a Mexican YouTube phenomenon. Nearly 17 million people have watched the original video since it debuted in 2006. This month Chilango magazine included the video on its list of most memorable moments of the decade.

Edgar spoofs abound on YouTube. There’s a Donkey Kong version, a Super Mario Brothers version and a Mortal Kombat version. There are Edgar Se Cae cartoons. My favorite one ends with Edgar waddling out of the creek, little blue pools beneath his eyes. “Pobre niño gordo,” a caption reads. (“Poor little fat boy.”)

My friend Jesica showed the original video to us a couple of months ago. I thought it was funny, but not 17-million-views funny. Then I looked at it several times this morning, and found myself giggling. Edgar’s friend coaxes him across the creek, and then forces Edgar to fall. SPLASH! Oh god, watch it again.

Seriously, it’s a story of the underdog. Mexican’s aren’t just laughing at Edgar — well, they are, especially when his “no guey!” and “ya guey!” shrieks get progressively louder — they’re laughing at how sometimes, the skinnier, stronger guy gets the leg up, and there’s nothing they can do about it.

Also, sometimes kids are just plain mean.

How to cook a tortilla

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A nopal tortilla, about to be half-burned on my Mexico City stovetop.

When I was growing up, my mom used to heat up tortillas by placing them, one at a time, on our stove’s gas flame. We usually had flour instead of corn, and she’d put one on the flame and then go away for a few seconds. When the air started to smell like charred toast, she’d come back and flip it. One side of the tortilla would be covered with black, burned splotches.

“You burned it!” I’d tell her.

She’d say: “I like them that way.”

I used to think eating burned tortillas was weird. But lately, I’ve started leaving my corn tortillas on the flame just a little bit longer. The burned parts give it this smoky, carbony taste, and it makes the tortilla a little crisper, without turning it into a tostada.

Here in Mexico, our stove has a comal between the burners. I used it once to heat up my corn tortillas, and I’m kind of ashamed to admit that I didn’t like it too much. The tortillas came out too soft. Not enough burnt parts.

How do you like your tortillas? And how do you cook them?

A pretty, burned tortilla, which is my favorite way to eat them.

Baby got (plastic) back

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When I was in high school, I used to hate that my body didn’t look like all the other girls’. My jeans always fit a little too snugly in the rear, which embarrassed me, because boys occasionally checked me out and no doubt they thought I dressed that way on purpose. “I didn’t ask for this butt!” I wanted to tell my girlfriends, who all had average-sized rear ends.

Over the years I’ve made peace with my body, mostly. But wandering around with Crayton in the Zona Rosa on Saturday night, I noticed a few mannequins that were crying out for some Sir Mix-A-Lot companionship. Actually, I think my exact words to Crayton were, “DUDE! Do you see this? I gotta get a picture!”

Mexico City's ideal woman

At that moment, I felt a twinge of pride. Mexico loves voluptuous women and that just so happens to be me. Thank you, bodacious mannequins.

To buenos días, or not to buenos días

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It’s customary here to say “buenos días” or “buenas tardes” upon entering a place of business. Most people, I’ve noticed, don’t even pair it with an “hola.” Just buenas tardes or whatever and then on to their request. (I.e., two for dinner, can you dry clean these pants, etc.)

What I can’t figure out is whether it’s customary to greet strangers on the street. I’ve seen some people do it and some people not. So now, whenever I pass people walking by themselves, I find myself feeling kind of anxious. What if they look my way? Should I say it? Should I not say it? (My ansiedad could also stem from the fact that in Dallas, where I lived for seven years, it was considered rude not to smile and say hi to passersby.)

Once, I said it to a middle-aged woman who was standing alone on the sidewalk, staring off into space. She broke into a huge grin. “Buenos días,” she returned. The same thing happened in my neighborhood one other time, when I said it to a lady walking her dog.

In Patzcuaro, greeting strangers seemed much more common. People said buenos días when they got on the bus, and all the other passengers said it back. When I was hiking up to El Estribo, the town’s lookout point with a pretty view of the lake, I said buenos días to everyone, albeit half out of breath. (I was hiking uphill for more than an HOUR.) The persons receiving the greeting always smiled and said it back. Two teenage girls said it in unison, sing-songy, like they’d been doing this all their life.

The point is: I have no idea why I’m so obsessed with this, but I’d like to make sure I’m following the custom correctly.

If you live here, do you greet other people on the street? My rule so far has been that if someone makes eye contact, and we’re the only two people on the sidewalk, I’ll say it. But maybe that’s weird and wrong and I should just shut up because we live in a big city, and it’d be like saying hi to someone in New York City, which identifies you as a crazy person.

The jóven phenomenon

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I noticed shortly after I moved here that Mexicans yell “jóven!” when they want a waiter’s attention. The word means “young person.” But people do it even if the waiter is 90 years old.

I watched a Mexican friend do it a few times and thought something was lost in translation. So I asked her to clarify: “Um — do you really call people jóven if they’re older than you are?” She nodded at me, like, DUH.

Since then I’ve noticed people use it in the grocery store — “Jóven, will you help me reach this carton of milk on the top shelf?” — and at department stores. “Jóven, where are the women’s shoes?”

I never used it because it just felt weird. Why would I call someone older than me “young person”? That seems derogatory.

Yesterday, we went to the cantina around the corner from our house, because it was thunderstorming and we didn’t want to walk too far. I wanted a beer. But I couldn’t catch any of the waiters’ eyes. One was watching the soccer game. Another stood behind the bar, staring off into the middle distance. This is normal, by the way. It’s always hard to catch a waiter’s eye here — they’re either walking too fast, or staring straight ahead, or… watching the soccer game.

I fidgeted a bit. Should I or shouldn’t I? Well, I have to do it with authority, if I did do it. None of this meek “jóven…?” business. It must be a strong, clear “jóven.” A jóven that says, “I am the boss.”

I took a deep breath.

“Jóven!” I yelled.

The waiter staring into the middle distance quickly looked over.

“Sí señorita?”

“Otra cerveza, por favor.”

“Sí, cómo no.”

I smiled, a big smile. Couldn’t help myself.