TO EVEN BEGIN TO WRITE ABOUT THE FOODS OF OAXACA is a formidable task. This is by far the most complex area in Mexico to know and understand. The difficult terrain, some of it still without paved roads, the many cultural groups, and the microclimates that produce the different types of chiles, herbs, and wild edible plants and how they are used could be the study of a lifetime. In my other books over the years I have published many recipes from Oaxaca that only begin to scratch the surface of these diverse cuisines. Here I would like to give more of an overview and tell you a little more about my travels in this fascinating state. My first trip to Oaxaca, and on to Chiapas, was in 1965. My friend Irene Nicholson, a stringer for the Times of London and poetess, and I decided to go and see the ceremonies in Zinacantán in the sierras of Chiapas and the city of Oaxaca as we passed through. With much trepidation, my foreign correspondent husband, Paul, agreed to let me drive the New York Times’s Triumph Mark II. It was the longest journey I had made by car, but I was confident after my weeks of instruction about the mechanics of it by a former British army mechanic and fellow owner of a Triumph. In those days the route from Mexico City was more circuitous, through Tehuacán, and then there was the long, lonely stretch of road to Huajuapan de León through chaparral with the occasional spectacular cacti and palms. You also had to ford a small but fast-flowing river—it was the rainy season. The road then climbs up through scrubland until its serpentine descent into the valley below. There is a final long rise, and then, as the road descends on the other side, the land falls away steeply to a valley with serried rows of peaks and sharp drops, the sheer rock faces and soil a brilliant orange-red in contrast to their fresh green capping of new growth. And there below, standing alone majestically with the treeless eroded land as a backdrop, is the sixteenth-century Dominican monastery of Yanhuitlán. It is, without doubt, one of the most spectacular sights in Mexico. There follows a long, straight stretch of road through rocky land, white with limestone, where only palms and cactus thrive (the palms are woven into the baskets for which Oaxaca is so famous, with simple but brilliant-colored designs called tenates). On either side of the road are thin strips of cultivation: corn, pumpkins, or wheat where there is a spring of water to irrigate, and the occasional small village or settlement. Later on in the fall you can see the dried cornstalks or other fodder held high above the earth and protected from marauders in the outstretched thick limbs of the trees. The highway rises again and winds along a ridge with the land dropping off steeply on either side, giving distant views of the mountainous country of the Mixteca Alta, much of it bare of trees or thinly covered with tall, dark pines known as piñares. As the road begins to descend once more for the final stage of the drive, the vegetation is a little more lush with scrubby oaks, pines, and richer undergrowth as the road finally winds down into the extensive valley of Oaxaca.
I have been back many times during the years and think back with nostalgia about tranquil Oaxaca; the air cool and scented, the sky limpid, and the old buildings of moss-green mottled stone standing serene before the senseless modernization that was at first unchecked. It was a magical place and in many ways still is. But now buses roar along, belching out their smoke and fumes, and every driver (certainly every taxi driver) is allowed to zoom loudly through the streets with macho exhausts designed to attract attention to the driver.
No writing on the foods of Oaxaca should be without its mention and appreciation of those outstanding regional cooks who (however unwittingly) are devoted to the preservation of their traditional foods using the authentic ingredients and their painstaking preparation: Abigail Mendoza in Teotitlán del Valle, Señoras Esmirna and Juanita of Tlaxiaco, Señora Armandina of Pinotepa, Señoras Oralia Pineda and Amelia Castillo in Juchitán, and my first teachers—the late Micaela of Tezoatlán and Señora Domitila Morales in Oaxaca itself, among many others.
Abigail is the star of the Zapotec kitchen. She is immensely capable and intelligent, with always a smile on her wonderfully expressive face. She and her galaxy of sisters prepare the local traditional foods at her restaurant, Tlalmanalli, in the weaving village of Teotitlán del Valle using age-old methods. It may seem like hard labor to an outsider, but years of practice from an early age allow them to make light work of it. Their late father was much respected in the village and on different occasions was mayordomo of church festivities. Owing to her mother’s illness, Abigail took over the onerous and responsible task of preparing the food that is ritually served on those occasions, as well as the feast served at the fandangos—elaborate weddings—of her brothers. This year, in May, I was invited to attend a fandango to mark the wedding of one of the brothers and stood mesmerized for the three days I was there—it lasts five—at the incredible amount of organization that goes into receiving and feeding five hundred guests and fifty helpers, the latter mostly relatives and godmothers. The preparations took over not only the large patio of the house—where two enormous zebu bulls were slaughtered—but an empty field opposite where the tortilla makers were set out under an improvised shelter, kneeling beside their metates to give one final grinding to the masa before making their individual large tortillas and tlayudas on earthenware comals over a wood fire.
Eight of the largest pigs were killed the day before, and every part of the animal was used—the skin for chicharrón, the entrails fried for viuces, the blood for moronga sausage, and the meat cut up into hunks and hung up to air in an open area of a neighbor’s house. Fifty turkeys, sixty hens, kilos of dried chiles, and what seemed like tons of vegetables were deftly dealt with. Surprisingly, the men were sorting the beans and dealing with the turkeys, while the older and more experienced women were directing the others in making the stews, moles, atoles, and sauces. There was a continual low hum of activity accentuated by the rhythmic grinding of the ingredients for either the tejate or for chocolate atole, in the patio, accompanied by the quiet gossiping and giggling of the young women who were allotted the task. They were kneeling in front of their metates—kept exclusively for this use—in two long lines facing each other. They worked for hours, rocking to and fro with the motion and only very occasionally would you see one of them resting. The women of the family hardly slept and by the third day looked tired and disheveled (I quietly thanked the powers that control the universe for not having been born a Zapotec maiden). At every stage of the proceedings there were blessings—over the animals to be sacrificed, for the exchange of gifts between the parents of the couple and the godparents of the wedding,* and distribution of food, and for those who had come to help. There were the ceremonial dances and processions to the family altar with brightly painted jícaras full of sugar-flowers. I will leave Abigail to give you the details of the food in her recently published cookbook that I had urged her to write for several years. Here are two of her recipes, which I use often: arroz con camarón seco and salsa de chile pasilla (de Oaxaca).
ARROZ CON CAMARÓNSECO
RICE WITH DRIED SHRIMP
SRITA. ABIGAIL MENDOZA
[SERVES 4 TO 6]
Although this is a typical Lenten dish, a main course for Abigail, I like to serve it as a first course any time of the year since it is a delicious and different way of cooking rice. Of course there are many variations of this recipe. In Juchitán it tends to be simpler with the addition of a little pure achiote for color and flavor. In other areas they use the large fleshy-leaved “oregano” (Plectranthus amboinicus) instead of the dried oregano.
3 ounces (85 grams) small dried shrimp, about 1-1/2 rounded cups (375 milliliters), firmly packed
1 cup (250 milliliters) long-grain white rice, not precooked or converted
2 tablespoons vegetable or olive oil
1 large scallion, including some of the green leaves, chopped
6 serrano chiles, whole
1-1/2 cups (375 milliliters) water
3 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
Scant 1/4 teaspoon cumin seeds, crushed
2 cloves, crushed
4 ounces (115 grams) tomatoes, coarsely chopped, about 3/4 cup (188 milliliters)
1/4 teaspoon dried oregano
Salt to taste
Rinse the shrimp in cold water to remove the excess salt. Remove the heads and legs and reserve. Immerse the shrimp in fresh water and leave to soak for 5 minutes. Rinse the rice twice in cold water and drain well. Heat the oil in a flameproof casserole and stir in the rice so that the grains get coated evenly with the oil. Cook over medium heat for about 3 minutes, then add the scallion and serrano chiles and continue cooking, taking care not to let the onion burn, for a few minutes longer or until the rice begins to take on a pale golden color.
Meanwhile, put 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) of the water in a blender, add the garlic, cumin seeds, and cloves, then blend until smooth. Gradually add the tomatoes and the reserved heads and legs of the shrimp, blending until almost smooth. Add the puree to the rice and cook over medium heat, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan until the juice has been absorbed—about 15 minutes. Add the shrimp, oregano, and salt if necessary with the remaining cup of water, cover, and cook over low heat until all the water has been absorbed—about 15 minutes. Season well and set aside off the heat for the rice to expand for 10 to 15 more minutes before serving. Serve each portion with one of the chiles. Serve with chile pasilla sauce if desired (recipe follows).
SALSA DE CHILE PASILLA (DE OAXACA)
CHILE PASILLA (OAXACAN) SAUCE
SRITA. ABIGAIL MENDOZA
[MAKES APPROXIMATELY 1 CUP (250 MILLILITERS)]
One of the most intriguing sauces of Mexico is this one from Abigail Mendoza, the star of Zapotec cooking. She says this sauce may be made with either the smoky, fruity dried chile pasilla from Oaxaca or the dried chile de agua, which is very picante but not so flavorful. I suggest you use chipotles moras if pasillas are not available. There is an interesting difference here because the hoja santa is asado, toasted until almost crisp, which gives a spicier flavor. You do need the pale-colored Mexican dried shrimp—be sure the heads are still attached (use the meaty body part for the rice in the preceding recipe). This sauce would traditionally be ground on the metate (not in the molcajete) and served as a table sauce, to be eaten with just a tortilla, on top of the rice cooked with the rest of the shrimp, or on top of a bowl of frijoles de olla.
6 large chiles pasillas de Oaxaca or 12 chipotle mora chiles
1/3 cup (83 milliliters) loosely packed dried shrimp heads (see note above) with the eyes removed
4 hoja santa leaves, toasted on a comal or griddle until crisp
3 garlic cloves, peeled
1 cup (250 milliliters) water
Salt to taste
Rinse the chiles rapidly in cold water and wipe clean and dry. Lightly toast the chiles (in warm wood ash, if possible) on a comal or griddle; remove the seeds and tear into pieces. Toast the shrimp heads on the comal, turning them over frequently so they do not burn. Crumble them into a blender, add the chiles, hoja santa, garlic, and water, then blend to a textured consistency. Stir in salt to taste. Add more water if necessary to bring the sauce to a medium consistency.
. . .
Dried shrimp play an important part in the diet of Oaxacans—not surprisingly since the main source for them is the waters of the Isthmus at the extreme south of the state. They are caught in abundance in the waters off San Mateo del Mar, and after a brief cooking they are salted and dried in the sun—the drying process is aided greatly by the constant high winds for which that area is renowned. Dried shrimp make a durable source of protein that can withstand the heat and can be transported to remote areas in the sierra without fear of spoiling.
The concentrated flavor of dried shrimp enhances soups, rice, tamales, beans, and table sauces, and once you acquire a taste for it (it is too strong for many visitors) it becomes quite addictive. In Oaxacan markets dried shrimp are sorted and priced according to size from the large 2-1/2-inch (6.5-centimeter) ones to the smallest of about 3/4 inch (2 centimeters)—not forgetting the minuscule ones, 1/4 inch (7 millimeters), found along the Pacific coast.
Good-quality dried shrimp are now to be found in Mexican food markets and in the Mexican food section of some supermarket chains in the United States, but take care in choosing them. Do not buy the small packages of bright-orange-colored shrimp bodies, peeled and headed; they have no flavor. Nor should you buy the packages marked “dried shrimp powder,” a great proportion of which is pure salt. Try to find whole unpeeled dried shrimp.
Most dishes in Oaxaca call for shrimp that have had their head and legs removed. The head is very flavorful and—without the black eyes—should be stored for making shrimp fritters. They are very salty at best. Rinse in cold water, drain them, and cover with fresh cold water. Leave them to soak for about 10 minutes, no longer, or they will lose a lot of flavor. Store in a dry place for up to several months.
. . .
SRA. SOLEDAD DÍAZ
[SERVES ABOUT 10]
Coloradito, literally “little colored one,” is one of the famous seven moles of Oaxaca. Recipes, of course, vary in quantities and balance of flavors but always within certain parameters. Soledad Díaz uses this coloradito for her enchiladas de bautizo (recipe follows) as well as for a main dish with chicken or pork. The recipe was handed down to her from her grandmother, but she has made certain modifications over the years to suit her taste.
1 medium white onion, coarsely chopped
3 garlic cloves, peeled
Salt to taste
10 large servings of chicken
8 ancho chiles
18 guajillo chiles
1/3 cup (83 milliliters) sesame seeds
6 garlic cloves, unpeeled
1 medium white onion, cut into quarters
4 sprigs fresh thyme or 1/4 teaspoon dried
4 sprigs fresh marjoram or 1/4 teaspoon dried
4 cloves, crushed
4 peppercorns, crushed
1-inch (2.5-centimeter) cinnamon stick, crushed
lard for frying
3/4 cup (188 milliliters) pecans
Heaped 1/2 cup (130 milliliters) unskinned almonds
Heaped 1/2 cup (130 milliliters) raisins
6-1/2-inch-thick (13-mm-thick) slices sweet yeast roll, dried
1-1/2 pounds (675 grams) tomatoes
11-1/2-ounce (45-g) tablet of Mexican drinking chocolate
In a large pot, boil enough water to cover the chicken. Add the chopped onion and peeled garlic with salt to taste and boil for about 10 minutes. Lower the heat, add the chicken pieces, cover, and simmer until almost cooked, about 20 minutes. Drain and set aside, reserving the broth for the mole.
Slit the chiles open, removing the seeds and veins. Toast lightly on a comal or griddle, rinse in cold water, and soak in warm water for about 10 minutes. Drain, keeping the anchos separated from the guajillos.
Toast the sesame seeds in an ungreased pan over medium heat, stirring from time to time so that they brown evenly. Take care not to burn them! Set aside to cool and grind to a textured powder in a coffee/spice grinder. Set aside.
Put the unpeeled garlic and quartered onion onto an ungreased comal or griddle and cook over medium heat, turning the pieces from time to time, until translucent and slightly charred. Peel the garlic and put into a blender with 3/4 cup (188 milliliters) of the chicken broth. Add the onion, herbs, and spices and blend as smooth as possible. Add the anchos little by little, blending after each addition and adding more broth only if needed to release the blender blade.
Heat 3 tablespoons of lard in a heavy pot in which you are going to cook the mole. Add the blended ingredients and fry, scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking, over low heat. Meanwhile, add another 3/4 cup (188 milliliters) of the broth to the blender and blend the guajillos a few at a time until they are as smooth as possible. Add them to the pan, pressing the puree through a fine strainer to extract as much of the juice and flesh as possible. Discard the debris. Continue cooking the mixture while preparing the rest of the ingredients.
Heat a little more of the lard in a skillet and fry the pecans, almonds, and raisins separately, transferring each of them to a strainer to drain off the excess lard. Finally, fry the bread slices. Crush all the ingredients together so that you do not strain your blender to its limits. Add 1 cup of broth to the blender, add the crushed ingredients, and blend to a textured paste. Add the paste to the pan plus the ground sesame. Stir well and cook over low heat.
Cover the tomatoes with water and simmer until soft but not falling apart, about 5 minutes. Drain and add the tomatoes to the blender and blend until almost smooth. Add to the pan together with the chocolate and 2 more cups (500 milliliters) of the broth and cook over medium heat, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan, for about 15 minutes. When the mole is well seasoned, adjust the salt, add the chicken pieces, and cook for 10 more minutes.
ENCHILADAS DE BAUTIZO DE TRES CARNES
ENCHILADAS FOR A BAPTISM WITH THREE MEATS
SRITA. SOLEDAD DÍAZ
[MAKES 12 ENCHILADAS]
These enchiladas are a specialty of that unpretentious and charming little restaurant in Oaxaca, El Topil. They are a favorite of mine. The owner, Soledad Díaz, who gave me the recipe, said that it was passed down to her by her grandmother, Paula Ríos. The filling can also be used for chiles rellenos or even tamales. This is an excellent way to use any leftover mole.
HAVE READY
Vegetable oil for frying
12 6-inch (15.5-centimeter) corn tortillas
Approximately 3 cups coloradito (recipe precedes)
Approximately 4 cups (1 liter) filling
A serving dish that will hold the enchiladas in 1 layer
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) queso fresco
1 white onion, thinly sliced into half-moons
Heat a little of the oil in a skillet and fry the tortillas lightly on both sides. They should just heat through well and wilt, not be fried crisp. Blot well. To keep the tortillas from becoming too greasy, add only a little oil at a time as needed. Dip the tortillas into the coloradito to coat them well. Put some of the filling across the center, roll them up loosely, and set in one layer in the serving dish. Pour on the remaining sauce. Sprinkle with the cheese and onion slices and serve immediately.
THE FILLING
[MAKES APPROXIMATELY 4-1/2 CUPS (1.125 LITERS)]
3 tablespoons lard or vegetable oil
1 medium onion, finely chopped, 1 cup (250 milliliters)
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
Salt to taste
1-1/4 pounds (565 grams) tomatoes, finely chopped
3 peppercorns, crushed
3 cloves, crushed
3 sprigs fresh thyme, finely chopped, or 1/4 teaspoon dried
3 sprigs fresh marjoram, finely chopped, or 1/4 teaspoon dried
1 teaspoon dried oregano, crumbled
1 small bay leaf, crumbled
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) coarsely chopped raisins
1/3 cup (83 milliliters) coarsely chopped blanched almonds
10 large capers, coarsely chopped
8 pitted green olives, coarsely chopped
1 cup (250 milliliters) cooked, shredded, and chopped pork
1 cup (250 milliliters) cooked, shredded, and chopped beef
1 cup (250 milliliters) cooked, shredded, and chopped chicken breast (p. 440)
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) broth in which the meats were cooked
1 tablespoon brown or granulated sugar
Heat the lard, add the onion and garlic with a sprinkle of salt, and fry without browning until translucent. Add the tomatoes and continue cooking until the juice is reduced—about 5 minutes. Add the rest of the ingredients except the meats, broth, and sugar and cook over medium heat, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan until the mixture is well seasoned, about 5 minutes. Add the meats, broth, and sugar, and cook again until the mixture is well seasoned and almost dry but still shiny and appetizing in appearance, 5 to 8 minutes.
POLLO ALMENDRADO
CHICKEN IN ALMOND SAUCE
SRA. BEATRÍZ ALONSO, LA CASA DE LA ABUELA, OAXACA
[SERVES 6]
La Casa de la Abuela, formerly Mi Casita, is a lively restaurant on the second floor of a building on the main jardín of Oaxaca.
Sra. Alonso generously gave me this recipe from her menu. It is a delicious version of this classic Oaxacan dish and is especially good for those who do not like to eat chiles.
1/3 medium white onion, coarsely sliced
3 garlic cloves, crushed
Salt to taste
6 large servings of chicken
THE SAUCE
1 pound (450 grams) tomatoes
Pork lard or vegetable oil for frying
1-1/2 cups (375 milliliters) raisins
1 cup (250 milliliters) slivered almonds
3 garlic cloves, unpeeled but with skin slit (so that they won’t explode)
1 thick slice white onion
1/4 medium ripe plantain, peeled and sliced
1 slice pan de yema, substitute a bread like challah
1/3 cup (83 milliliters) sesame seeds
1-inch (2.5-centimeter) cinnamon stick, crushed
2 cloves, crushed
2 peppercorns, crushed
1 large sprig flat-leaf parsley
TO SERVE
Approximately 20 green olives
1/4 cup (63 milliliters) skinned whole almonds
Strips of jalapeño chiles en escabeche
Put 2 quarts (2 l) water into a pan, add the onion, garlic, and salt, bring to a boil, and simmer for 5 minutes. Add the chicken pieces and continue simmering until just tender, not soft, about 25 minutes. Drain the chicken, reserving the broth. Measure the broth and reduce or add water to make 7 cups (1.75 liters).
Cover the tomatoes with water in a saucepan, bring to a simmer, and cook about 10 minutes until soft, taking care not to let them burst open. Drain, puree in a blender, and set aside.
Heat a little of the lard in a skillet and fry the raisins, almonds, garlic, onion, plantain, and challah one by one, until browned, draining each one in a strainer to rid it of excess fat. Add a little more lard or oil only when necessary. Toss the sesame seeds in the hot pan until a deep golden brown (sprinkle them with salt if they begin to pop around too much or jump out of the pan).
Put 1 cup of the chicken broth into a blender, add the cinnamon, cloves, peppercorns, and parsley, and blend, adding the sesame seeds little by little. The mixture should be fairly smooth. Add a second cup of the broth and continue blending the fried ingredients, stopping the blender from time to time to loosen the ingredients that tend to form a solid mass at the bottom of the blender. Add another 2-1/2 to 3 cups (625 to 750 milliliters) of broth, which will probably be necessary to prevent your blender from burning out. Blend until fairly smooth; you do not want it to look like gruel.
Heat 3 tablespoons of lard or oil in a heavy flame-proof pan in which you are going to cook the almendrado. Add the blended ingredients, then stir and scrape the bottom of the pan immediately, since the raisins in the mixture tend to scorch very quickly. Cook for 5 minutes, adding a little more fat if necessary. Add the tomato puree and continue cooking and scraping the bottom of the pan until the mixture has reduced and thickened and is well seasoned, about 8 minutes. Add the remaining broth and cook for another 10 minutes. By then the sauce should be of medium thickness and lightly coat the back of a wooden spoon. Decorate with the olives and almonds and serve the chiles separately.
SOPA DE GUIAS
SQUASH VINE SOUP
[SERVES 8 TO 10]
It may seem absurd to include a recipe for this soup when few if any of the ingredients are available outside Oaxaca, but it must be recorded in detail because it not only reflects so perfectly the healthy, earthy foods of the valley of Oaxaca, but it’s also simply a culinary curiosity. Many visitors, both foreigners and tourists from different parts of Mexico, are curious about it. The guias are the wandering vines of a variety of squash that is light green in color and roughly pear shaped. The squash are cultivated year-round in the valley of Oaxaca, although they’re less prolific in the dry season. The other herbs, or quelites (wild greens), are indigenous and grow wild in the rainy season, although they too are now cultivated year-round.
You will find these ingredients for sale in the Mercado Juárez at the center of Oaxaca, by countrywomen sitting on the ground, while in the Mercado de Abastos (the wholesale market) farther out they are at least given the dignity of space on some of the vegetable stands. I only hope this recipe will tempt you to try sopa de guias next time you visit Oaxaca or to try making a version of it, especially if you live in a country with wild edibles around or if you have an incredibly varied garden.
For the best flavor this soup should be made in this fairly large quantity. It is served in deep soup bowls, often with little dumplings, chochoyotes (see The Art of Mexican Cooking), floating in it, or with limes and a chile pasilla sauce with toasted, ground worms in it! I find that the last two garnishes detract from the delicate flavor of the herbs. Of course it makes a great vegetarian dish if you don’t add the dumplings, which have lard and asiento in them.
Approximately 10 cups (2.5 liters) water
1 small head garlic, cut in half horizontally
1 medium white onion, coarsely chopped
Salt to taste
2 corncobs, preferably field corn, not the sweet variety
2 tender zucchini or green squash
8 large guias, squash vines
1 small bunch piojito (Galinsoga parviflora)
1 large bunch chepil (Crotolaria longirostrata)
1 small bunch chepiche (Porophyllum tagetoides)
1 small bunch squash flowers
Put the water into a large pot, add the garlic, onion, and salt, and bring to a boil, boiling for about 5 minutes.
Remove the husks from the corn. Cut 1 of them into slices about 1-1/4 inches (3 centimeters) thick. Shave the kernels from the other cob. Rinse and trim the squash and cut into strips or 3/4-inch (2-centimeter) cubes. Rinse the guias well and shake dry. Remove the tendrils and any tough parts. Strip off the stringy outer part of the stems. Snap the stems into 2-inch (5-centimeter) pieces. If parts of the stem are tough, discard them. Leave the leaves attached. Rinse the piojitos well and shake dry. Discard the lower stems and tear into pieces. Rinse the chepil well and shake dry. Remove the rosettes of the leaves and discard the stems. Rinse the chepiche well and shake dry. Remove and discard the bare stems and tear the rest into small pieces. Remove all but 1 inch (2.5 centimeters) from the stems of the squash flowers. Strip off the stringy outside of the stems and the sepals. Leave the base of the flower and the pistils; they do not make the soup bitter. Coarsely chop the flowers.
Blend the corn kernels with about 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) of the cooking water, return to the pot with the corn slices, and continue cooking for 10 minutes or until the corn is tender. Add the squash and guias and continue cooking for about 10 minutes. Add the rest of the greens and squash flowers and cook for 10 more minutes or until all the vegetables are tender. Remember always to have the broth boiling when adding the greens to preserve the color as much as possible. Serve as suggested above. If you are adding chochoyotes, they should go in just after the final herbs when the water comes up to a simmer again. If the water boils too hard, they will disintegrate.
When you arrive in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, it seems like another world, so different is it from the valley towns of Oaxaca—and the rest of Mexico for that matter. Although it is only a three-and-a-half-hour drive, it seems endless in parts where the bare sierras seem to close in on you, one range after another, and hardly any signs of life appear except the occasional settlement of houses with a restaurant and a shack announcing that they mend tires or do all sorts of mechanical repairs. It is a lonely road too, except for the occasional truck or trailer. It was even more so when I first drove it that summer in 1965 and wrote in my notebook about the surprising number of brilliantly colored birds and one in particular with a long tail and shimmering green-gold feathers—it could only have been a quetzal.
Finally the road does descend and you may catch a glimpse of the great Juárez dam on the left. From then on there are a few villages surrounded with tropical vegetation. Thick stands of palm, mango trees, and patches of corn—which grows year-round there—announce the proximity of Tehuantepec. It was still then a fairly small, compact town with dark red tiled roofs, and many of the old houses of typical, hot-country architecture still exist. The small central garden was fairly well kept and always colorful with tropical flowers. It was then not as noisy then as some towns since the most popular form of transport was still the tricycle with a small cart on the back. It is always an imposing sight to see a handsome, erect Tehuana dressed in a flowing skirt and brightly embroidered huipil standing in the cart with her purchases piled alongside. It is stiflingly hot and humid in summer, but refreshing winds whip up to gales on some of the roads toward Juchitán and beyond. The market itself was and still is still dark and cluttered with stands selling homemade cheeses, flowers, dried fish and shrimp, rather unappetizing-looking cooked chickens or hens with their eggs, and piles of rice. In the evening the fare is either garnachas from a street stand or tamales of dried fish or iguana. The tamales of that area can be delicious, but I have yet to bite into one without getting a mouthful of skin and bones—I always seem to get the tip of the iguana’s tail.
I prefer to wander outside in the streets around the market where the most serious eating takes place throughout the morning on the improvised tables set along the sidewalk. On the other side of the road the women, wearing regional skirts and huipils, line up selling their produce: many types of mangoes, misshapen tomatoes, small pineapples, round green guayas (Talisia oli vae formis), the dried white corn of the area with flat kernels, and banana leaves for making tamales. At one side of the street a woman is selling what appears to be tall solid paper funnels. They are in fact stacks of totopos sold in bulk, many of them to be transported to villages around the coast or to the Oaxaca markets. Totopos are unique to the Isthmus. They are crisp disks of corn masa—they say you can make them only with the locally grown corn—dotted with small perforations. This is food that can be carried to the fields or on a journey without spoiling in the humid, hot climate.
I was curious to see how they were made and was directed to San Blas, a small village on the edge of Tehuantepec that has seen much better days. Many of the streets are unpaved and impassable in a low-slung car, while the older houses are neglected and crumbling. It was behind one of these disintegrating walls that I found some women who were willing to show me how these totopos are made. Under the dingy shelter several of the women were engaged in different stages of totopos making; from the cooking of the corn to the working of the masa to forming the totopos either on a piece of plastic or in their hands while the woman who places them on the sides of the oven was perforating them with two small sticks. These ovens, comiscales, are in fact bulbous, earthenware shapes that are set into the ground or in a special built-up area at a convenient working height. The base is often made of stone or some other hard material that will not crack from the heat of the fire. When the sides of the oven are hot enough, the totopos are slapped onto them, the mouth of the oven is closed, and they are cooked until crisp and only slightly browned. The ones they were making were of the white corn, but later I bought some that were a grayish brown from the black bean paste mixed with the masa.
On one of my trips to the Isthmus I went with a friend to San Mateo del Mar, a Huave (indigenous group) village way out on a narrow peninsula jutting into the Gulf of Tehuantepec. There was no paved road: most of the way the track was well defined but sandy and irregular. This was like a journey into the past. For the most part it was desert, and quite unexpectedly there was a patch of green pasture with sheep grazing and green patches of coconut palms. The streets of the village were very broad, and many of the houses quite primitive with woven palm fencing to protect them from the sands blown up by the strong, steady wind. The women in the market were surprised to see us and reluctant to talk very much about how they prepared the dried fish and shrimp, the chief source of livelihood of the families living there. As the women left the market from the opening at the far side, it was a beautiful sight to see them with baskets on their heads, their brightly colored skirts swaying in the wind with every rhythmic step they took. It is a drive of only twenty-six kilometers on to Juchitán over a very windy stretch of road whose only saving grace is a line of paloverde bending in the wind, their yellow flowers adding some colors to the otherwise drab landscape.
Juchitán was and is a very unattractive town, raucous and vibrant; you are nevertheless attracted back to it like a magnet. I have been lucky enough to have been initiated into its delicious and very different food by Señora Pineda and Señora Oralia Castillo, whose recipes I am giving here. Efficient and organized, they had many of the local dishes ready for me. Apart from the recipes here, Sra. Amelia fried some of the tasajo with onions. One never expects that dark, fatless grass-fed beef to taste anything but strong, but it has a most delicious flavor and is tender to boot—or at least that cut tended to be. The meat there is cut about 1/2 inch thick, seasoned with salt and lime juice, and then hung up to dry. It takes only three to four hours in the heat and wind to dry sufficiently to be stored (in an airy place, of course). It is traditionally served with beans.
In these recipes the cooks use jalapeño chiles. They are left whole so that they do not make the dish hot, but the person who wants piquancy can then eat the chiles. Time and time again I have heard that people in this area are generally very discerning and don’t like hot food. I was curious about why they did not use the local chiles criollos from Tehuantepec: “too hot,” they would say, “and the skin is rather tough. We prefer to use serranos or jalapeños.”
Besides the usual pork, beef, and chicken, wild game meats such as venison, iguana, and armadillo are very much sought after; certainly there were a lot of green iguanas tied up in the market. The achiote used here is concentrated like that of Tabasco State; a little goes a long way, and it is expensive compared to achiote seasoning paste—with other spices ground into it—from the Yucatán Peninsula.
The dried shrimp here are occasionally rubbed with a little achiote, I suppose to make them look more appetizing, as they are in the Tuxtla Gutiérrez market. Food stands almost clog the streets, but nobody seems to mind, and one wide street off to the side is devoted to the local pottery—a lot of it garishly painted, while the large water containers and ovens for the totopos are still unadorned. The women here are dominant; they control the commerce and the festivities. The velas or fiestas have their roots in the pantheistic celebrations of pre-Columbian times of the Zapotecs who came south from the Oaxaca Valley to the Isthmus. At that time the velas were invocations to their gods of the flowers, corn, trees—especially fruit trees—fish, and alligators that were important symbols in their lives. During the centuries that followed, the focus of the velas was modified by the church—a perfect example of syncretism—so that the spring celebrations became those of San Clemente, of the rains and the abundance they bring to San Juan, and of corn to San Isidro Labrador.
I was there once for a vela honoring one of the patron saints of a church in a barrio almost on the edge of town. People began to arrive quite late in the evening, the young folk in their best outfits, the older women carrying trays of food, bedecked in their gala costumes with their gold necklaces, bracelets, and earrings—it is the custom to display their wealth (nowadays many of them have cheap copies made, since robberies have become commonplace and on this occasion there were guards at the entrance to the square in front of the church where an awning had been set up for the occasion). As the music began, it was these beautifully dressed ladies who got up to dance with each other, holding up their skirts on either side and swaying gracefully. The queen of the evening and her consort entered to the march from Aida played at a painfully slow pace as they stepped forward and then backward—which made the going rather slow. The next day it was time to leave and drive across the Isthmus to Veracruz.
GUETAVINGUI
CAKES OF MASA AND DRIED SHRIMP
SRA. AMELIA CASTILLO, JUCHITÁN, OAXACA
[MAKES 18 2-1/2- TO 3-INCH (6.5- TO 8-CENTIMETER) CAKES]
Guetavingui are small cakes of textured corn masa, as for tamales, filled with a dried shrimp and a molito (little mole) that is not cooked, made of toasted unhulled pumpkin seeds, tomato, and a little green chile, very lightly flavored with achiote. They are baked in the oven.
THE FILLING OR MOLITO
18 large or 36 small dried shrimp (page 327)
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) unhulled raw pumpkin seeds
3 tablespoons water
1-1/2 pounds (675 grams) tomatoes, coarsely chopped, 4 cups (1 l)
1 jalapeño chile, coarsely chopped
1 scant tablespoon masa for tortillas (page 440)
1/4 teaspoon pure achiote or 1/2 teaspoon achiote paste
Salt to taste
THE MASA
1/4 cup (63 milliliters) water
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) firmly packed coarsely chopped epazote
3 ounces (85 grams) pork lard, a rounded 1/3 cup (about 87 milliliters)
3 ounces (85 grams) zorrapa or asiento (page 345), 1/2 cup (125 milliliters)
1-1/2 pounds (680 grams) masa for tamales (page 440), as dry as possible
Salt to taste
Rinse off the shrimp in water to wash off the excess salt then soak in water for 10 minutes. Drain. Remove the heads, legs, and tails and reserve. Set the bodies aside.
Toast the pumpkin seeds in an ungreased pan until the husks turn a light golden color (take care not to burn them since the seed inside cooks first). Set aside to cool and then grind to a textured powder in a coffee/spice grinder. Put the water in a blender, add the tomatoes, and blend. Then add the chile, shrimp debris, masa, and achiote. Blend to a slightly textured puree. Add more water only if necessary to release the blender blade. The puree should be fairly thick. Add salt if necessary.
Heat the oven to 350°F (177°C). Put the water into a blender, add the epazote, and blend until smooth.
Beat the lard and asiento together in a bowl and gradually beat in the masa, epazote water, and salt. Continue beating for a few minutes more (without burning out the motor of your beater) until you have a fairly stiff, rather sticky dough. Divide the dough into 18 portions and roll into balls of about 1-3/4 inches (4.5 centimeters) in diameter.
Make a deep well in one of the balls. Put one shrimp into the bottom with 1 heaped teaspoon of molito over the top. Flatten slightly and place on an ungreased baking sheet. Repeat with the remainder of the balls, setting them about 1-1/2 inches (4 centimeters) apart on the baking sheet. Put another dab of mole on top of each guetavingui and bake for about 30 minutes—you’ll have to sacrifice one by opening it up to see if the dough has been cooked thoroughly. Eat them warm.
POLLO GARNACHERO
SRA. AMELIA CASTILLO
[SERVES 6]
As the name suggests, this dish of chicken is seasoned and accompanied by the sauce and a chilito prepared for garnachas. It is a meal in itself, a delicious combination of flavors and textures. Traditionally lard is used for frying the chicken and potatoes, but I often use melted chicken fat. Those who abhor frying and would like to reduce fat content can brush the chicken and potatoes on all sides first with some of the fat, then liberally brush on the sauce, and grill until well browned.
1 3-1/2- to 4-pound (1.6- to 1.8-kilogram) chicken, cut into serving pieces, the breast cut into quarters
1/2 medium white onion, coarsely sliced
3 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
Salt to taste
3 large potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch (7-millimeter) slices
Approximately 1/3 cup (83 milliliters) pork lard or chicken fat
Approximately 1-1/3 cups (330 milliliters) salsa para garnachas (page 340)
3 cups (750 milliliters) chilito (page 340)
Barely cover the chicken with water, add the onion, garlic, and salt, and bring to a simmer. Continue cooking slowly until the chicken is almost tender, about 20 minutes. Add the potato slices and continue cooking until they are still somewhat firm and the chicken is tender—about 10 minutes. Drain, reserving the broth for the sauce.
Heat some of the lard in a wide skillet. Add some of the chicken pieces in one layer, sprinkle liberally with the sauce, and fry on both sides until slightly crispy. Remove and keep them warm while you continue with the rest of the chicken. Repeat the process with the potato slices. Serve the chicken and the potato slices nearly smothered in the chilito.
SRA. AMELIA CASTILLO
[MAKES 12 3-INCH (8-CENTIMETER) GARNACHAS]
Every region has at least one popular evening antojito—usually based on corn masa—and the Isthmus of Tehuantepec is no exception, with its garnachas quite unlike any others I have come across. Those served on the street stands in the evening are not to be compared with the ones prepared in the homes of Tehuantepec or Juchitán. I was fortunate enough to have them prepared for me by a friend’s cook, a distinguished-looking lady wearing the traditional dress—her huipil was a royal purple color with a long billowing skirt. These garnachas are like a small thickish tortilla, spread with beef mixed with onion, topped with a little chile sauce and a fine sprinkling of crumbled dried cheese. They were assembled on a platter; to the side was a mound of chilito, a picante vegetable relish, for all to serve themselves as a final flourish atop this very tasty snack of many surprising textures.
THE MEAT
12 ounces (340 grams) boneless steak, trimmed of fat and cubed
1/2 medium white onion, roughly sliced
2 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
Salt to taste
Heaped 1/4 cup (70 milliliters) finely chopped white onion
THE GARNACHAS
1 rounded cup (260 grams) masa for tortillas (page 440)
Approximately 1/4 cup (63 milliliters) pork lard or oil for frying
Approximately 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) salsa para garnachas (recipe follows)
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) finely grated queso añejo or Romano
1 heaped cup (265 milliliters) chilito (page 340)
In a saucepan, barely cover the meat with water, add the sliced onion, garlic, and salt to taste, and cook gently until the meat is tender, about 50 minutes. Set aside to cool off in the broth, then drain and chop. Mix with the 1/4 cup onion.
Divide the masa into 12 small balls and cover them with a cloth while you make the garnachas. Press one of the balls into a thickish circle about 3 inches (8 centimeters) in diameter and cook as you would a tortilla on an ungreased comal or griddle. Cover each cooked garnacha with a cloth while you cook the rest.
Melt half of the lard in a large skillet, place the garnachas in one layer in the pan, top each with a tablespoon of the meat mixture and a good teaspoon of the sauce, and cook, gently flipping the lard over the surface of the garnachas from time to time for about 5 minutes. They should be slightly crispy on the bottom.
Set aside, cover, and keep warm while you cook the rest. Sprinkle very lightly with the cheese and serve with the chilito on the side.
SAUCE FOR GARNACHAS
[MAKES 2-1/2 CUPS (625 MILLILITERS)]
14 small Oaxacan pasilla chiles or 25 chipotle mora chiles
2 pasilla chiles de Mexico, negros
2-1/2 cups (625 milliliters) beef broth
12 ounces (340 grams) tomatoes, cooked whole in the broth for about 10 minutes to soften
2 tablespoons lard or melted chicken fat
4 garlic cloves, chopped
Salt to taste
Slit the chiles open, remove the seeds and veins, douse quickly in hot water, and wipe dry. Tear into several pieces. Put into a blender and cover with 1-1/2 cups (375 milliliters) of the chicken broth. Leave to soak for about 15 minutes. Add the tomatoes and blend until smooth.
Heat the lard in a skillet, add the garlic, and fry without browning for 3 seconds. Add the sauce and cook over medium heat, scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking, for about 8 minutes. Add the rest of the broth and salt if necessary and continue cooking for about 3 more minutes. The sauce should be rather thin but should lightly coat the back of a wooden spoon. Add more water or broth if necessary or reduce to that consistency. Set aside and keep warm. If you don’t use all the sauce for the garnachas, or the chicken dish on page 338, freeze it for another occasion.
CHILITO
[MAKES 4 CUPS (1 LITER)]
This is more chilito than you’ll need for the garnachas but about right for the chicken on page 338. It is worth making this quantity—this is a delicious relish for cold meats or in sandwiches.
2 Oaxacan pasilla chiles or 4 chipotle mora chiles
3 fresh jalapeño chiles
1 large carrot
3 cups (750 milliliters) finely shredded cabbage
3 garlic cloves, thinly sliced
1/4 medium white onion, thinly sliced
2 teaspoons dried oregano
1/3 cup pineapple vinegar or mild, fruity vinegar (see page 436)
Salt to taste
Slit the pasilla chiles open and remove the seeds and veins. Douse quickly in hot water, wipe dry, and clean. Tear them into several pieces. Slice the jalapeños crosswise without removing the seeds. Shave the carrot into thin, broad ribbons with a potato peeler. Mix all of the ingredients together in a nonreactive bowl—the vinegar should just moisten, not drown, the ingredients. Set aside to season for about 1 hour.
A MOLE OF TOASTED AND CRUSHED CORN
SRA. AMELIA CASTILLO ROMERO
[SERVES 6]
Many times I have seen Abigail Mendoza in Teotitlán del Valle preparing her cegueza, a simple but very tasty dish with a base of toasted and ground dried corn in a chile/tomato sauce. In the Isthmus of Tehuantepec a similar dish is prepared, guinadooxhuba. I have tried several versions but prefer this one, shown to me by Doña Amelia, the very dignified cook of a friend in Juchitán. Beef may be used instead of pork, or even beans for a vegetarian version. The pork Doña Amelia used was costillitas, small pieces of very meaty ribs. I have opted for country-style spareribs cut into 1/2-inch cubes. The sauce will be brick red and textured, rather like a thickish soup. It should be served in shallow bowls, and the recipe should yield enough sauce to serve each person 1-1/2 cups, plus some of the meat, of course.
2 pounds (900 grams) country-style spareribs, cut into 1-1/2-inch (4-centimeter) cubes
Approximately 6 cups (1.5 liters) water
1/3 medium white onion, roughly sliced
3 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
Salt to taste
2 pounds (900 grams) tomatoes
1 fresh jalapeño chile
1/8 teaspoon pure achiote or 1/2 teaspoon commercial achiote paste
8 ounces (225 grams) dried corn kernels
2 large sprigs epazote
Cover the meat with 1 quart (1 liter) of the water in a large pan, add the onion, garlic, and salt, and bring to a simmer. Simmer until almost tender, about 25 minutes. Add the whole tomatoes and cook for about 10 minutes. Transfer the tomatoes to a blender and add the chile and achiote, blending until smooth. Strain the tomato mixture into a saucepan, bring to a boil, and cook for about 8 minutes, scraping the bottom of the pan from time to time to prevent sticking.
Meanwhile, put the corn into an ungreased wide skillet in one layer (divide the corn into 2 batches if necessary). Toast over medium heat, stirring from time to time until the kernels turn a shiny, even brown—about 15 minutes. When cooled, use a grain mill or stand mixer attachment to grind them down into a roughish texture, like steel-cut oats. Cover with the remaining water and stir well. When the grains have settled, skim off the skins that float to the top. Add this to the tomato mixture with 1 cup (250 milliliters) of the meat broth and cook over fairly low heat, stirring from time to time to prevent sticking, about 10 minutes. Add the rest of the broth and meat and cook for 10 minutes more. Add the epazote and adjust the salt, then cook for 5 more minutes. The ground corn will have softened by now, but it will still be textured to the palate and of medium consistency.
“LITTLE” MOLE OF DRIED SHRIMP
SRA. AMELIA CASTILLO
[SERVES 4 TO 6]
This is a very unusual type of pipián because it includes cream. It is usually prepared during the Lenten season as a main course. The pumpkin seed used in the Juchitán area is small, with a lightish brown border, and named corriente (commonplace).
4 ounces (115 grams) large dried Mexican shrimp, about 1-3/4 rounded cups (440 milliliters)
1-1/2 rounded cups (400 milliliters) unhulled raw pumpkin seeds
1 cup (250 milliliters) crème fraîche
8 ounces (225 grams) tomatoes, coarsely chopped, about 1-1/2 cups (375 milliliters)
1 scant teaspoon pure achiote or 2 teaspoons achiote paste
3 tablespoons masa for tortillas
2 jalapeño chiles (optional)
Salt to taste
3 large sprigs epazote
5 eggs, lightly beaten
Rinse the shrimp in cold water and drain. Remove the heads, tails, and legs of the shrimp, but don’t peel. Put the bodies and debris into separate bowls, cover with warm water, and soak for 15 minutes. Meanwhile, toast the pumpkin seeds in a large ungreased skillet until the husks have turned a deep golden color and the seeds start to pop around (be careful and mind your eyes). Set aside to cool and then grind in a coffee or spice grinder to a finely textured powder. Mix with 1 cup (250 milliliters) of the water in which the shrimp have been soaking.
Put the crème fraîche into a heavy pan and bring to a simmer; simmer for 3 minutes. Add the ground seeds, pressing them through a strainer and pressing the debris hard so that all the moisture and seed particles are extracted—there should be about 2 tablespoons of the debris left in the strainer. By this time the mixture may look curdled, so don’t forget to either lower the heat a lot or remove it from the heat altogether. If it curdles, just put it into a blender and blend until smooth. Cook over very low heat for 5 minutes, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking.
Put the shrimp debris and 1 cup (250 milliliters) of the shrimp water into a blender, add the tomatoes, achiote, and masa, and blend until smooth. Add this to the pan through the strainer and cook for another 10 minutes, taking care that the seeds and the masa do not stick to the bottom of the pan. Add water if necessary to bring the mixture up to 5 cups (1.25 liters). Add the shrimp bodies and the chiles and cook for 10 more minutes. Adjust the salt. Add the epazote, gradually stir in the eggs, and cook over low heat until set.
Serve with corn tortillas.
TAMALES FILLED WITH DRIED FISH OR SHRIMP FROM TEHUANTEPEC
[MAKES APPROXIMATELY 24 4- BY 3-INCH (10- BY 8-CENTIMETER) TAMALES]
These are the most delicious tamales and quite unusual compared with the rest of those prepared in different regions of Oaxaca. While they are often filled with dried lisa, a fish abundant in the water around the Isthmus, dried shrimp can also be used, and I much prefer them. The textured tamal dough is beaten with lard and with zorrapa or asiento (the dark brown lard with very crisp “crumbs” of fat and skin that comes from the bottom of the chicharrón vat, page 345).
The lady who gave me the recipe—I lost the notebook in which I had her name—makes them to sell commercially, but unlike many other vendors, she does not skimp on quality. The lost notebook is another story. I was so distressed to lose it. I must have left it in the jardín of Tehuantepec when I sat down to eat a tamale of iguana. I went to the local radio station to announce the loss and offer a reward. The announcer noticed my yellow truck outside with the words Casa Ecológica on the side, so I was immediately put on the air to describe my house and ranch and how I apply my ecological ideas to the way I live . . . but I never recovered my book.
THE MASA
About 1/4 cup (63 milliliters) water
1-1/4 pounds (565 grams) masa for tamales (page 440), as dry as possible
3 ounces (85 grams) lard, about 1/3 rounded cup (87 milliliters)
3 ounces (85 grams) asiento, about 1/2 cup (125 milliliters)
Salt to taste
THE MOLITO
1-1/4 cups (313 milliliters) unhulled raw pumpkin seeds
2 cups (500 milliliters) water
1 large tomato, coarsely chopped, about 3/4 cup (188 milliliters)
1/2 medium white onion, coarsely chopped
1/2 teaspoon pure achiote or 1 teaspoon achiote paste
2 tablespoons masa for tortillas (page 440)
1 tablespoon lard
Salt to taste
HAVE READY: A tamale steamer, 24 pieces of banana leaf, about 9 by 7 inches (23 by 18 centimeters), softened over a hot flame or burner, and 3 large dried shrimp per tamale, around 72 shrimp, or 24 2-inch (5-centimeter) square pieces dried fish—but allow for more in case of extra masa or leftover molito.
Rinse the excess salt from the shrimp, then remove the heads and legs only. Do not soak. If you’re using dried fish, rinse the pieces of excess salt and soak for 15 minutes. Drain well.
Beat the lard and asiento with the masa. Add salt. Set aside.
Put the seeds into an ungreased skillet and toast over low heat, stirring them from time to time so that they toast evenly. They should be a deep golden brown, and some should begin to pop around. Set aside to cool, and then grind in an electric spice grinder to a medium texture.
Put 1 cup (250 milliliters) of the water into a blender, add the tomato, onion, achiote, and masa, and blend until smooth.
Heat the tablespoon of lard in a skillet, add the blended ingredients, and then stir in the ground pumpkin seeds with salt to taste. Add the second cup (250 milliliters) of water and cook over medium heat, scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking. The starch content of the seeds will expand in the heat, and the sauce will thicken to a medium consistency that will coat the back of a wooden spoon. Cook for about 5 minutes. Set aside to cool.
Put the steamer on to heat the water at the bottom, and don’t forget to add coins so their rattle will let you know if it goes off the boil or if the water level falls below the danger point. Set out the pieces of banana leaf.
Give the masa a final beating of about 3 minutes. Spread 2 scant tablespoons of the masa about 1/8 inch (3 millimeters) thick over the center of the banana leaf—it should cover an area of about 4 by 3 inches (10 by 8 centimeters). Place the 3 shrimp, or the piece of fish on one half of the masa, then cover with 1 large tablespoon of the seed mixture. Fold half of the leaf over so that the masa almost covers the filling. Secure the edges and fold up the sides. Set in overlapping horizontal layers in the steamer. Cover well and steam for about 1-1/4 hours, or until the masa is cooked through and comes cleanly away from the leaf.
TAMALES DE FRIJOL
BEAN TAMALES FROM TEHUANTEPEC
[MAKES APPROXIMATELY 24 4-INCH (10-CENTIMETER) TAMALES]
These tamales are most unusual in having the masa mixed with epazote and chile serrano. I find them delicious and always eat more of them than I should. The careful preparation of a textured masa is all important; it should be as dry as possible so that the lards and blended ingredients will be absorbed. In Juchitán as in Tabasco, the dark lard from the bottom of the chicharrón vat, with little crisp pieces of skin and fat, is used in the dough—it is called asiento in Oaxaca, zorrapa in Juchitán. Some people serve these tamales with a sauce, although I don’t think they need it. A light tomato sauce would be most suitable; anything stronger will detract from the taste.
THE FILLING
[MAKES ABOUT 2-1/2 CUPS (625 MILLILITERS)]
1/2 pound (225 grams) black beans, 1 very heaped cup (265 milliliters)
4 garlic cloves, unpeeled
1/4 medium white onion, coarsely sliced
Salt to taste
2 tablespoons lard
THE DOUGH
3/4 cup (188 milliliters) coarsely chopped epazote leaves
4 serrano chiles, coarsely chopped
4 ounces (115 grams) lard, about 1/3 cup plus 3 tablespoons (100 milliliters)
4 ounces (115 grams) asiento (page 345), about 2/3 cup (164 milliliters)
Salt to taste
1-1/2 pounds (675 grams) masa for tamales (page 440)
Have ready a tamale steamer with coins in the bottom and approximately 30 dried corn husks, soaked in hot water until soft and pliable, shaken dry, and drained in a towel.
. . .
This rich brown lard from the vats in which chicharrón (crisp-fried pork rind) is fried contains little crisp pieces of fatty chicharrón. It is used to spread over tortillas (tortillas con asiento) or memelas (oval masa snacks) or to enrich masa for chochoyotes (little dumplings added to soups). It’s known as asiento in Oaxaca, zorrapa in Juchitán, but while it seems the same, the fatty skin from the stomach area is usually used for zorrapa.
A good substitute for asiento is 1 cup of good pork lard mixed with 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) finely crumbled fatty chicharrón, heated until it turns a rich caramel color. Allow to cool and set before using. Asiento, or its substitute, will keep for several months in the refrigerator without deteriorating.
. . .
THE FILLING: Rinse and pick over the beans. Cover with hot water and add the garlic and onion. Cook over low heat in a bean pot or slow cooker until quite soft, 2-1/2 to 3-1/2 hours, depending on how old the beans are. Add salt and simmer one half hour.
Drain the beans, saving the broth. Put 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) of this broth into a food processor and process to a textured puree. Heat the lard in a skillet, add the bean paste, and fry, stirring and scraping to prevent sticking. Cook for about 8 minutes or until fairly dry. Set aside to cool.
THE DOUGH: Put 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) bean broth or water into a blender, add the epazote and chiles, and blend until smooth. Set aside. Put the lard and asiento into the bowl of a mixer and beat for about a minute or so with 1 tablespoon salt. Gradually add the masa and the blended ingredients and beat well. Taste for salt.
Heat the steamer over low heat. Give a final shake to the soaked corn husks.
Spread 2 heaped tablespoons of the dough over the upper part of the leaf. Put 1 heaped tablespoon of the bean paste down the middle of the dough and fold the husk so that the dough covers the bean filling. Fold back the tip of the husks. Set the finished tamales on a tray while you assemble the rest. By this time the water in the steamer should be boiling.
Stand the tamales upright in the steamer, cover them with any extra leaves or a towel, and cover with a tight lid. Steam over fairly high heat until, when tested, the dough is spongy and rolls easily away from the husk, about 1-1/4 hours.
PASTEL DE VERDURAS
VEGETABLE “CAKE” IXTEPEC, ISTHMUS DE TEHUANTEPEC
[SERVES 6]
This pastel de verduras, or pikle as it is also called, was served as part of a buffet supper in Oaxaca. It had been prepared by a guest who came from Ixtepec, a small town on the Isthmus de Tehuantepec.
Although it is usually served at room temperature, it can also be served as a hot first course. The vegetables should be a little more tender than al dente to absorb the flavors and meld with the cream and eggs.
This dish is more often cooked in a cazuela over slow heat on top of the stove but can also be cooked in the oven. I find the latter easier since it cooks more evenly.
The cheese used there is a rather pungent dryish one from Chiapas, but a finely grated Romano can be used as a substitute.
Of course, this recipe lends itself to many untraditional variations, depending on tastes and what is on hand. For instance, it could be served with a sauce of rajas (narrow strips of poblano chiles) and cream or tomato, etc.
I cook this in a 6-inch soufflé dish about 2-1/2 inches deep and carefully turn it out onto a serving dish when cold.
1/2 pound (225 grams) waxy potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch (7-millimeter) cubes, about 1-1/2 cups (375 milliliters)
1/2 pound (225 grams) carrots, cut into 1/4-inch (7-millimeter) cubes, about 1-1/2 cups (375 milliliters)
1/2 pound (225 grams) green beans, cut into very small pieces, about 1-3/4 cups (438 milliliters)
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1/3 medium white onion, finely chopped, scant 1/3 cup (about 80 milliliters)
4 serrano chiles, finely chopped
1/2 pound (225 grams) tomatoes, finely chopped, about 1 heaped cup (260 milliliters)
3/4 cup (188 milliliters) crème fraîche
3/4 cup (188 milliliters) finely grated Chiapas or Romano cheese
4 eggs, lightly beaten
3/4 cup prepared (ballpark) mustard
1 small bunch parsley, finely chopped
1 teaspoon dried oregano, crumbled
A scraping of nutmeg
Salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Have ready a 6-cup (1.5-liter) ovenproof dish, well buttered, and enough boiling salted water to barely cover each of the vegetables.
Put the potatoes into the boiling salted water and cook for about 5 minutes. Bring the water back to a boil, add the carrots, cook for 5 or 6 minutes, and drain. In the same water repeat with the green beans. Reserve the cooking water. Heat the oven to 350°F (177°C).
Meanwhile, heat the oil in a skillet, add the onion and chiles, and cook over medium heat for about 1 minute without browning. Add the tomatoes and continue cooking over fairly high heat, scraping the bottom of the pan from time to time to prevent sticking, until the juice is reduced—about 5 minutes. Stir into the cooked vegetables.
Beat the cream and cheese into the eggs and stir into the vegetable mixture with the remaining ingredients. Adjust the seasoning (the cheese is very salty, so it may not need any extra salt). Turn the mixture into the mold and cover. Bake on the top rack of the oven until the pastel is set and firm to the touch, about 25 minutes. Set aside to cool off before turning it out onto a serving dish—or serve hot like a soufflé.
When you drive along the Pacific highway of Oaxaca, you are inland for most of the way, with rare glimpses of the sea and those long and beautiful beaches. You cross many riverbeds, which are dry for most of the year until the rains come and carry the floodwaters down from the Sierra Madre to the sea. The land is scrubby for much of the time, impoverished by the clearing of trees and undergrowth for cattle. There are occasional villages marked by small plantations of mango, papaya, and bananas, with sadly yellowing coconut palms sheltering orchards of lime trees. But through the years I have stopped off at the local markets and talked to cooks who have introduced me to some really remarkable new tastes.
At the beginning of the rains I want to dash off and try once more that delectable sauce of chicatanas, flying ants. Señora Armandina, who has taught me a lot about the regional foods, says that at the first rains they emerge from the loamy soil in her patio and gather around the light bulbs; she and her family are ready and waiting to trap them. The chicatanas are first cooked in salted water, then toasted and ground with garlic and chiles costeños to a loose paste or sauce—it makes my mouth water even writing about them. It is almost impossible to try to describe the tastes of wild things, but I always have the impression that I have just eaten hazelnuts. The same sauce is also used in tamales and unmistakably perfumes the rather heavy masa.
Another gastronomic rarity is a sauce made with the nest containing the eggs of a black wasp in Puerto Escondido (salsa de panal). The taste is stronger and more earthy than that of the chicatanas but still delectable and bursting with protein besides.
There are tiny mussels, tichindas, from the lagoons along the coast. They are either cooked in a sauce or stuffed into tamales, shell and all—there were actually ten stuffed into the tamale I had the other summer—and as they open up the juice is absorbed by and flavors the masa.
In the Pochutla market you can find bags of miniature dried shrimp no more than 6 millimeters long, and narrow, dried fish about 1/2 inch long; they are used in rice or in fritters and are very popular during Lent.
Fish baked dry in Puerto Angel, cooked in a tomato broth or pipián, also contribute to the regional dishes of the Pochutla area. Oysters, small and briny, are sold for a mere song along the beaches of Puerto Escondido, but it is becoming harder all the time to persuade the fishermen to leave them in the shell—alas, it is always easier to carry them in plastic bags! You can eat crisp, raw lengua de perro (a small elongated crustacean) if you order it ahead in Playa Roca Blanca. There is a great variety of fish, but it is mostly grilled or cooked in a sauce of tomatoes; it is all very fresh and unpretentious, but there are no notable dishes as there are, for instance, in Campeche, Tabasco, and Veracruz. In the small local markets there are always freshly killed locally produced pork, beef, and rather skinny chickens, but at certain seasons they are supplemented by iguana, armadillo, and venison.
These meats are cooked in light moles or stews seasoned with chiles costeños, both red and yellow, that are grown in the area around Pinotepa Nacional. They are either orangey-red or a brilliant yellow, thin skinned, between 2 and 3 inches long, and very picante. The red one is more commonly used toasted and ground for table sauces or soaked and blended with other ingredients for the cooked sauces. A small triangular chile, tuxta, is popular in Puerto Escondido. It too is very hot and very colorful, starting out a pale yellow, often smudged with mauve, and ripening to an orange-red. It is used mostly for table sauces, either fresh or dried. There are tamales of pumpkin and tamales of seven layers with beans and pumpkin. The excellent yeast breads in Juquila are made rich with plenty of lard. Finally there are huge sweet tostadas of masa and sesame or coconut ground together to eat with coffee or atole. Señoras Bertha, Aura, and Armandina all shared their recipes with me, cooked for me, and were patient with all my questions.
MOLE OF BLACK IGUANA
SRA. GALVÁN, PUERTO ESCONDIDO
[SERVES 4 GENEROUSLY]
The recipe was given to me for black iguana, but take heart, you can also use pork—then you substitute the original tomatoes for tomates verdes. While they would use neck and spine bones of pork, as usual I recommend country-style spareribs. While I have seen chiles costeños in some Mexican markets (dried red chiles about 3 inches long, thin skinned, and very hot) I suggest you substitute pulla, although they do not have the same sharp, rustic flavor.
Like so many other moles, the sauce is best if left for 30 minutes or so before being eaten to develop flavor.
1-1/2 pounds (675 grams) country-style pork spareribs
Salt to taste
4 ounces (115 grams) costeño chiles, about 40, cleaned of stems, veins, and seeds
3 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
1/4 medium white onion, roughly chopped
1/4 teaspoon dried oregano, crumbled
3 hoja santa or avocado leaves, toasted until crisp
2 peppercorns, crushed
2 cloves, crushed
8 ounces (225 grams) tomates verdes, husks removed and rinsed
2 tablespoons pork lard or vegetable oil
2 tablespoons masa for tortillas (page 440)
Cover the pork with water, add salt to taste, bring to a simmer, and continue simmering until tender, about 40 minutes. Drain, reserving the broth.
Toast the chiles lightly, taking care not to burn the skins. Cover with hot water and leave to soak until soft and the flesh is reconstituted—about 15 minutes. Drain.
Put 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) of the broth into a blender, add the garlic, onion, oregano, hoja santa, peppercorns, and cloves, then blend as smooth as possible.
Cut the tomates verdes into pieces, barely cover with water, and cook until tender, about 8 minutes. Drain off half the water and set aside. Heat the lard in a flameproof casserole dish, add the blended ingredients, and fry over medium heat for about 1 minute.
Put 2 cups (500 milliliters) of broth into the blender, add the drained chiles, and blend as smooth as possible. Add to the pan by pressing through a fine strainer to extract as much as possible of the juice and flesh. Cook, stirring from time to time, for about 5 minutes.
Blend the tomates verdes together with the tortilla masa until smooth and keep adding it to the pan, stirring from time to time to prevent sticking. Cook for about 5 minutes or until the sauce thickens slightly. Add the meat, salt as necessary, and continue cooking and stirring for another 10 minutes. The sauce should be of medium consistency. Dilute if necessary. For the best flavor, set it aside for about 30 minutes before serving.
MOLE WITH VENISON
SRA. GALVÁN, PUERTO ESCONDIDO
[SERVES 4]
Wild meats are often used in picante moles along the Pacific coast: the strong flavors stand up well to the sharp costeños. The method of cooking the mole is virtually the same as in the previous recipe. You will notice that in many parts of Oaxaca the tomatoes or tomates verdes are added after the chile/spice base has been cooked and seasoned.
You could substitute lamb (mutton would be better) if you don’t have venison or beef. When toasting the unpeeled garlic, always make a small slit in the skin so that it does not explode and you won’t have to pick it up off the counter or floor.
1-1/2 pounds (675 grams) stewing meat (see note above) with some bone and a little fat, cut into serving pieces
Salt to taste
4 ounces (115 grams) costeño chiles, about 40, stems, seeds, and veins removed
2 guajillo chiles, stems, seeds, and veins removed
3 garlic cloves, toasted
1/4 medium white onion, toasted
2 cloves, crushed
2 peppercorns, crushed
3 avocado leaves, toasted until crisp
1/4 teaspoon dried oregano, crumbled
2 tablespoons lard or vegetable oil
1/2 pound (225 grams) tomatoes, roughly chopped, about 1-1/4 cups (313 milliliters)
Salt to taste
Cover the meat with water and salt to taste, bring to a simmer, and continue cooking until tender but not soft—about 40 minutes, depending on the cut used. Drain, reserving the broth.
Toast the chiles lightly on a comal or griddle, cover with hot water, and leave to soak until soft and the flesh is reconstituted—about 15 minutes. Drain.
Put 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) of the reserved broth into a blender, add the garlic, onion, cloves, peppercorns, avocado leaves, and oregano, and blend as smooth as possible.
Heat the lard in a flameproof casserole and fry the blended ingredients for about 1 minute.
Put the drained chiles into the blender, add 2 cups (500 milliliters) of the reserved broth, and blend as smooth as possible. Add to the pan, pressing them through a fine strainer to extract as much as possible of the juice and flesh. Continue cooking, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking, for about 5 minutes. Put the tomatoes into the blender, blend as smooth as possible, and add to the pan, stirring well.
Cook the mole for about 10 minutes. Add salt and the meat and simmer for 10 minutes more. Set aside for about 30 minutes before serving for the flavors to mature. The sauce should be fairly loose, not quite as thick as that of the mole de iguana (preceding recipe). Dilute with more broth if necessary.
MASA AND EGG PANCAKE
DOÑA BERTA ORTÍZ, PUERTO ESCONDIDO
[SERVES 3]
Doña Berta, who used to run the kitchen for a group of homes on the Punta Zicatela near Puerto Escondido, cooked this torta one morning for me when I couldn’t decide what I really wanted to eat apart from the predictable tamale or egg dishes she had already prepared.
It is a recipe from her childhood on a ranch in the sierra near Putla de Guerrero. Presumably it was an economical way of eking out the eggs for a large family. Doña Berta cooked the torta on a comal and served it with a very strong sauce of chiles costeños. It was delicious.
Of course it can also be considered a basic idea on which there is no end of untraditional variations: add finely chopped onion and chiles serranos; top with chile strips and cheese or tomato sauces.
The pan size is important because you don’t want the torta too thin or too thick. Ideally a pan 7-1/2 inches in diameter should be used.
1/3 cup (83 milliliters) masa for tortillas (page 440)
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) water
2 large eggs
Salt to taste
2 tablespoons finely chopped white onion (optional)
3 tablespoons melted lard or vegetable oil
Put the masa and water into a blender and blend until completely smooth. Add the eggs and salt and blend again. Stir in the onion if you’re using it.
Heat the lard or oil in a skillet (see above) and pour in the egg mixture. Cook over medium heat, covered, until the top of the mixture is just set—about 15 minutes. Slide onto a plate and then reverse to cook on the other side, uncovered, for 5 more minutes.
TAMALES DE CHILEAJO
DOÑA BERTA ORTÍZ, PUERTO ESCONDIDO
[MAKES 30 TAMALES]
These are spicy little tamales that are cooked for a longer time because the filling ingredients are raw. an almost identical recipe was given to me in Pinotepa Nacional with the name of tamales de carne cruda, tamales of raw meat.
Doña Berta insists that the meat must be on the bone and can be either pork or chicken. Actually, pork gives a better flavor, especially when reheated.
The masa should be spread thinly over the banana leaves, which makes these tamales all the more delectable. I like to beat the lard with water in which tequesquite has been soaked overnight (agua asentada de tequesquite, page 213), but of course it is not always available, so baking powder may have to be substituted.
THE MEAT
1 pound (450 grams) meaty flattish pork ribs cut into 32 1-inch (2.5-centimeter) squares (not cubes)
1/4 cup (63 milliliters) fresh lime juice
1 teaspoon salt
THE SAUCE
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) water or meat broth
4 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
1/8 teaspoon cumin seeds, crushed
2 cloves, crushed
4 peppercorns, crushed
1 teaspoon dried oregano
1 small onion, roughly chopped
12 ounces (340 grams) tomatoes, roughly chopped, about 2 rounded cups (550 milliliters)
15 guajillo chiles, seeds removed and soaked for 10 minutes
40 costeño chiles, seeds removed and rinsed
2/3 cup (164 milliliters) water
Salt to taste
THE MASA
6 ounces (180 grams) pork lard, about 1 scant cup (240 milliliters)
1 teaspoon salt or to taste
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) tequesquite water (page 213) or 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) water mixed with 2 teaspoons baking powder
1-1/4 pounds (565 grams) masa for tamales, roughly ground (see page 440)
Have ready at least 30 pieces of banana leaf about 9 by 8 inches (23 by 20 centimeters), passed over a flame or burner to soften, and a tamale steamer with water and coins in the bottom.
THE MEAT: Mix the meat with the lime juice and salt and set aside for 30 minutes.
THE SAUCE: Put the 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) water into a blender, add the garlic, cumin, cloves, peppercorns, and oregano, and blend until smooth. Gradually add the onion and tomatoes and blend again until almost smooth. Separately, drain the guajillos, tear into pieces, and put into a blender with the costeños and about 2/3 cup (164 milliliters) water. Blend as smooth as possible. Add to the other blended ingredients, pressing through a fine strainer to extract any hard bits of skin. Add salt and mix well.
THE MASA: Beat the lard for about 3 minutes or until thickened and fluffy. Gradually add the salt and tequesquite water and continue beating for 3 more minutes. Add the masa, a little at a time, beating well after each addition, until all the masa is incorporated. Continue beating for a minute or so more; the dough should be moist and porous but fairly stiff.
Grease your hands, take a ball of the dough about 1-1/2 inches (4 centimeters) in diameter, and flatten it into a very thin circle in the center of a piece of banana leaf. Put a piece of the meat and a very full tablespoon of the sauce onto one side of the dough. Fold the leaf over so that the other side of the masa covers the filling. Fold the 2 sides together and fold back the 2 ends. Continue with the rest of the tamales.
Meanwhile, set the steamer over low heat so that the water is boiling and the coins jiggling around by the time you have assembled all the tamales. Put one layer of the tamales into the steamer, cover, and cook for 8 minutes (so that the bottom layer does not get completely flattened) and place the remaining tamales in overlapping layers into the steamer. Cover with more leaves or a towel and steam for 2 hours. Always keep some water boiling on the side in case you need to replenish the water in the steamer—test in the usual way: the masa should separate from the leaf easily, but make sure that the meat is thoroughly cooked through.
CUITLACOCHE ESTILO COSTEÑO
CORN FUNGUS FROM THE OAXACAN COAST
[MAKES 1 CUP (250 MILLILITERS) FIRMLY PACKED FILLING FOR 14 TO 16 SMALL EMPANADAS]
The local way of preparing the corn fungus is to blend it with the other ingredients to a loose paste and then put it raw into an empanada of raw tortilla masa and either cook it on a comal or fry it. I prefer to cook the filling first, which makes for a better flavor; the fungus will be reduced by about half prepared in this way.
1 pound (450 grams) cuitlacoche when shaved from corn cob, roughly chopped, about 4cups (1 liter)
2 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
3 costeño chiles or chiles de árbol, toasted whole and crumbled
2 tablespoons roughly chopped epazote leaves
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
Salt to taste
Put the cuitlacoche, garlic, chiles, and epazote into a food processor and process to a finely textured paste. Heat the oil in a skillet and cook the mixture until it is moist but not juicy—10 to 15 minutes. Add salt. Set aside to cool a little before making the empanadas.
EMPANADAS DE HONGOS
MUSHROOM TURNOVERS
JAMILTEPEC, OAXACA
[MAKES APPROXIMATELY 2 CUPS (500 MILLILITERS) FILLING, FOR 12 TO 15 QUESADILLAS OR TACOS]
Many summers ago, I was driving along the Oaxacan coast, as usual stopping in at the villages en route to look for any novelties their markets could provide. In Jamiltepec, 30 kilometers east of Pinotepa Nacional, there were the usual vegetables—carrots, tomatoes, and onions—and small piles of dried fish, which provides the main source of protein in that rather poor area. Then a basket of very tiny, grayish-brown mushrooms caught my eye. They were most appropriately called mouse ears, orejitas de ratón, or honguitos de palo. The old lady, the only one selling them, was reluctant to tell me how she prepared them or allow me to take a photograph without my agreeing to buy a large quantity at a greatly inflated price. Of course I did, and hurriedly and hopefully took them to a small food stand that had just opened for breakfast and seemed to specialize in empanadas.
The woman cook did finally agree to prepare them for me in the local fashion. To my surprise she put all the ingredients raw and roughly chopped into a blender. She then pressed a very large, thin tortilla, covering half of it with the raw filling and a sprinkle of dry, salty cheese, then, folding the tortilla over to make a large empanada, she cooked it very slowly with a smear of lard on the comal. I could hardly wait. Despite her warning, I bit into it right away; I burned my tongue, and the hot juice ran down my arm, but what a delicious breakfast, just compensation for a very early morning start from Puerto Escondido.
When trying the recipe at home, I used tender little field mushrooms and juicy chanterelles, but you could use any small juicy mushrooms, preferably wild, either gathered or sold in your area.
I have tried the filling both raw and slightly cooked and prefer the latter, frying it in a little oil for a few minutes to heighten the flavors and reduce the juice. I also prefer to chop the mushrooms rather than blend them. The filling is delicious in quesadillas and tacos.
1 pound (450 grams) mushrooms (see note above)
10 costeño chiles, or 8 chiles de árbol
2 hoja santa leaves
1/4 cup (63 milliliters) water
6 small garlic cloves, roughly chopped
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
Salt to taste
1/2 cup (63 milliliters) finely grated salty cheese, Romano or pecorino
Wipe the mushrooms clean and chop fine. Wipe the chiles clean, slit open, remove the seeds and veins, toast lightly on a comal or griddle, and tear into pieces. Wipe the hoja santa clean, cut out the main rib, and chop roughly. Put the water into a blender, add the garlic, leaves, and chiles, and blend until smooth.
Heat the oil in a skillet, add the blended ingredients, and fry over medium heat for 1 minute. Add the mushrooms and salt and cook over medium heat, stirring from time to time, until well seasoned and some of the juice has evaporated—5 to 8 minutes.
Spoon the filling into tortillas to make tacos or quesadillas—or, if you have the large local tortillas, use them to make the empanadas (see above). Sprinkle a little salty cheese on top.
TAMALES DE RAJAS
TAMALES FILLED WITH CHILE STRIPS
SRA. ARMANDINA, PINOTEPA NACIONAL
[MAKES APPROXIMATELY 24 SMALL TAMALES]
THE FILLING
1 pound (450 grams) tomatoes, broiled (page 438)
4 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
12 serrano chiles, each cut into quarters
12 ounces (340 grams) queso fresco or Muenster, cut into strips about 1/2 inch (13 millimeters) wide
48 epazote leaves
Salt to taste
THE MASA
6 ounces (180 grams) lard
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) tequesquite water (page 213) or warm broth mixed with 1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1-1/2 pounds (675 grams) masa for tamales (page 440)
Salt to taste
Have ready a steamer for tamales and approximately 30 dried corn husks, soaked and shaken dry, with a few extra for the steamer.
Blend the unskinned tomatoes, garlic, and salt to a rough texture. Set aside. Beat the lard until fluffy, gradually beat in the tequesquite water or substitute, and beat again for about 3 minutes. Gradually add the masa and salt, beating after each addition. Finally, continue beating for 3 more minutes.
Spread 1 very heaped tablespoon of the masa in a thin layer over the inside top part of a corn husk. Add 1 tablespoon of the tomato sauce, a strip of cheese, 2 epazote leaves, and 2 strips of chile. Fold in the sides of the husk so that the dough covers the filling, then fold the pointed end up and in to join with the sides of the husk.
When all the tamales have been assembled and folded, stack them vertically in the steamer. Cover them well with the unused husks and a towel and steam for 1 hour.
MOLE COSTEÑO
MOLE AS PREPARED ON THE COAST
SRA. ARMANDINA, PINOTEPA NACIONAL
[SERVES 8]
This mole is most typically prepared with iguana, though chicken is more commonly used these days. But I was warned that while the black iguana is preferred, the green ones can be used, and so much the better if they have formed eggs—ecologically very unsound with today’s population growth. A typical meal for this mole would start with rice cooked with tomato, etc., and after the mole the black beans are served. Of course for this, as for other moles, all of the prepared ingredients are ground dry in a mill.
THE MEAT
8 large servings of chicken
1/2 medium white onion, roughly chopped
3 garlic cloves, peeled
Salt to taste
THE SAUCE
9 ancho chiles
30 costeño chiles, about 3 ounces (85 grams), or 10 chiles de árbol and 20 puyas
8 guajillo chiles
12 small garlic cloves, unpeeled, lightly charred in a dry skillet
10 cloves, crushed
10 peppercorns, crushed
1-inch (2.5-centimeter) cinnamon stick, crushed
1 tablespoon dried oregano
Pork lard for frying
10 unskinned almonds
1/3 cup (83 milliliters) raisins
4 ounces (115 grams) peeled ripe plantain, cut into thick slices
2 pounds (900 grams) tomatoes, broiled until soft (page 438)
Put the chicken, onion, garlic, and salt into a pan with water to cover, bring to a simmer, and continue simmering until just tender. Leave in the broth for 15 minutes, then drain, reserving the broth and adding water if necessary to make 5 cups (1.25 liters).
Slit the chiles open, removing the seeds and veins. Toast lightly on a comal or griddle, rinse in cold water twice, and drain. Keep the guajillos apart from the other 2 chiles.
Put 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) of the broth into a blender. Add the roasted garlic, spices, and oregano and blend until smooth. Add another 2/3 cup (164 milliliters) of the broth and gradually add the anchos and costeños, blending well after each addition. Add more broth only if necessary to release the blender blade.
Heat about 3 tablespoons lard in a heavy pan in which you are going to cook the mole. Add the blended ingredients and cook over low heat, scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking. Put another 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) of the broth into the blender, add the guajillos, and blend as thoroughly as possible. Add to the pan, pressing through a fine strainer to extract as much of the flesh and juice as possible. Continue cooking over low heat while you prepare the rest of the ingredients.
Heat a little more of the lard and fry the almonds until well browned, then the raisins, followed by the plantain. Transfer to the blender and blend with 1/2 cup (125 milliliters) of the broth, adding a little more if necessary to release the blender blade. When the mixture is almost smooth, add it to the pot and continue cooking. Blend the broiled tomatoes and finally add them to the pot. Continue cooking the mole for about 20 minutes over medium heat, making sure it does not stick in places and scorch.
Stir in the rest of the broth, add the chicken pieces, test for salt, and cook over medium heat for 10 to 15 minutes more.
ESTOFADO PARA BODAS
CHICKEN DISH FOR A WEDDING
SRA. ARMANDINA, PINOTEPA NACIONAL
[SERVES 6]
6 large servings of chicken
1/2 small white onion, roughly sliced
3 garlic cloves, peeled
Salt to taste
THE SAUCE
About 6 tablespoons pork lard, vegetable oil, or chicken fat
1 small onion, finely chopped
4 garlic cloves, finely chopped
2 pounds (900 grams) tomatoes, thinly sliced
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) raisins
1/4 cup (63 milliliters) slivered almonds
12 pitted green olives, halved
3 whole jalapeño en escabeche, quartered
2 tablespoons juice from the can of chiles
1 teaspoon dried oregano, crumbled
3 peppercorns
3 cloves
1/4-inch (7-millimeter) cinnamon stick
12 ounces (340 grams) potatoes, peeled and thickly sliced
8 ounces (225 grams) peeled plantain, sliced lengthwise
2 thick slices pineapple, peeled, cored, and quartered
Cover the chicken, onion, and garlic with water, add salt, and bring to a simmer. Continue simmering until the chicken is just tender, about 30 minutes. Set aside to season in the broth while you prepare the sauce.
Heat 3 tablespoons of the lard in a skillet, add the onion and garlic, sprinkle with salt to taste, and fry without browning for about 1 minute. Add the tomatoes and cook over fairly high heat for about 5 minutes. Add the raisins, almonds, olives, chiles, chile juice, sugar, and oregano and continue simmering. Crush or grind the spices together and add to the pan. Add 2 cups (500 milliliters) of the broth in which the chicken was cooked and continue cooking for about 5 minutes more.
Shortly before serving, heat about 3 tablespoons lard in a skillet and fry the potatoes, covered, turning them over from time to time, until tender and well browned. Drain. In the same fat (add a little more if necessary), add the plantain and fry until well browned. Drain.
Ten minutes before serving, add the chicken pieces to the sauce and a little more broth if necessary to dilute it to medium consistency. Add the pineapple and cook over low heat for about 10 minutes. Test for salt. Top the dish with the fried potato and plantain and serve.
TLAXIACO
Tlaxiaco had always been a glamorous name to me—“El Paris Chiquito” (the little Paris) of the Mixtec region, as it was known in its heyday. The name derives from the Nahuatl word Tlchqiaco (given to it by the conquering Aztecs in the fifteenth century), which means a watchtower from which to observe the surrounding country.
Even in pre-Columbian times it was a center of culture and commerce, situated as it was strategically on the main route from the Pacific to the center of the country. Little is known about the colonial history of Tlaxiaco, but it came into being as an important mestizo (mixture of Spanish and Mixtec) town during the early part of the nineteenth century and had a brilliant, if not lasting, golden age that was to be diminished with the ravages of the Revolution.
I had read about that golden age, when innovative impresarios started small industries to provide the necessities for the large haciendas, ranches, and Mixtec settlements in the surrounding sierra—whose people, in turn, brought their produce and animals to sell in Tlaxiaco. It became once again an important center of culture and commerce.
It is fascinating to conjure up the life of the rich families who imported luxuries from Europe through the ports of the Pacific, the latest fashions from France in clothes, furniture, and draperies, even grand pianos—thus earning the name of Little Paris. I had all this in mind when Tlaxiaco finally came into view after a rather arduous journey from Puerto Escondido, 360 kilometers away.
A friend and I had set out early that morning, stopping to eat breakfast in our favorite food stand in the busy market of Pinotepa Nacional and continuing along the narrow road, hardly a highway, that goes north to Tlaxiaco. At the first village the recently harvested chiles costeños were set out in a symmetrical pattern to dry in the sun, making strikingly colorful bands of bright red and yellow.
We stopped again to buy some of the attractive huipiles for which San Pedro Amuzgos is so famous, sold in small stores along the road. Much of the countryside had been cleared for cattle, with the occasional fields of withering chile plants and, where there are small rivers, patches of tropical vegetation and fruits: bananas and papayas. Just before the land drops down into Putla, the only town of size between the coast and the mountains, you get a magnificent view of the Sierra Madre towering over the landscape. We were to go over those heights.
After eating lunch in Putla and a brief look at the town, we set off with some trepidation in the direction of Tlaxiaco. It was quite a perilous highway of abrupt curves and unguarded edges with the occasional long trailer descending unnervingly on the other side. As far as the eye could see, the orange-colored earth and rocks were bare of vegetation, with deep crevices made deeper every year by the unchecked rainfall. This is the worst erosion I have ever seen—a shocking reminder of how this country has been raped from the time of the Conquest on . . . and still is today. This land could have produced food, trees, and shelter for wild animals and birds, to say nothing of edible plants.
At the highest point in the ascent there is a narrow valley of poor soil, dotted occasionally with pines. You see unexpected flashes of color and suddenly realize that this is the land of the Triquis, who wear the brilliantly embroidered huipiles. They have lived in this remote area since pre-Columbian times with a different language, culture, and customs from those of the surrounding Mixtecs. Desperately poor, they either eke out a living off the land or migrate to Oaxaca to sell their embroideries, again living in miserable conditions. From there it is a long, steep, and winding descent into the almost bare valleys that surround Tlaxiaco.
Of course, I was disappointed in the town, which is run-down; on the outskirts many of the adobe houses are disintegrating. Only a few buildings have been cared for as a reminder of its former days.
But Tlaxiaco comes alive on Saturday evenings when the vendors start arriving from the areas around to set up their stands or arrange piles of produce on the ground, and from early the next day other villagers arrive with their earthenware pots and simple kitchen equipment, wooden tortilla presses, and earthenware comals.
The Casa de Cultura is very active and has some lively programs to encourage some of the traditional arts: dances in particular and gastronomy. It was there that I met Señora Esmirna Cruz Rojas, who with Sra. Juanita has generously given me recipes for this part of my book, including the very complicated meal comprising mole negro and its accompaniments. There it is served on the same plate with a picadillo of lamb entrails, seasoned with tomatoes and spices; it can also be fried with beaten eggs and a salsa that more resembles a casserole of layered tomatoes and onions, also with spices, herbs, almonds, and raisins. I am afraid the mole isone I dislike, with ancho chile and a lot of chocolate, and that is why I am not repeating the recipe here.
RELLENO PARA CHILES PASILLAS DE OAXACA
STUFFING FOR CHILES PASILLAS DE OAXACA
[MAKES APPROXIMATELY 3-1/2 CUPS (875 MILLILITERS)]
Sra. Juanita is still famous in and around Tlaxiaco not only for the excellence of the regional food she serves in her restaurant, Juanita, but also for her high standard of catering for fiestas or wandering dignitaries and politicos. A recipe of hers that I particularly like is for a filling of chiles pasillas, the smoky-flavored chiles of the Mije area in Oaxaca, or the fresh chiles de agua from the valley of Oaxaca. I know another cook in the Mixteca Alta, the region around Tlaxiaco, who uses a similar filling for anchos chiles, and, of course, it goes very well with poblanos.
8–10 large chiles pasillas de Oaxaca, cleaned of veins and seeds, covered with hot water and soaked until softened—about 20 minutes
1 pound (450 grams) stewing pork with some fat, cut into 1-inch (2.5-centimeter) cubes
Salt to taste
3 tablespoons pork lard
5 garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/3 medium white onion, finely chopped
3 tomates verdes, husks removed and finely chopped
8 ounces (225 grams) tomatoes, finely chopped, about 1 cup (250 milliliters)
1/2 small plantain, peeled and cut into small cubes
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) raisins
1/3 cup (83 milliliters) slivered almonds
1/4 cup (63 milliliters) finely chopped pitted green olives
1/2 thick slice pineapple, peeled and cut into small cubes
4 stems flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped, 1 heaped cup (265 milliliters)
Sugar to taste
Strain and dry the chiles. Put the meat into a pan, cover with water, add salt, and bring to a simmer. Simmer until the meat is tender, about 40 minutes. Leave to cool off in the broth. Drain and chop.
Heat the lard in a heavy skillet, add the garlic and onion, and fry for a few seconds until transparent but not brown. Add the tomates verdes and tomatoes and cook over fairly high heat until the juice has been absorbed, about 8 minutes. Add the rest of the ingredients with salt to taste.
Cook over medium heat, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking, for about 5 minutes. Add the meat and cook for 5 minutes more or until well seasoned. Set aside to cool before stuffing the chiles.
TO STUFF THE CHILES: Use the largest pasilla chiles, about 3-1/2 inches (9 centimeters) long. You will need about 1-1/2 tablespoons of the filling for each chile.
Carefully slit the chiles open down one side and remove the seeds and veins (if the chiles are very dry you may need to soak them in warm water for about 10 minutes or longer to rehydrate them). Drain well and stuff them with the filling, being sure the cut edges meet.
Coat with beaten egg and fry as for chiles rellenos (for fuller instructions, see The Art of Mexican Cooking). Serve with a cooked tomato sauce such as the one on page 439, made with pork broth.
AMARILLO DE PUERCO CON FRIJOL BLANCO
YELLOW MOLE OF PORK WITH WHITE BEANS
SRA. ESMIRNA CRUZ ROJAS, TLAXIACO
[SERVES 6 TO 8]
8 ounces (225 grams) small white beans, 1 very heaped cup (300 milliliters)
3 unpeeled garlic cloves, roughly chopped
1/2 small white onion, roughly chopped
Salt to taste
Approximately 2 quarts (2 liters) water
2-1/2 pounds (1.125 kilograms) country-style pork spareribs
4 ounces (115 grams) guajillo chiles, about 24
3 garlic cloves, peeled
2 tablespoons pork lard or vegetable oil
2 large hoja santa leaves, stems and large ribs removed
Pick over the beans, rinse well, and put into a pot with the chopped garlic, onion, and salt. Cover with the water and cook over low heat until tender but not mushy (not al dente)—3 to 5 hours, depending on how old the beans are. Remove the onion and garlic.
Put the meat into a separate pot with salt to taste and water to cover, bring to a simmer, and continue simmering until the meat is just tender—about 35 minutes. Drain, reserving the broth. There should be about 3 cups (750 milliliters); if not, reduce over high heat or add water to make that amount.
Remove the stems from the chiles, slit them open, and remove the seeds and veins. Lightly toast the chiles on a comal or griddle, cover with hot water, and soak for about 20 minutes. Drain and transfer to a blender with the peeled garlic and 1-1/2 cups (375 milliliters) of the meat broth. Blend until completely smooth.
Heat the lard in a skillet and add the sauce, pressing it firmly through a fine strainer to extract as much of the flesh and juice as possible. Discard the debris. Cook the sauce over fairly high heat, for about 5 minutes, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking.
Put the cooked pork into a heavy pan in which you are going to cook the final mole and cook over medium heat so that any fat renders out. Continue cooking until the meat browns lightly in its own fat—about 15 minutes.
Add the chile sauce and fry, scraping and stirring as usual (the chile sticks very easily), for about 5 minutes or until the sauce has reduced around the meat. Add the beans and their broth and heat through for about 10 minutes. Just before the end of the cooking time, tear the hoja santa into large pieces and add to the stew.
Serve with corn tortillas.
BEEF STEW WITH CHILES COSTEÑOS
[SERVES 6]
Chilate is a simple dish from the eroded northeastern part of Oaxaca known as La Mixteca Alta. It is a slightly picante soup/stew served in deep bowls with lime quarters and chopped onion to give the final seasoning. Many families use chicken, but I prefer this beef recipe from Tlaxiaco. The different cuts of meat, much of it on the bone, add great flavor to the broth.
2-1/2 pounds (1.125 kilograms) stewing beef, short ribs, shin, and a small proportion of boneless meat
Salt to taste
5 garlic cloves, unpeeled
1/2 medium white onion, thickly sliced
3 plum tomatoes, about 7 ounces (200 grams)
3 tomates verdes, about 3 ounces (85 grams), husks removed and rinsed
10 costeño chiles or 6 puyas and 4 chiles de árbol
1/2 cup (125 milliliters) masa for tortillas (page 440)
2 large sprigs epazote
TO SERVE
Finely chopped white onion
Lime quarters
Put the meat into a heavy pot with water to cover and salt. Cover and cook over medium heat until tender—about 1-1/2 hours, depending on the quality of the meat. Reduce the broth over high heat or add water to make 6 cups (1.5 liters). Put 1 cup (250 milliliters) aside for the masa.
Put the unpeeled garlic and the onion onto an ungreased comal or griddle and cook until the garlic is soft and the onion slightly charred but translucent. Peel the garlic and set aside.
Put the tomatoes and tomates verdes onto the comal or griddle or under the broiler and cook until soft and slightly charred. Transfer to a blender.
Lightly toast the whole chiles on a comal or griddle, rinse briefly, tear into pieces, and add to the blender with the peeled garlic and onion, then blend until smooth. (If you’re using puyas, remove the seeds and veins before toasting and soak for about 10 minutes, then blend separately and pass through a strainer before adding to the rest of the ingredients.) Add the blended ingredients to the 5 cups (1.25 liters) of broth.
Put the separate cup (250 milliliters) of broth into the blender, add the masa, and blend until smooth. Stir into the other broth mixture. Cook over low heat until the sauce thickens slightly, taking care not to let it stick to the bottom of the pan. Add the meat and epazote and cook, still over low heat, for about 5 minutes. Serve in warm bowls, passing the onion and lime quarters separately.
SOUTHWESTERN CAESAR’S AMANITAS IN A LIGHT PICKLE
SRA. ESMIRNA CRUZ ROJAS, TLAXIACO
[MAKES 2-1/2 CUPS (625 MILLILITERS)]
The mushroom with the delightful name jiná (pronounced “shina”) is that splendid orangey-red capped Amanita caesarea with spongy yellow gills. It grows prolifically in many parts of Mexico and up to a very large size.
En escabeche here is rather a misnomer, since only 1 tablespoon of vinegar goes into the dish. But it is also called en su jugo, in its own juice, which refers to the first part of the cooking. Before cooking, that brilliant skin has to be peeled off; both caps and stems are used.
Any tender mushroom can be used for this recipe.
Chiles are not cooked with the mushrooms, but the dish is served with a sauce of chile pasilla de Oaxaca and tortillas to accompany it. The dish is served either as a botana or as a first course.
2 tablespoons lard or vegetable oil
1/4 white medium onion, thinly sliced
2 small garlic cloves, finely chopped
1/2 pound (225 grams) tender mushrooms, peeled and sliced
Salt to taste
1 tablespoon mild vinegar
4 ounces (115 grams) queso fresco or quesillo de Oaxaca
TO SERVE
Salsa de chile pasilla
Corn tortillas
Heat the lard in a skillet, add the onion and garlic, and fry gently without browning for a few minutes. Add the mushrooms with salt, cover, and cook over low heat until tender, about 5 minutes.
Add the vinegar and cook for 1 minute more. Spread the cheese over the surface of the mushrooms, cover, and heat through until it melts.
Serve as suggested above.
JINÁ ASADO
GRILLED CAESAR’S AMANITAS
SRA. ESMIRNA CRUZ ROJAS
[SERVES 1]
This is a very simple and unusual way in which Caesar’s mushrooms are prepared in Tlaxiaco. However, they are very juicy; when I tried the recipe, the moisture ran off the edge of the comal, and the cheese melted and stuck to it. I have come up with this method, which could be applied to any large field mushroom—less messy!
Señora Esmirna insisted that the mushrooms should not be eaten with a sauce but “dry”—in her words, just with a corn tortilla. Actually it is very good on a whole-wheat bread crouton too.
Butter or vegetable oil to grease the pan
2 large Caesar’s amanitas or large field mushrooms
1 thick slice very cold queso fresco or quesillo de Oaxaca, large enough to cover the surface of a mushroom
2 thin slices garlic
3 large epazote leaves
Heat a small, heavy skillet and grease well with butter. Season the gill sides of the mushrooms with salt.
With the gills inside, make a mushroom “sandwich” with the cheese, garlic, and epazote leaves. Secure the mushrooms together with a toothpick.
Make sure that the pan is sizzling hot and cook the mushrooms on one side until well browned—about 5 minutes. Carefully turn the “sandwich” over and cook on the second side for another 5 minutes or until the mushrooms are cooked and the cheese melted. Serve immediately as suggested above.
HONGOS EN CHILE GUAJILLO
MUSHROOMS IN CHILE GUAJILLO
SRA. ESMIRNA CRUZ ROJAS, TLAXIACO
[MAKES 2 HEAPED CUPS (600 MILLILITERS)]
The wild mushrooms that are gathered in the pine forests around Tlaxiaco in the rainy season are prepared slightly differently from those of, say, Michoacán or the state of Mexico. The following recipe is for oreja de venado (Hypomyces lactifluorum), which is an orangey-red trumpet-shaped mushroom with stem and fluted cap of the same crisp texture. The flesh inside is white and without any strong discernible texture. My instructions were to tear them into strips, though you could of course julienne them—but not too finely, or the texture will be lost in the chile sauce. You can use any firm, crisp mushroom as a substitute.
This recipe is served either as a botana or as a first course with corn tortillas.
7 guajillo chiles, veins and seeds removed
8 ounces (225 grams) mushrooms (see note above)
1-1/2 tablespoons pork lard or oil
1/4 medium white onion, thinly sliced
1/3 cup (83 milliliters) water
2 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
Salt to taste
1 tablespoon fresh lime juice
Cover the chiles with hot water and set aside to soak for about 15 minutes.
Clean the mushrooms with a damp cloth and tear or cut into strips. Heat the lard, add the onion, and cook for a few minutes without browning. Add the mushrooms and cook over medium heat, stirring them from time to time, for about 8 minutes. If they are very dry, cover with a lid.
Drain the chiles. Put the water into a blender, add the garlic, and blend gradually. Add the drained chiles and blend as smooth as possible. Add the chile puree to the mushrooms in the pan, pressing it through a strainer to extract the tough pieces of skin. Stir well, add salt, and continue cooking and scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking. Add the lime juice and cook for about 8 more minutes, until well seasoned.
Among the many memorable journeys I made during those early days in search of cooks and recipes, one particularly stands out in my mind: from Tuxtepec over the Sierra Juárez to the city of Oaxaca.
For the first part of the journey, the highway runs almost parallel to the river Papaloapan, and on either side were fields of sugarcane with their white plume, like pampas grass, swaying in the breeze (I am told that they were past their best at this stage). The area around ingenios, sugar mills, is always depressing—rivers are polluted and often dead, the workers’ houses are squalid and poorly constructed, and the sides of the roads leading from the fields to the mill, scorched or blackened with fire and layered with the trampled and smelly bazago, the pulp left after the processing. Passing the huge mill of San Cristobal was just like that: a no-man’s-land.
Tuxtepec was much smaller then, a small tropical town, sultry but clean, shaded by hundreds of mango trees. The mangoes are so prolific that nobody bothers to collect them. The delicious manilas (to my mind still the most luscious of them all) were going to waste, though in markets farther north they were fetching considerable prices. The market was nondescript except for, as usual, the marginalized indigenous peoples from the sierra who had come, dressed in their colorful native dress, selling aromatic herbs and greens collected wild in the rich biodiversity of the cloud forests.
The night’s stay was rather uncomfortable, since the best rooms had been taken over by an American film crew (I never did find out which film they were shooting). But I was up at dawn to catch the first camioneta for Oaxaca, which turned out to be a short, sturdy fat old bus with about thirty seats and a huge rack on top, piled high with baskets and small animals—so typical a cargo in out-of-the-way places.
In less than one hour we stopped in Valle Nacional at a small rustic restaurant for a hearty almuerzo of eggs, tortillas, and the most delicious black beans. I also insisted on trying the pomelos, a type of grapefruit that had fallen off the laden trees around the restaurant and were rotting on the ground. Nobody seemed to use them!
What was supposed to have been a stop of twenty minutes extended comfortably while the food was served slowly, and lively conversations were struck up among the other passengers, the driver, and anybody else sitting around.
The countryside around Valle Nacional is highly cultivated with jalapeños, tobacco, corn, and bananas, with the abundance of water flowing down in rushing streams from the sierra towering above. We finally set off again at a lumbering pace, the land steadily rising with every twist and turn in the road through a thick jungle of luxuriant palm trees and lush undergrowth, sheltered by many types of tropical trees that fanned out protectively over the rest.
The road, narrow in parts, had been carved out of the rock face that towers above it. The rock was richly covered with vegetation and deeply ridged here and there with cascading water, which flows across and eats away at the unguarded, exposed side of the road. The land below falls steeply away into narrow valleys cultivated with bananas, corn, and coffee, between seemingly never-ending rows of soft green mountains. How could anybody not be moved by sights like these?
Looking back at one point, we could see the peaks of three snow-capped volcanoes, dramatic against the brilliant blue sky with wispy clouds hovering around them.
As the road climbed higher, the vegetation began to change. There were forests of oak and pine, and the sides of the road were brightened with large red thistles, lupines, and Indian paintbrush. The brilliance of the light defined every pine needle so that it seemed as though it was made of silk, shining in the morning sun, while the trunks emanated their strong, resinous perfume.
When we finally reached the highest point of the road, the views were breathtaking: the luxuriant lands to the north, through which we had come, and to the south, as far as the eye could see, an endless landscape of bare or badly eroded mountains. There were very few patches of crops and scattered, dark splashes of pines where the road drops down into Ixtlán and rises once again until finally dropping into the valley of Oaxaca. But the incandescent light of that valley shed a glow that makes even the barest of lands seem magical. Little did I know then that I would be back again in the years ahead, many times, to visit the Sierra Juárez.
It was through ethnobotanist friends Gary Martin and Alejandro de Ávila, who provided me with some typewritten recipes from the Chinantec area, that I began to realize the wealth of wild foodstuffs that were available and that formed a great part of the local diet. I spent one unforgettable day with Gary collecting plants in the rain forest, picking the wild chayote, and finally distinguishing the Mexican bay leaf, Litsea glaucescens, a small tree growing in the higher pine and oak forests.
We spent most of the day with a Chinantec acquaintance, who showed me the edible wild plants and flowers among the exuberant undergrowth: tall stands of hoja santa (Piper auritum), the heart-shaped leaf of the cilantro del monte (Peperomia peltilimba), named for its unmistakable cilantro flavor, the young shoots of taro, and tepejilotes (Chamaedorea tepejilote), flower buds from a small type of palm. We roasted them over an open wood fire until the sheath gradually opened to reveal the long strands of cream-colored flowers. They are crisp and slightly bitter, eaten either alone or in a yellow mole. There was also stir-fried watercress fresh from the nearby streams. The food is simple and nutritious: corn, pumpkins, beans, chayotes, and several types of bananas that are cultivated, many types of wild greens, flowers, and mushrooms, fish and aquatic animals from the many streams, seasoned with the wild cilantro, hoja santa, and avocado leaves.
Beef and chicken are still somewhat of a luxury, but there is wild game of many types, often preserved by salting and smoking over the wood-burning stove. They drink atoles, dried corn-based gruels, mixed with unripe green bananas, amaranth, and wheat berries or fresh corn. The sick and elderly are given atoles made with broken-up tortillas or enriched with eggs. There are stews of many types of wild green, often flavored with chile guajillo brought in from Tuxtepec or Oaxaca, as is the dried, salted fish for tamales.
I was fascinated and made the journey several times, vowing never to repeat my first experience of staying there. It was without doubt the most uncomfortable night of my life. My bed was a thin mattress on planks of wood, and despite four heavy blankets tied round me like a cocoon—I had forgotten my sleeping bag—I shivered all night as the clouds came down, clammy and cold, bringing rains that pounded the tin roof ceaselessly. A hen was clucking in one corner of the small cement-block room, and the toilet facilities made those in the Third World seem clean and luxurious. I there and then rescheduled my research from three days to one and a half and panicked the next day when my car’s sodden carburetor refused to kick in. It took all the ingenuity of some traveling salesmen, who happened to pass by and heed my pleas for help, to get the engine started.
Suffering from vertigo in the mountains, I had asked a driver to come and pick me up for the return journey, but that was for two days hence. There was no way out; I had to drive myself. I shall never forget the horror of that return journey, much of it on the outside edge of the road with steep, vertiginous drops below. I inched my way at a snail’s pace around the blind, unguarded bends, hooting desperately to warn oncoming traffic that I was well over on their side. The fast-traveling empty timber trucks bore down on me, their drivers cursing me roundly. The hours stretched out endlessly, and I sighed with relief and slackened my grip on the wheel rounding the last bend when Oaxaca finally came into sight.
CUICATLÁN
Many years ago I became fascinated with a chile unique to Oaxaca, the chilhuacle. When I can, I make a yearly pilgrimage to Cuicatlán, where they are grown, either driving from Tehuacán—although the highway is very lonely and has a deplorably pitted surface—or from Oaxaca, the capital of the state, 140 kilometers away. Cuicatlán is a peaceful little agricultural town dramatically situated below the towering rocks of burnt umber at the head of the Cañada, as the valley of Oaxaca’s Río Grande is known. The first part of the journey goes through the extreme north of the central valley until the highway veers off to the northeast and starts to climb through lands with occasional stands of oaks and pine.
The views across the rift valley are spectacular as the road begins its descent, winding through a semiarid landscape of cacti and shrubs, which in themselves are so beautiful in the early spring when they are in flower. The road then follows the river valley, with strips of cultivation on either side in places no more than a kilometer wide of groves of lime trees, mangoes, papayas, chicozapotes, bananas, and avocados. As you approach Cuicatlán, the fields of cultivation are more extensive, with corn, tomatoes, eggplants, okra, and, of course, the chiles criollos, native chiles, as the chilhuacles are known. Every region in Mexico, sometimes every small settlement, has its chile criollo, and they are all very different in size and character.
Nobody could tell me exactly how long these chiles have been grown here, but they say that their characteristic flavor changes if grown under other climatic and soil conditions, so they can be considered unique, just as the large, very special poblanos grown in Miahuatlán, Puebla, are unique.
The crop of chilhuacles, black, red, and yellow, is grown principally for drying and selling to the markets of Oaxaca and Puebla, but during the latter part of the rainy season they can be found fresh in those markets, either green or when they are just beginning to ripen. When fully ripe they’re charred, peeled, and cooked as rajas (chile strips with onion) with cheese or in broths. They are deliciously fruity but startlingly hot—and brilliantly colored (see photo in color insert). The newly ripened ones are used whole for chile caldo (recipe follows), the seasonal harvest dish of the area.
When dried they are typically squat and very light in weight with a matte surface. Their cost soars with every passing year, but even so growers find that it is hardly profitable to plant them. It is a vicious circle, of course. Typically they are used for the moles and stews unique to Oaxaca, but cooks prefer to adapt the cheaper guajillo chile—although, alas, it does not have the same sharp flavor and distinctive color (see the recipes for Chichilo negro and Mole negro oaxaqueño in Oaxaca al gusto).
CHILE CALDO
CHILE BROTH
SRA. MARÍA DE JESÚS MATA
[SERVES 6 TO 8]
Preparing a chile caldo in the fields at harvest is a custom that is fast dying out in Cuicatlán. It is a great pity; the taste of this type of country food cooked over a wood fire in the open air is unmatched, not to mention the enhancing freshness of the ingredients. This recipe is unusual because the freshly picked ripened red chilhuacles are added to the caldo almost at the last moment and add a very special flavor to it. The ripened chilhuacle is a bright red. It is thin skinned, very picante, and squat, almost square, about 2 inches (5 centimeters) long and wide. (As a substitute for the chilhuacles I suggest using either ripened poblanos or half green poblanos and half red bell peppers.)
On one visit to Cuicatlán with one of the leading chile growers, a chile caldo was prepared for me. There was a frantic search in the morning for the wild, broad-podded beans that are traditionally cooked in this stew, tender pod and all. Finally some were found, and although a little past their best owing to harsh weather, the pods and beans were tender and delicious. I suggest using either very tender fava beans or very young lima beans in their pods.
3 quarts (3 liters) water
1/2 medium onion, roughly sliced
3 garlic cloves, unpeeled
Salt to taste
1-1/2 pounds (675 grams) beef short ribs, cut into small pieces
1-1/2 pounds (675 grams) pork knuckles, cut into small pieces
8 small pieces of chicken
1 pound (450 grams) tomatoes, roughly chopped
6 garlic cloves, roughly chopped
6 thick slices pumpkin or squash (large acorn squash, unpeeled, including the center strands and seeds)
2 large ears fresh corn (please, not that sweet soft stuff), each cut into 6 pieces
2 chayotes, about 1-1/2 pounds (675 grams), peeled and cut into strips
8 ounces (225 grams) fresh lima beans in their pods or shelled fava beans (see note above)
1 large scallion, roughly chopped
7 ripe chihuacles (see note above), left whole
1 large bunch cilantro
Put the water into a large pot with the onion, garlic, and salt and bring to a boil; lower the heat and simmer for 10 minutes. Add the beef and pork and continue cooking for about 40 minutes. Add the chicken and cook for 10 more minutes.
Meanwhile, put the tomatoes and chopped garlic into a blender and blend until smooth. Add to the pan. Add the pumpkin, corn, chayotes, lima beans, and scallion and cook until they are almost tender, about 30 minutes. Adjust the salt, then add the chiles and cilantro and continue cooking until all the ingredients are tender and the broth is well flavored.
Serve in deep bowls with plenty of the broth and corn tortillas.
NOTE: Time will vary depending on the quality of meats and vegetables.
RAJAS DE CHILES CRIOLLOS DE CUICATLÁN
FRESH CHILE STRIPS FROM CUICATLÁN
[MAKES 1-1/2 CUPS (375 MILLILITERS)]
Poblano chiles or, even better, chiles chilacas can, of course, be substituted for the chilhuacles of Cuicatlán, although they lack the color and intensity of flavor and heat.
The fresh chiles cooked in this way during the harvest of local chiles are used as a filling for tortillas, un taco campestre, a rustic taco, or to be eaten with cheese or broiled meats. These are the most colorful and hot-fruity-tasting rajas I have ever eaten.
2 tablespoons oil
1/2 medium white onion or 1 large scallion, thinly sliced
3 garlic cloves, sliced
Salt to taste
12 ounces (340 grams) tomatoes, finely chopped, about 2 cups (500 milliliters)
4 chiles chilhuacles (preferably multicolored), or substitute poblano chiles or 8 chilacas, charred, peeled, veins and seeds removed, and cut into narrow strips, about 1 scant cup (240 milliliters)
2 large sprigs epazote
Heat the oil in a skillet, add the onion and garlic with a sprinkle of salt, and fry over medium heat without browning until translucent. Add the tomatoes and continue cooking over fairly high heat, stirring and scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent sticking, until the juice has been absorbed—about 8 minutes. Stir in the chile strips and epazote and cook for another 5 minutes. The mixture should be moist but not juicy.
Notes
*The sponsors who agree to take on the expenses of the celebration.