Bratty Little Mocoso Snot-nosed Kids

If you don't want kids to like you, then don't, please don't make these Mexican-style paletas.

If you take unparalleled delight in scaring little children with your nasty presencia. If the mere thought of living and dying alone, unloved and unmourned, amidst moldy half-eaten Mc Donald's hamburgers and SnackWraps, leaves you feeling all warm and fuzzy inside—then it is a very foolish thing to even think of making these delicious and healthful treats made with fresh spring and summertime fruits like mango, watermelon and coconut and pineapple. You see, if you make these paletas, all those screaming little brats with their mocoso—snot-nosed faces and grubby little fingers will come flocking to your house and you will never have a moment's peace. Why ruin a good thing?

Well, I've come here to destroy your summer's day and the rest of your poor miserable life as you know it.

Because I'm going to take you on a fantastic culinary journey to Tacumbo, a town in Michoacán, México, where the local townsfolk have erected a statue of a giant popsicle to honor the Birthplace of The World's Best Paletas. Then I will fly you back to those chunky-peanutbutter-smog filled days of my Los Angeles childhood, where we will relive my own youthful self sitting on the curb, looking hot and bored out of my little mind. That is until El Paletero (The Popsicle Man), with his hewn dark Indian features and his white native garb and huaraches, looking so out of place as to make one think that he was beamed up and has now found himself in another world (he has), comes walking by in his cart, shouting ¡paletas! ¡paletas! at the top of his lungs. You will see my look of delighted amazement when I sink my teeth into those natural tasting paletas made with fresh pineapple, mango, sweet strawberry, watermelon, some with fresh chile bits, others cool and creamy like the one studded over with huge pieces of pecan. Next, you will taste my madrecita's own sweet paletas made from a simple mixture of smashed bananas, whole milk with a little bit of sugar and vanilla, making my sisters and me the happiest muchachitas en todo el mundo. And then perhaps you will tell me, if a life with no little children with smeared paletas faces is a really a happy one after all.

But, if you enjoy the pitter-patter of little patitas. If you love being told, "I love you, (Mamí) (Papí) (Tía) (Tío) (Abuelita) (Abuelito) (YOUR NAME)" by a honest little person who has no desire to impress you. And, if that somehow makes you believe that, despite your foul disposition and changeable ways, you are not such a bad person after all, only then will you be truly deserving of a fresh fruit paleta inspired by the tasty little masterpiece of Tacumbo.

(Dedicated to my own not-so-small-anymore sobrinas. Yes, they are the beautiful young girls in theses photos. I wanted to get them in touch with their Inner Mariachi Girl by photographing them wearing my sombrero and my charra suit. All play musical instruments. All of them, together with my sobrinito, are sweet and smart and a credit to mis hermanas—my sisters and their spouses. All of them are mi corazón. May they one day cook Mexican food just as deliciously as their little abuelita.)

Mango, Watermelon and Coconut-Pineapple Paletas

These are not recipes per se, but guides to making as little or as many paletas as you want. Of course, you can always double the recipe if you wish, especially if you have lots of slightly overripe fruit like that left-over watermelon that you have in the frig right now. If you not have any popsicles molds on hand, you can easily improvise by using small paper cups. If you want the popsicles sticks to stand up straight, simply fold some aluminum foil over the top rim of each cup, make a small center slit with a sharp knife, and insert a popsicle stick (available in supermarkets or craft stores.) To loosen the paletas from the cups or molds, just run them over with warm water from the faucet for a minute or so.

Mango Paletas:
2 ripe mangos, peeled and finely chopped (about 2 cups)
Thick Simple Syrup (recipe to follow)
1 lime
popsicle molds; OR, small paper cups, popsicle sticks, and aluminum foil

Thick Simple Syrup Recipe: Combine 4 tablespoons granulated cane sugar with 2 tablespoons water in a small saucepan. Heat over medium-low heat, stirring constantly, until the sugar dissolves completely. Remove from heat and set aside.
Use a vegetable peeler to peel away the skin of each mango. Then, slice the flesh as close to the pit as possible. Chop the mangos into very small pieces. Take half of the chopped mango and whirl in a food processor or blender until smooth. The mixture will be thick. Pour the mixture into a bowl and dilute with a generous squeeze of fresh lime juice. Add the rest of the mango to the mixture. Add Thick Simple Syrup, one tablespoon at a time, until it is as sweet as you want (it should not be too sweet.) Pour into molds or cups.

Place in the freezer and wait about 3 hours or until frozen.

Makes about four servings.

Sprinkle some chili powder over the paletas for a taste you will just love, I promise!

Watermelon Paletas:

About 2 cups fresh watermelon, chopped into smallish pieces

Thick Simple Syrup (recipe above)

1 lime

Combine the chopped watermelon and a squirt of lime. Add Thick Simple Syrup, one tablespoon at a time, until it is as sweet as you want (it should not be too sweet.)
Pour into the molds or cups. Place in the freezer and wait about 3 hours or until frozen.
Makes about four servings.

Coconut-Pineapple Paletas:
Equal portions of sweetened shredded coconut and fresh/frozen/or canned chopped pineapple—about 1 cup shredded coconut and 1 cup pineapple for this recipe.

About 2 tablespoons whipping cream (my favorite), half-and-half, milk or any other dairy product you happen to have on hand just to moisten and bind together the ingredients. If the mixture seems a little too thick, add teeny bit of pineapple juice. No need to add any sugar or Simple Syrup.

Combine all ingredients. Pour into mold or cups. Place in the freezer and wait about 3 hours or until frozen.

Serves four.

Something to Crow About

Perhaps you'll excuse me as I strut around this blog the way a mariachi singer struts around the stage while I proclaim something that we mexicanitas had long suspected. Let me cry a triumphant ¡ajúa! to the very few—and very sad—Mexican food haters who think that Mexican food is bad for you (until they read this post). Because this misunderstood and supposedly fat and mean cuisine is not just delicioso, but it can also cut your risk of coming down with breast cancer if eaten everyday.**

Well, duh, we don't need no stinkin' scientific study from the April 2008 Journal of Clinical Nutrition to know that Abuelita's native home cooked comida is not just beyond delicious, but healthy as well, now do we? Not when we consume a diet high in fiber, low in fat (yes, you read right), and abundant in fruits and vegetables such as cabbage, chiles, squash, corn, and lean meats, fish and cheeses. Not when we eat beans almost everyday, or when we enjoy hearty but low fat water-based soups, tomato-based sauces and salsas and corn tortillas. Our cheeses, most of them partly skim, are the supporting players and not the main attraction to our dishes. It's actually no surprise here that the breast cancer risk for Mexican women is two-thirds less than the general population—so if you need an excuse to eat enchiladas, well, did you ever really need an excuse???

Which brings me to the subject of Chayote Salad, a little recipe from Morelos, and the perfect introduction to this green, pear-shaped, sometimes smooth, sometimes dangerously spiny relative of the gourd and squash families. Of course, when you bite into it, you might not think that it tastes like much of anything, except perhaps a cross between a zucchini and a cucumber, but it can absorb any flavor you want, combining beautifully with almost any dish. In a soup, it will impersonate a potato. Peel it and cut it into small pieces and add it raw to a green salad, and it will satisfy those crunch cravings. Simmer or steam it, peel it and slice it into wedges and allow it to absorb the flavors of red wine vinegar, olive oil, garlic and fresh roasted and dried chiles, and, of course, those sweet little grape tomatoes—all fussily arranged into a shape of a flower to amuse and perhaps annoy your family like I do mine. Now that it is warm outside, and I am able to look at a cold salad in the face again, I promised myself that I would eat something more exciting than just a green tossed salad from a plastic bag that you buy in the grocery store. It seemed just too easy and a tad boring, frankly.

And there is more: the green wrinkled split-brain look of a chayote conjures up images of the outdoor mercados (marketplaces) of Mexico where you will find an overwhelming variety of exotic fruits and vegetables and other ingredients. Then it hits you, this food is healthy and good. These are people who are downright passionate about their food—even those persnickety little 80 year old viejitas (little old ladies), who, if they lived in Florida, would be taking it easy playing bridge or getting their hair done, are instead running around cooking up a storm or terrorizing the produce venders by loudly commenting on every fruit and vegetable they see and sniffing everything in sight. If they can live this long and healthfully by eating all of that Wicked Mexican Food, then I want in. And if that means that I have to peel a nasty looking chayote, and getting stuck by a stinger or two, then it is a sacrifice I am willing to take (though you don't have to).

They say that revenge is sweet, but I believe that there is something else that tastes entirely more satisfying. Really, what can be more delicious than a plate of vindication for my favorite cuisine with a little gloating on the side, especially when it is served hot and spicy?

So stop eating all of those golocinas y "purundangas" (sweet stuff and our family's word for junk food) that your madrecita warned you about and eat a chayote, okey?

**Note: Cancer is an equal opportunity disease, cutting across all social, national, and ethnic barriers. If you have any Spanish-speaking friends or relatives who are battling cancer, please have them check out Lance Armstrong's Livestrong Foundation's Spanish-language webpage so that they can have access to support and necessary resources.)

Chayote Salad

Ensalada de Chayotes

Make sure that the chayotes are fresh. They should be firm with no brown spots or sunken areas. The original recipe has no chile in it, so you don't have to add any to the recipe if you don't want to. I found, however, that the grape tomatoes, toasted garlic, fresh roasted chiles and bits of red hot dried chiles and some chopped cilantro added some wow factor to this cold salad. You can remove the heart of the chayote if you want, but I like its nutty flavor. You can omit the red wine vinegar and olive oil and garlic and use your own low-cal or bottled red wine vinegar dressing if you wish. Adapted from Mexico The Beautiful Cookbook.

3 smooth skinned chayotes

grape or cherry tomatoes, split in half, as many or as little as you want
6 tablespoons olive oil

3 or more tablespoons red wine vinegar to taste (3 tablespoons are never enough for me)

2 cloves garlic

½ teaspoon sea salt

¼ teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon dried oregano

¼ to ½ cup finely chopped fresh cilantro (optional)
½ red onion, finely sliced
1 fresh Poblano chile, roasted, thin-sliced or diced; OR, 2 serrano chiles, roasted and chopped if you want more fire; OR, both chiles (Click here to learn how to roast chiles.) (optional)

1 dried whole or cut up chile de árbol or any small dried red chile (optional)

Cooking Instructions:
Put the chayotes, one clove of garlic, and a pinch of salt in a large pot. Cover with water and bring to a boil. Then lower heat to a simmer. Cover and cook for about 30 to 40 minutes, or until the chayotes are tender when you pierce them with a fork.

In the meantime, roast and peel the chiles. Toast the other garlic clove in its skin over a hot skillet for about 5 minutes or so.

Discard the water and let the chayotes cool for about 5 to 10 minutes.

Take a potato peeler and peel the chayotes' outer skin. Cut each chayote in half lengthwise, then cut into quarter wedges, and then cut into eighths (see picture, top). Chill them in the refrigerator for an hour or so.

Remove the chayotes from the refrigerator. Take some paper towels and dry them off to remove any excess moisture. Peel the toasted garlic

In a small bowl, stir together the olive oil, vinegar, the toasted garlic, oregano, salt and pepper and let the flavors blend.

Chop the cilantro and dice the roasted chiles.

Toss together all the ingredients, including the red hot dried chile. Add more seasonings if you wish. Let stand for a few minutes before serving.

Agua de Jamaica Infatuation

You know about my horchata cravings, but now that summer is less than a week away, I think I should introduce you to my latest infatuation: none other than la agua fresca de la flor de jamaica (Hibiscus Flower Tea) one of the many, and, need I say, most stunning of Mexico's delicious aguas frescas, natural drinks made from fruit and other ingredients. Once you gaze into this brilliant garnet-hued drink and taste its dark cranberry and herbal green flavor, refreshingly astringent but sweet, you will know why the dried seedpod and sepals of "The Flower of Jamaica", as Mexicans call it, is, in its various recipes, from jelly to wine and more, especially loved from Mexico and Central America to Thailand to India to Iraq to Turkey to Sudan to Jamaica and the rest of the Caribbean and back to Mexico again. I guess you can call it an around-the-world favorite.

Ha! And you thought that it was just some ordinary tart drink at your local taco shop.

Among its purported benefits, agua de jamaica helps reduce fevers, is mildly diuretic and lowers blood pressure. Some say that it reduces blood sugar, helps digestive and kidney function, relieves neurosis (my ailment, for sure), and, according one study, even reduces drunkenness in chickens (now who funded that? And, why didn't we know this that back in the day when my papá was getting our roosters drunk on cheap tequila?) I don't know if all of those claims are true. All I know is that it tastes cool and refreshing on a long hot summer's day, especially when I fiddle with the recipe and add the freshly squeezed juice of an orange and a touch of lime peel. Adding a little rum and nutmeg to this blend, Jamaican style, only adds to the excitement of serving this to my paisanos--most who are Mexican food puristas like me, but I have a sneaky suspicion that once they get over their initial shock it will be bottoms up. Now that my cooking laziness is coming to an end, what with chayote salad with roasted chiles and tomatoes and piña colada paletas (popsicles) and other goodies coming around the bend this summer, I think that some freshly brewed agua de jamaica will be not just my infatuation, but my constant companion.

¡Que viva el verano!—Let the summer begin!

Agua Fresca de la Flor de Jamaica
(Hibiscus Flower Tea)

You don't have to add sugar if you don't want to. Feel free to add your favorite no calorie sweetener like stevia. I like to drink mine straight with no sugar and tons of ice. Too tart for some, but perfect for me. This drink is served year round, so feel free to serve it anytime, and not just with Mexican food. If this drink is too tart for you, just add more water and sugar to taste.

Ingredients:
1 ½ cups of dried jamaica flowers (available in Mexican markets, health food stores or online)
1 cup cane sugar, or, your favorite sweetener
6 cups water—divided

Directions:
In a medium-sized pot, bring 3 cups of the water, jamaica flowers and the sugar to a boil. Using a wooden spoon, stir the pot to dissolve the sugar. Cover and lower the heat to low. Simmer for about 10 minutes. Remove from the heat and let sit for 15 to 20 minutes. Add the remaining 3 cups of water into the pot. Strain out the flowers and let the agua de jamaica cool off. Pour the agua de jamaica into a pitcher and refrigerate for at least 3 hours. When ready to serve, poor la agua de jamaica into tall glasses. Garnish with an orange slice if desired.

Serves 4 to 6 persons.

A Fiesta in Mi Jardin

I've been gone from this blog for almost a whole month, and for a person who is supposed to love cooking, exchanging a cook's mandil (apron) for a gardener's mandil, a dinner fork for a pitch fork, and a spoon for a shovel, it has been a refreshing change. To dig in la tierra, to plant flowers and vegetables like tomatoes and chile plants, is not only good for the body, but I think I finally succeeded in clearing off some wintery cobwebs from my mind. I'm flipping some sad springtime memories, hoping to create some pleasant ones instead.

Now that the garden is ablaze we are going to have a fiesta for Beatríz and Marina, a pair of beautiful young women, sisters, who will be getting married to Mateo and David. All sets of parents are our dear friends, so I don't think they won't mind it a bit if we borrow their children for a little while to partake of their happiness.

I decide to pick the tomatillos myself. They are for the green enchiladas I am making for the fiesta. The tomatillos must be plump and firm, smooth and shiny, a little sticky to the touch. Their husks, delicately veined, are almost as translucent as those of the wings of a dragon fly lightly skimming the water. The enchiladas will be stuffed with a savory tomato-y garlic-y chicken/potato filling that blends perfectly with the green light tanginess of the enchilada sauce. What better way to celebrate spring and summer and new beginnings than with an enchilada dish that tastes as beautiful as it looks? As much as I love spicy red enchiladas, I think I prefer eating them during the fall and winter months, when cool weather calls for big, bold flavor.

My husband and I start preparing for la fiesta. I cook the chicken and enchilada sauce the day before. My husband, the real baker (though not the butcher or the candlestick maker) of us two, whips up not one but two cakes. One is chocolate, his favorite "vegetable" as he calls it, studded all around with almond slivers; the other is a vanilla cake—its insides stuffed to the gills with fresh strawberries he bought from a neighboring field. He tops it with a little plastic wedding cake ornament and some tiny pink satin ribbon roses. Leave it to my viejo to make a homey cake, perhaps a little corny but very heartfelt (and not to mention out of this world delicious). When our friends sit down a la mesa, there is a huge green salad, beer marinated barbeque chicken, tender carne asada, sopa de fideo con tomates (a "dry" pasta soup made with chicken broth and tomatoes), corn tortillas, fresh from the tortilla factory, a blazing hot red chile salsa. Gloria brings a large bowl of pico de gallo. Lina shares some creamy beans made Puerto Rican style made with secret spices and chicken broth.

Celebrating en lo fresco with my husband and friends who are also family, surrounded by my garden of flowers, the sounds of our favorite mariachi music, my mother's manteles (tablecloths) and candlesticks, I feel the past and present converging in a brightly colored kaleidoscope of emotion. In my garden, there is mingling of joy and una dulce tristeza (a sweet melancholy)—as exquisite as the tangy coolness of some hot green tomatillo enchiladas on a brilliant spring afternoon.

As evening descends on the fiesta, we all look on as Beatríz and Mateo and Marina and David cut my husband's cake.

Green Tomatillo Enchiladas with Chicken/Potato Filling

Traditionally, enchiladas are not heated up in the oven. However, if you are cooking for a crowd and need to heat them up in the oven for a little while (pre-heated to 350º), make sure to add a bit of enchilada sauce to the bottom of the casserole dish so the enchiladas won't stick to the bottom. I don't know about you, but I like to fry my corn tortillas before dipping them in the enchilada sauce. They maintain their shape better and I love the toasty flavor. If you are concerned about fat, do yourself a favor and don't smother these beautiful enchiladas under a fat-laden blanket of cheese. Let the wonderful flavor of the tomatillo shine through. A little queso fresco or cotija will do just fine. Also, save any left-over chicken broth, chicken filling or enchilada sauce to make delicious soups or tacos.

Ingredients for Chicken/Potato Filling:
1 whole chicken, rinsed, with giblets, neck, etc. removed

2 large potatoes, scrubbed

water

½ white onion

1 carrot, peeled and cut up

2 sprigs cilantro or parsley

1 large red juicy tomato, puréed in the blender; OR, one 8 oz. can of tomato sauce (If your tomato isn't super sweet and juicy, this time I'd go for canned tomato sauce.)

1 Knorr's® chicken flavored bouillon cube (optional)
¼ teaspoon black pepper
1 bay leaf

pinch oregano or to taste

Ingredients for Green Tomatillo Enchilada Sauce:

2 lbs. of tomatillos, husks removed

1 to 3 serrano chiles, stems removed

¼ to ½ white onion

2 cloves garlic

chicken broth

½ to 1 cup fresh cilantro to taste (optional)

1 tablespoon lard or vegetable oil

pinch of powdered cumin
seasoning salt to taste

crema mexicana, or sour cream(optional)
12 (one dozen corn tortillas)

To Cook Chicken/Potato Enchilada Filling:

Put the chicken in a large pot and fill with water to cover. Bring it to a boil. When the water becomes scummy, remove the chicken from the pot and discard the water (who likes scummy broth anyway? I don't.) Rinse the pot and put the chicken right back in. Add potatoes, pureed tomato or tomato sauce, bouillon cube, cilantro, onion, garlic, bay leaf, cilantro, oregano, and pepper. Add water to cover the chicken. Bring to a boil, then cover and lower heat. Simmer for 30 to 45 minutes, or until the chicken is tender. Remove the chicken from the pot and set aside. Remove the vegetables from the broth and discard. Skim some of the fat off the chicken broth. If you are preparing the enchiladas a day in advance, let the chicken and the broth cool down before putting them in the refrigerator for the night. The next morning, you can skim off the fat from the chicken broth if you wish.

To Make the Green Tomatillo Enchilada Sauce:

Put the tomatillos and one inch of chicken broth in a medium sized pot. Bring to a boil, then cover and simmer for about 10 minutes or until the tomatillos are soft and fully cooked. (In the meantime, shred the cooked chicken, peel and chop the potatoes into small bite-sized pieces. Cover and keep warm.) Put the cooked tomatillos in a blender with ¼ white onion, garlic, serrano chile(s). Blend until smooth. Now add the cilantro and blend for a few seconds more.

Heat a tablespoon of vegetable oil in a saucepan. Add the tomatillo mixture, a pinch of cumin and seasoning salt to taste. Simmer for about 10 minutes. If the sauce is too thick, add a bit of chicken broth. If it is too thin, reduce by simmering uncovered for a little while.
Take a corn tortilla and heat on a hot heavily oiled skillet or griddle. Flip it once or twice until the tortilla is soft and flexible, about 10 seconds (don't worry if the tortilla is a little toasty). Using a spatula, lift the corn tortilla and dip it into the warm enchilada sauce for a few seconds. Then transfer the tortilla to a plate or other flat surface. Add a large spoonful of chicken/potato filling to one end of the tortilla. Using your fire-proof macha fingers, tightly roll up the tortilla and place seam side down on a platter or a casserole dish. Pour some hot enchilada sauce over the enchiladas and top with thinly sliced green onion, sliced black olives and or your favorite real cheese or crema mexicana (or sour cream). Serve immediately.

Never Judge a Nopal By Its Stingers

I have a confession to make. I want something so badly that I'm willing to steal it.

I'm going to take my long sharp knife and risk life and limb to get me some, even if it means jumping the wall into Doña Hortencia's backyard and facing down Diablito, that psychopath ankle-snapping chihuahua of hers. Just to get my hands on those fresh and tender nopalitos—the flat paddle-shaped pads of the prickly pear cactus (how's that for a bit of alliteration?). And for any of you who think that I'm one tortilla short of a stack for wanting to commit such a foolish and criminal act, all I have to say is that only a Mexican who doesn't have a cactus of her own knows how I feel.

Some of my friends smile at me indulgently with the kind of a look that they usually reserve for little children or people who are loco en la cabeza whenever I mention nopales. Why eat anything as prickly and as slimy and just plain dangerous, they ask? Poor souls, if they only knew. For lurking beneath its nasty agüates (stingers) and forbidding exterior lies the tender heart of a saint. If you like the fresh taste of farm fresh green beans and asparagus with a hint of lemon, then you are on your way to loving nopales in just about anything Mexican: With your scrambled eggs with pinto beans and a homemade tortilla for breakfast. In salads. In tacos. In the Mexican classic, Dried Shrimp Paddies with Molé Sauce, a favorite of mine. And, if that weren't enough, nopales just might lower blood sugar levels (listen up, my diabetic friends). If you are concerned about its okra-like baba (slime), well, it doesn't have to be if you cook it right. Give it a try, and you will find that even unattractive things have a beauty beyond just mere appearance.

I looked over into Doña Hortencia's backyard today. That was all it took for the aptly named Diablito to come charging, bearing his canines and bursting my ear drums with his mad incessant yapping, jumping up and down, frantically trying to bite off my fingers. Somehow, my heart failed me just then. I did not relish the prospect of turning into a fur-lined maniac's taco. So I knocked on Doña Hortencia's door instead and pleaded with her in the most pathetic tones for some nopalitos. There was a trace of amusement in those old brown eyes of hers. She must have seen me peeking into her backyard.

She hesitated for a moment and then replied:"¡Pues, claro qué sí!—Why, of course you can!"

What ever possessed me to think I could steal some nopales from such a nice viejita?

Tomorrow afternoon I'm bringing my big long knife and I'm going to lop off some nopalitos, some for me and some for Doña Hortencia .

Boiled or Sauteed Nopalitos, Salad Included.

You can buy nopales at the supermarket pre-chopped and stripped of their stingers, but I find that the ones that are fresh off the cactus tastes best. Each cactus pad should be no more that 8 inches in length (about the size of your hand), and exhibit a fresh green color. It should never look shriveled or tough. This is not a recipe per se, but a guide to making as much or as little as you like. Depending on the recipe or your preference, you can boil or sauté them until they are perfect.


First step:
Wear a pair of gloves and trim off the outer edge of the nopales. Then using the sharp edge of the knife, scrape off all of the stingers. Cut about an inch off the lower end of nopal. Rinse the nopales under cold running water and closely examine them, making sure that there are absolutley no stingers left.

To Boil:

Bring some water to a boil in a large pot or pan with about half an onion, one or two smashed garlic cloves, and salt to taste. Put the whole cactus pads in the boiling water. Lower heat to medium and boil the nopales for about 15 minutes or so, or until they are easily pierced with a fork. You can pre-chop the nopales if you wish, but I think that boiling them whole preserves more of the flavor.

Drain the nopales onto a colander; cover them with a damp cloth, and let them sit for about half an hour or so while any excess moisture drains into a bowl.

Using a sharp knife, dice or slice the nopales according to your taste. You can now scramble them with your eggs for a new take on breakfast.

Here's a simple but utterly delicious recipe for NOPALES SALAD:

Mix the boiled nopales with fresh chopped tomatoes, sliced green onion, fresh minced jalapeño and chopped cilantro. Just add some quality bottled red wine Italian salad dressing or your own homemade vinaigrette. (See picture at the top). Add some queso fresco and eat it with anything Mexican (except dessert!).

Sautéed:
On a hot skillet add 1 tablespoon olive oil, 4 cups diced or sliced fresh nopales, 2 cups white onion, 2 cloves garlic, minced, any finely chopped fresh chile (optional) and garlic salt to taste. Over medium heat, continue sautéing until the slime completely evaporates and the nopales are slightly charred and the onion is sweet and golden brown. Remove the nopal mixture from the heat and add finely chopped cilantro to taste. Add a corn or flour tortilla and a bit of salsa and you have the perfect vegetarian taco.

With Heartfelt Sympathy—El Pesame

I would like to offer my sincere and heartfelt sympathy to those in Mexico, the land of my parents' birth, who have lost a loved one to the swine influenza.

May their precious memories sustain you now and always.

De todo corazón le doy el pésame a la gente de México, la tierra de mis padres, que han perdido a un ser querido debido a la influenza.

Que sus lindos recuerdos los sostengan ahora y para siempre.

Springtime For Carnitas

Ay,¡qué laureles tan verdes!

¡Que rosas tan encendidas!

Oh, how green are the laurel trees!

The roses are all aflame!
(--José López, "Los laureles", an old mariachi song)

You may think that all I ever do is dream about Mexican food and refried beans. Not so. When la bella primavera—springtime—rears her lovely head at my garden gate, and the days are cool and bright with the scent of jasmine filling the air, when new roses and freesias and elegant, stately alcatraces (calla lilies) are en flor, the last thing on my mind is cooking over a hot stove or spending time indoors watching Mexican soap operas. Propped up outside my door are some large fat iris bulbs that will produce flowers the color of golden sunshine. They are waiting for me to plant them around the lovely blue-hued hortencias (hydrangeas) just outside my window. What do I care about albondigas (Mexican Meatball Soup) or homemade flan as I watch little jewel-toned chuparosas (hummingbirds) dive bomb around the hot pink and purple fuchsia plants looking for nectar and a little romance? I listen to the song of an orange-breasted little robin perched on a branch nearby tree. Who needs food when there is so much beauty? . . .

Wait. Did I just hear you say carnitas?

Caramba, how I wish you hadn't. Because now I can't think of anything else.

Its tender, citrusy-sweet meat resting on a hot off the comal homemade corn tortilla, together with a tangy cool hot green tomatillo salsa with chopped green onion and cilantro is just the thing that will send me in a beeline to la cocina. Now add a squirt of fiery red hot salsa and a squeeze of lime plus a spoonful of guacamole that makes me and just about everybody else just SWOON (as the sweet and smart Emma would say) when they taste it. And now that my friends Margarita and Roman have lent me their beautiful copper pot to cook it Michoacán-style, how can I resist?

Never having cooked carnitas Michoacán style, I wasn't too sure I could pull it off. So I cooked it both ways: the way I was taught, which is to cook the pork in a spice and orange scented water. Then, when it is tender, shredding the just cooked meat (use your fingers if you're macha and don't need no stinkin' forks) and placing it under the broiler for a few minutes with some fresh pineapple. The result is a fragrant tender-crispy piece of joy. Or, cooking it Michoacán style—in a skillet, or in this case, the copper pot. The pork is cut into chunks and is cooked in spicy water with a whole orange peel thrown in for added flavor. When the pork is fully cooked and very tender, you fry it in lard or bacon grease and the juice of a sweet orange until the chunks are crispy on the outside, tender and succulent on the inside. Each method is delicious, but I think the next time I make it Michoacán-style, I will use my old stand by, a heavy cast iron skillet. Perhaps I am not a carnitas experta, but the carnitas came out a little charred than I was hoping for—perhaps the fault was mine and not the pot's.

So here I was with a mountain of carnitas when I should have been outside planting my yellow irises. Presently our friend Orlando came over, so I served him and my viejo some carnitas tacos with the homemade corn tortillas I had made for lunch. In their typical, too kind manner, both swore they loved the carnitas, saying that they liked the "smoky" flavor. Then Joaquín showed up and, like most teens whose shark-like metabolisms demand constant feeding or they will die, he wolfed down three tacos and a lot of the guacamole and the chopped roasted pineapple. Later that evening, Lupe and her brood came by, and, together with my husband and me, we polished off the whole thing. We didn't have any Bohemia beer to drink with the carnitas, but the agua de jamaica (hibiscus flower punch) had just the right tartness to counterbalance the sweet n' heat savoriness of the carnitas tacos.

Today I will step out into my garden once again. The iris bulbs are still by my front door, patiently waiting for me, but springtime planting can wait hasta mañana. I'm making another batch of carnitas.

Carnitas

Mexico has arguably the best fast food in the world, and carnitas is pure pork genius on a tortilla. Just walk into a busy taquería anywhere in México or in certain parts of the US and inhale the sweet smoky aroma of a pineapple infused carnitas tower that has been cooked by the able hands of a master taquero. Who says that you can't try to duplicate this at home (at a fraction of the price)? Serve it on homemade corn or flour tortilla, hot red chile or green tomatillo salsa with a bit or guacamole, some chopped white or green onion and a sprig of cilantro. Don't forget the squeeze of lime!

Ingredients:

1 3 lbs pork butt or shoulder, whole or cut into 1 ½ to 2 inch chunks. (Note: for Michoacán style carnitas, cut the pork butt into 1 ½ to 2 inch chunks.)

Water

One whole medium sized onion, cut in half

3 cloves whole garlic

1 tablespoon sea salt

A dash of dried oregano

A dash of ground cumin

1 bay leaf

The juice of a navel orange or 2 tangerines, the sweetest tangiest you can find

Sliced fresh or canned pineapple (optional)

1 to 2 tablespoons lard or bacon grease (for Michoacán style carnitas)

Orange peel of a whole orange (for Michoacán style carnitas)

Put the pork in a large pot or Dutch oven. Add onion, garlic, salt, oregano, cumin and the orange juice. (Note: for Michoacán style, omit the orange juice for now.) Add water to cover the meat. Bring the pot to a boil; reduce heat to medium, and cover. Simmer for about 1 ½ to 2 hours, or until the meat is very tender. Using a slotted spoon or a pair of tongs, remove the meat and place it on a platter or baking dish. (You can use the pork broth to make Mexican rice if you wish.) Use your macha fingers to shred the pork. Then, spoon a tiny bit of the pork broth just to moisten the pork a little bit—do not drench the meat. Add the pineapple slices (you can omit this step if you want and serve the pineapple cold and chopped). Place in the broiler for about 6 or 7 minutes, or until the carnitas are crispy. Watch out! Do not let the carnitas burn! Remove immediately and cover with foil or a kitchen towel. Chop the roasted pineapple and serve with the carnitas.

For Michoacán style carnitas:

Follow instructions as above, only do not put the pork chunks in the broiler. Do as follows: In a heavy skillet, melt the lard. When it is very hot, add the orange juice (STAND AWAY FROM THE STOVE!) and the pork. Do not cover. Cook over medium heat until the pork is brown and crispy. Make sure to drain off excess fat, if any, by placing the carnitas on paper towels.
Do not discard the excess fat! You can make wonderful tasting flour tortillas with that lovely bit of lard-o. Just store it in the refrigerator or freezer until you need it.

Corn Tortillas: Or, The Female Valentino

She was billed The Female Rudolph Valentino, the dark exotic beauty from Hollywood's Silent Film Era. Orson Welles, ten years her junior, fell deeply in love with her and called her the "most exciting woman he had ever met." And yet I doubt that the fabulosa Dolores del Río knew how to make homemade corn tortillas.

As I see these vintage publicity shots of her wearing the fine gowns that the best designers of the day created just for her, I cannot see this daughter of an aristocratic Mexican family mixing the ground corn, lime and water with her lady-like hands or rolling the masa (dough) into balls or flattening them in a tortilla press. It is hard to imagine her standing over a hot fire while she heats up those homemade corn tortillas on a cast iron comal and serving them with beans and rice to her family. And why would she? Leaving behind a Mexico that had been ravaged by a bloody revolution that left at least a million dead, she came to Hollywood and gained international acclaim as a singer, dancer and actress. And yet, despite her extraordinary talents and undeniable beauty, the advent of Talkies revealed her foreign accent and so her star gradually began to fade. By the 1940's she returned to her native country and made some classic movies that are a part of the canon of The Golden Age of Mexican Cinema.

Who can forget María Candelaria with Dolores in the title role, which won Mexico The Cannes Film Festival's Palme d'Or Award for Best Picture in 1943? Her portrayal of Maria Candelaria, the beautiful but doomed Indian girl is heartbreaking to watch, so much so that is hard to believe that Dolores did not understand how it felt to be poor and dark and misunderstood. In other films, hers is the tragic but stoically dignified face of the rural woman who loses a husband or son to war. Watching her films as a young girl, I think I finally found a window into the world that my mother spoke about but is no more.

Perhaps I was wrong about Dolores del Río. Could it be that her world was not as rarified as I thought? Maybe, just maybe, this beautiful and fine artist knew a thing or two about making corn tortillas after all.

Homemade Corn Tortillas

It is difficult to image Mexican food without corn tortillas for their history goes back thousands of years to Pre-Hispanic times. Once you make them at home, you will see tacos and tortillas in a whole new light—like homemade bread, its flavor is irresistible. No dried out, store-bought corn tortilla can compare. Besides being lots of fun to make, those friends of yours who have never tasted a homemade tortilla will forever rave about your cooking. It's true!

Depending on how hard you press your tortilla press, your tortilla can be thin or as thick as you want. I like mine a little thick. I like to buy my flour at the Mexican foods market in my neighborhood, but you can find corn tortilla flour at almost any grocery store, especially in the Western part of the United States.They are absolutely no trouble to make. Just make only as much as you need, because if you make a lot, you are going to eat way too many of them, and what will happen to your waistline?

(Note: I couldn't help but notice that that corn tortilla flour that I buy at my Mexican market makes the softest and flexible corn tortillas I had ever tasted. Their secret? Just add a bit of Harina La Pina flour to your corn tortilla masa as I have done in this recipe. This is especially nice if you have to save a few tortillas for later but you don't want them to harden. Still, an all corn tortilla is more flavorful.)

Ingredients:

2 cups corn tortilla flour

1 1/3 cups water

To make soft corn tortillas (optional): Add 2 to 3 heaping tablespoons of Harina La Pina white flour that is made especially for making flour tortillas. Add 1 tablespoon water for every tablespoon of white flour. Please do not use all purpose flour.
Instructions
Pre-heat your griddle to medium-high heat (cast iron is best, but any griddle will do). When a drop of water sizzles and dances on the griddle, you are ready to heat the flattened corn tortilla.

While the griddle is heating, take the corn flour and water and mix them together. Knead the masa (dough) until it is no longer sticky. (If you have added Harina La Pina flour, the balls will be somewhat sticky.) Form into small to medium size balls and put each one between two plastic sheets and press flat it with a tortilla press as shown.

Carefully peel the plastic sheets away from the flattened tortilla and carefully lay it on the griddle. Heat the tortilla on the heated griddle for about 30 seconds or so, and, using a steel spatula, flip it on the other side. Flip the tortilla once again, and put in a tortilla warmer or wrapped in a cloth. Put any unused corn tortilla masa in a plastic bag and store in your refrigerator. It will keep for about a week. Before making the tortillas, bring the masa to room temperture so they will not come out stiff.

Enjoy corn tortillas with any kind of Mexican food, or do as I and most Mexicans do: eat them with everything, even with a hotdog and mustard!

Ah, Horchata!

I'm writing to you today with the knowledge that perhaps I shouldn't be sharing this recipe for horchata with you. You see, after consuming pre-fab taco joint horchatas, you might think that all horchatas are emulsified and homogenized and are just a little too perfect and a little too sweet. But, if you see beauty in imperfection, if you get lost in the deliciousness of a homemade beverage that might have tiny bits of rice in it, whose cinnamon taste comes from the bark the cinnamomum verum tree of Sri Lanka and not from a powder, if you love to drink it from a handblown glass with a thick ultramarine blue rim, then I must declare that you will never have enough horchata to satisfy your cravings—and what will become of you then?

Take my Belgian friend Claudine that tall and thin, elegant in an island-vibe, free-spirited kind of way, funny and talented and oh so insouciante Mexican food loving horchata-connoisseur artist friend of mine. She had been hounding me about making her some. So we struck a deal. She offered me some of her prized Belgian chocolate in exchange for my homemade horchata. How could I say no to that?

Of course, there are many ways to make horchata. The Spanish drink an horchata made from the tiger nuts, a starchy root that grows in the Valencia region of the country and are called chufas. (Monna of Slow Blogs, a Canadian teacher living in Barcelona, Spain, is probably enjoying one right now come to think.) Mexicans love horchata made from rice and cinnamon, almonds sometimes, with a few drops of lime juice. Regardless of how you make it, it is one refreshing drink, perfect for those winter days when it is a blazing 80 degrees outside like it was just last Sunday here in California (so I'm bragging). I can always count on an icy horchata to quench the flames when chiles burn hot and furious on my tongue. I love to ladle it up from a large beehive shaped glass jar that has pieces of cinnamon bark floating on top. In Mexico it is part of a colorful and delicious line up of aguas frescas like garnet colored agua de jamaica (hibiscus flower tea), agua de tamarindo (tamarind water) and other natural fruit flavor drinks that are found all over the country.

It is a little surprising to me that people can be oh so particular about this white sweet drink. Some like it watery, others thick. Some put milk in their horchata, others don't. So I decided to experiment. I wanted a classic Mexican tasting horchata strong on cinnamon and a just a hint of lime. Sweet without being cloying, full bodied without being thick. Chalkiness was positively out of the question. Most of all, Claudine had to love it.

I think I have come up with a good one. And the best part is that you can adapt it to your taste. It can be as sweet (or not) or as milky (or not) as you want. One thing is for sure, it will pack a cinnamon wallop that is essential to any great tasting horchata. Will it look or taste just like your Mexican abuelita's? I'll let you fiddle around with the recipe until it does.

So, if you can appreciate something natural and unrefined and are willing to forgo ready-mix powdered horchata "perfection", then give this horchata a try. You might find that imperfection has a beauty all its own.

Horchata

How well your horchata turns out will mostly depend on the preparation. Grittiness or lack of it depends on how well you strain the cinnamon and rice. Use a very fine mesh strainer or a cheese cloth over a large wire mesh strainer. (I like to use a thin cotton flour sack cloth or something similar instead of cheese cloth.) If you want your horchata to be thick or thin to the point of wateriness depends on how long you blend the rice and how much cold water and/or milk you add to the almost finished drink. So, add it one cup at a time until it is at the consistency you like best.

Ingredients:

4 ½ cups raw long grain white rice
3 long sticks of cinnamon bark, shredded
¼ cup of almonds, coarsely chopped (optional)
7 cups of boiling water
4 to 5 cups cold water and/or milk
couple of drops of lemon or lime juice
simple sugar syrup (recipe below)

Instructions:
To make the sugar syrup mix 1 cup of raw sugar with 1 cup water in a small sauce pan and boil together, stirring constantly, until the sugar is completely dissolved. Set aside and let cool. About 3 minutes or so. Set aside.

Take the shredded cinnamon bark and toast in a skillet over medium heat for a few minutes. (Do not burn.) Remove from skillet and place in a medium to large sized pot. Add rice and almonds. Pour 7 cups of boiling water into the pot. Cover and let it sit overnight or for about 7 hours.

Next, ladle some of the water, rice, almonds and cinnamon bark into a blender. If you want your horchata to be a bit watery, blend for only a few seconds. If you want a more milky consistency, blend until the mixture reaches an almost paste-like consistency. Now, take the blended mixture and strain over a wide-mouth pitcher using a steel mesh strainer that has been covered by a cheesecloth that has been folded 4 times over to ensure that the horchata will be smooth and not gritty. Repeat this step until all the rice and cinnamon have been blended.

Now, add about 4 to 5 cups cold water and/or milk into the pitcher, or until the horchata is as thin or as thick as you like. Add a few drops of lemon or lime juice. Add simple sugar syrup to taste. Don't forget to add a few drops of vanilla extract if you wish.

Refrigerate for a few hours. Stir before serving. Pour over ice and enjoy the warm winter's day. Makes approximately 2 quarts. Serves 4.

Fighting Mexican Grandmas

CHILES AND CHEESE go together like a slice of lime with a Corona beer, like Cheech goes with Chong. Now imagine combining these two flavors when you stuff a fat Poblano chile with a great tasting melting Mexican cheese like Queso Enchilada, Asadero or Oaxaca. And it gets even better when you dredge it in a fluffy egg batter, frying it until it is golden brown, and finally topping it off with a fresh tomato and garlic salsa. You know, I can just feel my lips just pucker with the eager anticipation of chomping down on the creamy, hot enchantment of this beloved Mexican dish.

But I used to have a big problem with chiles rellenos.

You see, my chiles rellenos were sad, pathetic things: they reminded me somehow of self-exploding dark green rats with the tails still attached, their little cheese guts squishing out of their mushy little chile bodies. Uh-oh, perhaps I shouldn't mention dead rats in a food blog, but I think you get the picture. Every time I see a recipe for chile relleno casserole, I think it really started off as a chile relleno recipe gone terribly, terribly wrong. And believe me, my previous efforts to create the perfect chile relleno have resulted in a mess of a "casserole" more times than I care to admit. (That's what I get for fleeing the kitchen at every opportunity instead of watching my mamá cook—tsk, tsk, tsk! Poetic justice, indeed.)

Of course, my mamá sometimes did make them picadillo style with ground beef with tomatoes, onions and spices sometimes, but cheese-filled chile rellenos are my, and it appears, almost everybody's favorite. So here I am, facing down my chile relleno fears, challenging myself that if I am my mother's daughter, not only will I make one that tastes sabroso, but it must look beautiful, just like hers. So I decided to ask two very opinionated abuelitas—grandmas—how they make their superb chiles rellenos. And after annoying them to tears, I think I have finally found two idiot-proof ways of making them right.

Abuelita #1 told me to roast them and to put them in a plastic bag and covering them loosely with a kitchen towel so they can "cook" for no more than 10 minutes or so before taking them out and peeling off their charred skin. Test first before taking them out of the plastic bag. They should feel tender to the touch but not mushy. If they are mushy, then it's best to make something else out of them (like the aforementioned rat guts casserole which no one will eat).

Abuelita # 2 instructed me to parboil the Poblanos in rapidly boiling water for about 6 minutes. Then, taking a pair of metal tongs and the holding the chiles, one at a time, roast them over the gas burner of the stove. Quickly peel off the skin as fast as you can and store them in a plastic bag, covering them loosely with a kitchen towel until they are ready to be stuffed. The chiles will be tender-firm without being mushy. It was fun watching the skin popping and practically peeling itself off as soon as the Poblano touched the flame. This was my preferred method.

When I mentioned to each Abuelita the way the other roasted her chiles for the perfect chile relleno, they were aghast. Looking like opposing bookends, they threw up their hands and exclaimed a loud "¿Qué? ¡Así no se hace!—What? You don't do it like that!" By the look on their otherwise kindly faces, I saw that these two seriously doubted the other's sanity. To the Mexican Grandma, just the thought of making chiles rellenos differently from the way she was taught, well, don't you know that it borders on heresy?

Then para acabarla de fregar—to really mess things up, I them invited them over to the house. Remind me to never again put two Mexican abuelitas in the same kitchen—suffice to say that it was not a pretty sight.

In the end, it really doesn't matter which method you choose. You will have the perfect chile relleno—they are a joy to behold and to eat as you savor every hot delicious cheesy little bite. And yes, this time they looked and tasted just like my mamá's.

Un millon de gracias to Abuelita #1 and Abuelita #2 for sharing your knowledge of la cocina mexicana. You have made this prodigal casserole-making daughter very happy.

Only just don't grab each other by las greñas (the mane) if I am not there, okay? I want to be there to enjoy the show.

The Fighting Abuelitas Chiles Rellenos with Tomato-Garlic Salsa

Unlike roasted Anaheim chiles, which are firm fleshed and hold their shape, Poblano chiles are thin skinned and need special care in the roasting process. It is worth testing to see which Abuelita's method for roasting the Poblanos you prefer. Either way, make sure to choose the "straightest" chiles you can find—not the "bent" ones that are hard to roast. If you can't find any Poblano chiles, then it is perfectly okay to use an Anaheim chile instead. (To learn more on how to roast chiles, including Anaheim, click here.) Make sure that you peel every last bit of the charred skin so the flour and egg batter will stick to the chile. Also, prepare the Tomato-Garlic Salsa beforehand and keep it warm on the stove as you are preparing the chiles. As I have mentioned many a time, measurements need not be precise, so this is a guideline.

What you need:

A non-stick frying pan

A pair of metal tongs if you are roasting over the gas burner of the stove.

A plastic bag and a kitchen towel

A couple of plates

2 medium-size to large-size bowls

Blender or food processer

A platter to hold roasted chiles rellenos

Paper towels to drain off fat after frying

A cheese grater

An egg beater of a whisk

A thin knife

Large spoon or spatula

Ingredients:
Poblano chiles (about 1 or 2 per person)
Eggs, with the whites separated from the yolks (about 1 egg per 2 Poblanos)
Grated Mexican cheese that melts easily such as Enchilado, Asadero or Oaxaca, enough to stuff the chiles. You can substitute Jack or Mozzarella cheese with a bit of grated Parmesan cheese thrown in to kick up the flavor.
Cooking oil
A pinch of cream of tartar (optional)
A pinch of salt
1 cup or more of all purpose flour
Tomato-Garlic Salsa (recipe to follow)

Instructions:
Take the Poblanos and roast them like Abuelita #1 or Abuelita #2—the choice is yours. The object is to roast them, but not to the point that they cannot retain their shape. Then, open a slit along one side of the Poblano and remove the seeds, but do not remove the stem. Take a generous amount of cheese and stuff the chiles with it (but do not overstuff.)
Sprinkle some all-purpose flour on a plate. Lightly cover the chiles with flour. Set aside.
Now, take a bowl and beat the egg whites and pinch of cream of tartar with a whisk or egg beater until stiff peaks form. In a separate bowl, beat all the egg yolks together. Then, fold the yolks into the egg whites.
Pour a generous amount of cooking oil (about 3/8 inch deep) into the frying pan and place over a medium-high heat.
While the oil is heating, dip the chiles into the egg batter to cover. Test the oil to see if it is hot enough by putting a bit of egg batter in the oil. If it sizzles, when gently slide the chile in. Immediately lower the heat to medium. When the bottom of the chile is golden-brown, about 1 or 2 minutes, carefully flip the chile to cook the other side.
Remove from the chile from the frying pan and place it on a platter with paper towels on it to drain off excess fat.
To serve, plate the chile rellenos and pour some hot Tomato-Garlic Salsa over them. Let them sit for a minute or two and serve immediately.

Tomato-Garlic Salsa

This super easy salsa, adapted from Mexico The Beautiful Cookbook, has no chile in it. If you want to make it hot, just put a little fresh jalapeño in the salsa when it is cooking. This recipe is for the minimum amount needed, so feel free to add more tomatoes and garlic if you need more salsa.

Ingredients:

Two or three large juicy tomatoes

2 cloves garlic

1 bay leaf

Salt and pepper to taste

About one tablespoon vegetable cooking oil

One jalapeño pepper (optional)

Coarsely chop the tomato and garlic and whirl in a blender or food processor. Set aside. Then heat the cooking oil in a saucepan until it is hot. Quickly pour the tomato mixture into the sauce pan. Add salt and pepper, jalapeño and bay leaf. Stir the salsa and bring to a boil. Lower the heat to a simmer and cover. Continue cooking the salsa while you are making the chiles rellenos. When the chiles rellenos are done, fish out the jalapeño when you are ready to pour over the plated chiles rellenos. If you feel that it is too thick, put a little bit of water in it and heat it up again.

When serving chiles rellenos I like to keep it simple (and low carb) with a bowl of pinto bean soup, garnished with fresh chopped cilantro, green onion and ninced serrano chiles, and mashed avocado on corn or flour tortillas.