(Postres y Botanas)
Mexico is naturally blessed with some of the best ingredients for sweets and desserts.
Sugarcane is grown by individual farmers and large plantations. So plentiful is this plant that the canes themselves are sold in bundles and small children chew on their sweet stalks while riding in the backs of open pickup trucks.
Vanilla originated here, and still grows wild into large verdant vines along the edges of the country’s tropical rainforests.
Let’s not forget the great cacao, the giant pods used to make chocolate. It was so revered, in fact, that the Aztec and Maya considered the processed chocolate to be the drink of the gods. The traditional addition of ground chile to this beautiful cacao makes Mexican chocolate a culinary wonder.
In addition to the ingredients that grow naturally in this tropical paradise, one of the few good things that resulted from the Spanish invasion of the “new” world is cinnamon. Now, we can’t imagine Mexican cuisine without this fragrant bark, especially added to Mexican chocolate, ground into mole, and used to coat deliciously warm churros.
I remember the first time I had a churro—the Mexican version of a doughnut. It was from a panaderia (bakery) up the street from my family’s market. The owner would come out from the back, offering fresh sticks straight out of the fryer, his fingers still coated in cinnamon and sugar as he handed us those striped delights wrapped in crisp waxed paper. His enormous belly would jiggle with his hearty laugh, as flour fell from his large white undershirt, like light snow falling on the checkered floor.
When I was in college, I’d move a couple of times a year, each time making sure that my new apartment was within walking distance of a panaderia. Not only could I enjoy the aromas of freshly baked pan dulce (sweet breads), but being near one, I always felt I was part of a community. I could walk in and see old men playing checkers and young mothers clucking at their children, like mother hens gathering their chicks.
Even now, as my house fills with the sweet aromas of Three Milks Cake emanating from the oven, I think of the man who would give me the best little pig-shaped cookies in the world. When I lick the cinnamon-sugar from my fingers as the last of the churros has been rolled, I always remember the days of working at my parents’ store and how the generosity of a Mexican baker filled me with hope for the rest of my life.