holidays

Christmastime at Mercado Medellín in the Colonia Roma

December 9, 2010 by Lesley Tellez

I’ve been kind of a Christmas grinch lately.

It’s not a fun time to be living in Mexico City. The traffic is twice as bad. Drivers become despots of their own car-kingdoms, leaning on their horns at any pedestrian in their way. (Even if us walkers have the light!) Christmas lights blink wildly on random street corners, part of these pop-up markets on the sidewalk. And there are no taxis available.

I had a whole post planned last week about how Christmas had turned me into a ball-busting chilanga who glares at everyone. At the end I’d asked for advice: what do I to make my spirit feel a little brighter?

I realized the answer before I could post anything. For me, getting into the spirit meant staying home and curling up with Crayton while listening to Christmas music and decorating our tree. It meant making ponche spiked with brandy. And visiting a market specifically to marvel at the Christmas items — not the hurried, in-and-out visit I normally do.

Last week I took a trip to Mercado Medellín in the Roma, which is where I buy my dried chiles and mole pastes. It’s also one of the stops on Eat Mexico’s Taco Tour.

Like nearly every market in the city right now, they’ve got piles of winter fruit for making ponche, which is the typical warm punch enjoyed during the holidays in Mexico. Dozens of piñatas and their long, papery streamers dangle from the ceiling.

Sugarcane, called caña in Spanish, is peeled and chopped used in ponche

Tejocotes, called Hawthorne apple in English, taste somewhere between an apple and a pear. They're peeled, seeded, halved and boiled until soft for ponche.

Guavas are at their freshest and most aromatic in December. They can literally perfume an entire room.

Tangerines aren't used in ponche, but they're plentiful around this time of year. They're called mandarina in Spanish.

After buying my ponche fruit, I discovered an area I’d never visited before, a hallway lined with fondas selling romeritos, bacalao and buñuelos. I asked the woman at a fonda called “Sonia” if I could have half romeritos and half bacalao, and she agreed.

Last year I had trouble getting into the whole romeritos-drowned-in-mole thing, but now the dish is growing on me. Good mole is key.

The romeritos are on the left.

A pot of bacalao from Chucho's, a fonda next door to Sonia's inside the Mercado Medellín

Buñuelos, with a pitcher of piloncillo syrup

After leaving the market, I felt much better, and I no longer wanted to kill any of the honking drivers on the streets. I even stopped at the Christmas tchotchke market and debating buying some hand-painted ornaments.

I’d still like to know: Are you feeling grinchy this year, too? What are you doing to get into the spirit of things?

A plain but lovely pan de muerto, or Day of the Dead bread

November 3, 2010 by Lesley Tellez

Día de los Muertos is my favorite holiday in Mexico City. I love the orange cempasúchitl flowers that suddenly pop up in the street medians and parks, and the altars sprinkled with flower petals and candles. I love watching the seasonal fall foods finally arrive in the markets: pan de muerto, calabaza en tacha, tejocotes.

Sadly, the Día de los Muertos season pretty much passed me by this year. I was traveling in the States through most of October, and then I got home and promptly caught a head cold. I was too sick to visit the Sugar Skull Market in Toluca like I did last year, or wander around checking out ofrendas.

One thing I could do, though, was make my own pan de muerto. Last year I took a class on how to make the round, orange-flavored loaves, so I was already familiar with what the dough contained — basically flour and a lot of butter — and how to form the ropes on top to make “bones.” The bread has a delicate orange taste, which comes from a few spoonfuls of orange blossom water, known in Spanish as agua de azahar.

I wanted to use Fany Gerson’s Pan de Muerto recipe from My Sweet Mexico. But I had to tweak a few things, because I was too tired and/or I didn’t have enough time to seek out the proper ingredients. Watered-down orange blossom essence became my substitute for agua de azahar, because it was all I could find. I dipped into my abundance of mascabado — unrefined cane sugar — and used that instead of regular white sugar, even though it made the dough less sweet.

Once I started baking, more issues popped up. My yeast starter, made from instant yeast and not active-dry as the recipe had stated, didn’t bubble, sending me into a panic. I couldn’t tell if my dough was too sticky, or not sticky enough. The dough also rose sloooowly: three hours during the first rising, and a whopping five after the dough chilled in the fridge overnight. (Note to Future Lesley: Do not place buttery dough in an heated oven to speed things up, as it’ll turn it into a greasy, sloppy mess.)

While my loaves baked, I discovered my oven temperature was whacked-out. My first batch looked pretty and golden-brown. When I sliced into it, the insides were still doughy and chewy.

So yeah. What I’m trying to say here is that both of my pan de muertos turned out kind of flat and homely.

I didn’t care too much in the end. The bread was the centerpiece of my Día de los Muertos celebration this year, and I was going to enjoy it. I sprinkled one loaf with sugar and the other without, as an experiment. I actually liked the un-sugared one better — it was lightly sweet and perfect with a cup of hot chocolate. Crayton and I each had a wedge for dessert on Nov. 1, while the candles burned on our altar. (Yes, that’s a bottle of Coke below. It’s for Crayton’s relatives in South Carolina.)

Here are the shots of my flattish, but still tasty, breads.

For more pan de muerto adventures, check out Three Clever Sisters (she also used Fany’s recipe, resulting in these cute, plump little loaves) and Steven McCutcheon-Rubio’s post on Serious Eats. If you made pan de muerto this year, send me a picture of it and I’ll post it here.

UPDATE: Here’s a picture of reader Isabel’s pan de muerto…

And Don Cuevas’s bread:

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More Mexican Christmas dinner tales: bacalao

December 28, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

Bacalao is the Spanish word for a slab of boneless, skinless dried salt cod. The filets — long, snowy looking things — pop up in all the Mexico City grocery stores and markets during Christmastime.

I had eaten fried bacalao a few times in Spain, but I’d never tried it the Mexican way, which combines tomatoes, onions, green olives, chiles and garlic to make a kind of fishy stew.

The idea of cooking with salted fish intrigued me, in a Laura Ingalls Wilder kind of way. (Remember how her family used to eat salt pork?) So I picked out a rather large, one-and-a-half pound piece at Mercado de la Merced a few weeks ago, and asked the vendor for cooking instructions.

She gave me a detailed list, which I wrote down in my moleskine. You can see them below, at the bottom of the page.

To check the recipe’s veracity, I flipped through Diana Kennedy and Rick Bayless, who currently comprise the bulk of my Mexican cooking library. Luckily, “Rick Bayless’s Mexican Kitchen” had a recipe that mirrored the vendor’s instructions almost exactly. I decided I’d whip up a mixture of his dish and the market vendor’s.

Unfortunately, amid attending a friend’s posada and throwing my own tamalada, I didn’t plan very well. Bacalao must be de-salted before cooking, which means it has to sit in a dish of water for several hours. Once mine was sufficiently salt-free, I was up to my ears in cornhusks. I wasn’t ready to cook it, so I stuck it in the freezer for a few days and prayed.

Surprisingly, it turned out great. The fish was hearty and toothsome, but not tough. And the tomato-onion mixture was the perfect foil — light, spicy, and with a kick of saltiness from the olives. I added small red potatoes, too, although you can also serve it with rice. The dish looks complicated, but really, it’s not difficult at all. We’ve been eating the leftovers over the past few days and it only gets better with time.

I think this might be another new Christmas tradition, along with figgy pudding.

Recipe below.
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Live blogging: Stumbling my way through one dozen tamales

December 15, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

This weekend I’m hosting a bunch of women for a tamalada, or tamale-making party. Seeing as I haven’t made tamales in like three years, and the last time was with a cooking course — when they chopped everything for me and cleaned up — I figured I should try a practice batch today, just to see how they turn out. And hell, since I’m doing this all by myself, why not live blog it?

I’ve got all my ingredients. Windows are open, as to diffuse any strange cooking smells. Hair is back. Apron, about to be tied on. Music, I need to choose. Other than that I’m ready to go.

Ooooh! Can you feel the excitement? What’ll happen? Will my lard be rancid, as a teensy weensy part of me thinks? (Because I purchased it from a plastic bucket, from a random dude at Mercado Merced.) Will I succumb to the little voice in my head telling me to toss in a handful of romeritos and mole as tamale filling, even though that’s not a typical Mexican Christmas tamale?

Will I eat all of my queso manchego before it makes it into the masa?

And how the heck long is this going to take, anyway?

Find out. Live tamale blogging starts now.
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Traditional Day of the Dead candy

November 3, 2009 by Lesley Tellez

All the Day of the Dead festivities officially ended yesterday. Boo.

I did want to share with you, though: The Feria de Alfeñique had some of the neatest looking Day of the Dead candy, much of it from dulce de pepita, which is a thick, moldeable paste made from pumpkin seeds. It’s lightly sweet.

Almost everything was in miniature, which of course made the girlie side of me cry out. Especially when I saw the tiny pieces of sweet bread.

And then the teeny tortas. I bought one, just because they were so adorable. The man selling them joked, “Would you like one with ham or milanesa?”

There were also candy rats….

And hundreds of chocolates…

And tiny pieces of fruit, made from dulce de leche. (This is different from the dulce de leche in Argentina — it’s sweeter, and doesn’t have that warm caramel taste.) I liked dulce de pepita better, because it wasn’t as sweet.

And that’s not even mentioning the sugary fruits and vegetables. They’re regular old pieces of fruit (or squashes, or sweet potatoes) that have been boiled down with sugar and slathered in honey. They’re eaten a piece at a time, so you can savor their extreme-sugar state.

My faves, for their pure unique value, were the shriveled carrots and the nopal.

Lastly, I saw chongos zamoranos, which I’d read about in a few cookbooks but never seen up-close. I pictured little knots of honeyed curds — not sure why. These looked kind of like fried pastry dough, and ended up tasting like thin, ultra-concentrated sheets of dulce de leche.

Basically, another big mouthful of pure sugar. The chongos were too sweet for me.

Looking at all these now, I wish I would have bought more dulce de pepita. It’s 8:24 a.m., and I could really use a teeny torta right now with my coffee.