The Sum

I haven't cooked much recently. A few friends and I did brunch, but afterwards there was (are) a chingo of dirty dishes, piled in a filthy, colorful, abstract-sculpture kind of way, so I'm able to convince myself that it really would be wrong of me to disturb them.

Something I've realized, more now than I did before, is that when I think of myself or my personality, I don't separate my family from that concept. Obviously, there are variations, (Dad is the hypochondriac, Mindee is the type A (love you, don't get offended, hormones), Ian is the eccentric, Benjamin is the shrill one at campfires, etc. :) but I imagine it kind of like a mole; there are all these separate ingredients, and you taste the variations of the chocolate, ancho chiles, cinnamon, garlic, and a mess of other ingredients, but combined they've created a totally distinct flavor--that is a whole unto itself, and while hints of the former ingredients are there, they can be hard to identify and separate. (Think Top Chef name that ingredient challenge).

Someone told me once that I confused them with the way I used the pronoun "we". I use it without specifically mentioning the "others" that are contained in it, and consequently hearers would assume it was a you(listener)-and-I (speaker) "we", but it really is a my family-and-I "we".

I keep wanting to write about Murray. About all the things we (my sense of the word) think about and feel when we think of him. Things he loves, has done, stories he's told or been a part of--the time he found the perfect Jelly-Belly combination that tasted exactly like cleaning out the grainbins, the color of our new "chemical" Norvee 500, him falling in the river at Indian Bluffs and having to wear my pants back to Iowa City, his face when he told the story of lifting heavy objects without making noise--but like ingredients and my language have done, my memories and feelings meld into a whole, larger than just one ingredient represents, and I can't convey the depth with just one. All the mornings with obscene amounts of coffee, all the picnics, all the meals, lawn games, holidays, rides in the car...

“I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have been seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I'm gone which would not have happened if I had not come.”

Midnight's Children Salman Rushdie

3 Years

Just over 3 years ago I moved to Oaxaca. Just over 3 years ago, late one night after a party sprinkled with cacahuates con chilé de arbol and drenched in palomas, that post-party malaise crept up, probably exacerbated by the neighboring cantina's blaring "music."

I doubted being in Mexico, I missed my family, I wanted to have them to my apartment and explain things that I was just learning, and I wanted to tell them about delicious new things I had eaten, drunk, and seen in the market. So in my sporadically used journal, I wrote to them, but about them too--because while we are wonderful, intelligent, amazing, loving...all these positive things and many others, we are also vain as shit. So I wrote to them, and about us, and about the things we love, because they are things we do together, and share with each other. Then I started this blog, so I could share these things with them as they happened.

In three years, my life has changed dramatically in ways that I guess I knew it would eventually, but never really believed or understood--and that I still don't. In three years, I have written consistently less and less, but gone home more and more. In three years, I've shown friends and family around Oaxaca, and took them to eat in my favorite spots, played the knowledgable tour-guide/translator, and loved every minute of it. In three years, I've lugged suitcases full of mezcal, chocolate, and chilied bugs to the North--the anticipation of sharing these things and being with my family giving me much joy, even before the actual trip. In three years, I have had more compliments about looking beautiful or happy just after these visits than at any other time...and I get a lot of these (See?, I wasn't joking about that vanity thing). In three years there are some things that still haven't changed--I still doubt being in Mexico, and I miss my family all the time. In three years, I'm hoping that writing it down will still help share things with my family when I can't be there with them.

Would you Say I Have a Plethora of Possibilities?

When I'm feeling pessimistic it feels hopeless that I could ever make the right choice about what to do with my life, where to live, sometimes even what to eat for lunch. Possibilities are bogs of primordially evil smelling mud that are slowly dragging me down and suffocating me, and worst of all the slow and painful process smells like shit.

Those are bad days. However, it's not always like that and some days I feel feverishly optimistic about all the choices that lie in front of me. Instead of stenchy-mud bogs, it's like I'm back in a Mr. Bulky's sampling their delicious wares, but this time without the threat of getting yelled at by an employee who realizes I'm not going to buy anything. It may still be something that will eventually drag me down and suffocate me, but instead of sludge it's Jelly Belly's, butter mints, gummy fried eggs, and coke bottles.

I think a lot about choices and possibilities over the holidays. There are the unpleasant, stenchy choices; what clothes will keep me warmest in temperatures for which I've grown too soft and wimpy? Why do stores in the US have so many varieties of everything that I stare unfocused at bright colored boxes like someone who has just had a frontal lobotomy? How can I keep living in Mexico when my family lives in the Mid-west, but how can I move back to the Mid-west when my Mexico has no -14º (celsius or farhenheit) and aguacates are $1 per pound?

But then there are those delightful choices that pleasantly roll around in my mind--what non-Mexican food will I be eating for lunch? Which can get a little out of control on its own, because I want everything, but feel confident I can do no wrong. I think about all the things I pine for during the year in Mexico and then I devour mass quantities of them. Blueberries, sushi, barbecue, breads with the perfect chewy crust, stinky and sharp cheeses, and much, much more.

Even with that plethera of pleasant choices, my return to Mexico always has a certain relief to it. The one brand of olive oil, the one lady who sells ginger, the one food option--Mexican.

Of course, there are lots of choices within that spectrum, but the one I miss most when I'm away, that I would happily eat during vacations in the US--the tlayuda. It's huge, it's grilled, it's stuffed with meats, beans, quesillo, veggies, there is talk of lard, it's un desmadre. Yum.

While I've never tried my hand at replicating and it's probably a little cold for grilling, I'm guessing you could use a 400-450ish oven and maybe your lowest rack. Start with a large corn tortilla, dry or slightly toasted, top with black bean puree, quesillo, your choice of cooked meat (it's usually chorizo, cecina, or tasajo--a lean salted beef (my personal tlayuda favorite), chopped cabbage, cilantro, avocado. Fold in half (they don't always fold, but my favorite place does and so you should too) and grill or toast on both sides until tortilla is warm and crisp. Slice in half and serve with salsa, rajas, spicy pickled carrots.

What other choice do you need?

Days Go By

Where do months go? I know time is arbitrary blah, blah, blah, but it feels like days, weeks, and months have accidentally fallen out of my pockets like the numerous tubes of lipgloss I've unintentionally scattered around the world.

There are those times when hours or days seems to evaporate as you're laying on the couch in a Frito-Lays induced stupor with nothing to show for the time that has past, but a disgustingly thorough knowledge of Tyra Banks' modeling tips.

Then there are those times when the past stretches out behind you and you almost can't recognize the events along the way. Maybe you became a tenured professor and got promoted and can't really understand how you arrived at the position you're at at present and why people are looking at you like you are a responsible human.

I've fallen into the swallowing couch category before, but this time, the latter is my excuse for a very, very long absence from my gluttonous writing. Though to be honest, I wish more couch and Fritos had been involved..though rest assured there have been lots of tacos dorados, mangos, chilaquiles...ok, I guess I don't miss the Fritos.

Today, my second anniversay of moving to Oaxaca, I've been trying to remember all of the things that brought me to this point--the experiences and flavors I've tasted along the way--including this blog where I've tried to record and recreate them.

So I had to come back, shamefully recipeless, but back at least, to say: I love you OAXACA! Happy anniversary.

Mwah.

Spring Cleaning

Spring!!!
It's here! Ok, my excitement probably isn't what yours in the norte is what with improving weather, that smell, the muddyness and that fresh chill...ok, I promise I won't do this again for a long time, but I'm taking a spring-inspired poetry moment...

in Just-
spring       when the world is mud-
luscious the little lame baloonman


whistles       far       and wee


and eddyandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring


when the world is puddle-wonderful


the queer
old baloonman whistles
far       and       wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing


from hop-scotch and jump-rope and


it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed


baloonMan       whistles
far
and
wee

...Whew, thanks, e.e. cummings, lovely as always. Ok, I think poetry is out of my system for the day. Speaking of getting things out of the system(winkwinknudgenudge), in a rash of self-projecting spring-mania not only did I do a thorough cleaning of my apartment (down to organizing my jumbled heap of hippie jewelry), but I've decided to do a raw juice fast. Which means for three days I will eat nothing but blended fruits and vegetables. No processing! No animal elements! No booze! No caffeine! Oh god, that last one gave me the shakes and a phantom headache just writing it. I'm shooting for three days, but I have several large bars of 75% cacao swiss chocolate at my apartment and a decent bottle of cabernet sauvignon, so if I make it through tomorrow, I will be damn proud. And to make sure there's plenty of work for that juice to do, I've had three cafe con leches, half a bar of 75% cacao swiss chocolate, half a block of queso fresco, a tamal, a big-ass eggplant sandwich (does anyone know what "nightshades" mean? I read something about them being "bad" somewhere, and that eggplant, tomatoes, potatoes are these, but apparently didn't care enough to follow up on that one.), a pile of sweet potato fries, and a coconut paleta--which is something I'll make sure you become acquainted with at a later date.

You may wonder, with my obvious relish of eschewing limitations, why I would choose to do something like this, but it's like the beauty of spring following winter. Or for me these last two year, that googly-eyed feeling I get for Mexico in the post-Christmas-visit-to-Iowa days. I'll have a fresh gluttonous love for that chocolate bar accompanied by a cup of coffee after a couple of days of not having it. Plus, I've got a trip to the Yucatán coming up! It's like cleaning just before a party, it's nice to have the floor sparkle, even if your friend is going to vomit all over it.

Lapsadaisacal

Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! If I was a celebrator of Valentine's day I'd probably throw that one out there too, because I could possibly have another lapse and not be heard of for months.

Let me assure you, the lack of writing in no way correlates to a lapse of eating and cooking. Since my last post I've eaten my ass off...which in the hilariously illogical English language means that my ass is now HUGE.

Ok, not really, but as I try to happily accept my January plumpness (which I apparently did better last year), a result of many happy family meals and gatherings, I'm dealing with a minute culture shock. The other day someone asked me "Engordaste?" (Did you gain weight?/Did you fatten?). I'm not sure if it's that I'm just not used to people saying direct things to me about my weight, my midwest experience that only family members in the 60-plus category made negative weight comments to you, or the cognate ring in my ear of the word "engorge" that bothered me, but as a result I've tried to eschew more delicious baddies in a post-Christmas penance than normal.

That being said, I will never be a strict regimen person, in any form, but especially not food. I'm an ineffectual self-motivator, because I already know all my convincing tricks and that I make up facts and statistics 97% of the time.

So my "restricting myself" entailed turning down a cookie yesterday, and still eating 3 avocados before dinner. I'm going for minimum self-denial and avoidance of people that speak openly and honestly, and I should feel good and conceited again shortly.

No matter how many questions I may get or how squishy I may feel, one thing I will never restrict from my diet is the almighty sandwich (honestly, it's one of many, but this is a segue and I've already established that nobody likes or wants honesty, so callate).

During Christmas my sister introduced me to a fantastic cookbook, 'Wichcraft, which has less jinxes and curses than I initially hoped, but an ample amount of delicious sandwich recipes. We used it as inspiration for our "Fancy Sandwich New Year's Eve."

There was a roast turkey, bacon, avocado, and balsamic onion marmalade sandwich that caught my eye, not only because it sounds ridiculously delicious, but because a year ago, after making balsamic glazed onions for Christmas and then eating onion and eggplant marmalade at an incredible Italian restaurant in San Jose del Pacifico--I too developed a balsamic onion marmalade for sandwiches. But did not publish it in a book. And it made me angry, because I was hoping for intellectual property of this delicious condiment and had no curses to ragingly give people hiccups or nosebleeds...well, I had a certain kind of curse at my disposal, but my nephew is nearing a speaking age and I'm trying to refrain.

Once I made the marmalade and ate a pile of sandwiches, the urge to curse was out of satisfaction rather than hostility. So here, I present you, from a place at peace with having an idea that someone has already had and chubby thighs:

Balsamic Onion Marmalade
2 Tblsp Olive Oil
2 Medium Onions, sliced 1/4 inch thick
1/4 C Sugar
1/4 C Balsamic Vinegar

Heat olive oil in a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add onions and cook until tender and translucent. Turn heat to low. Add sugar and balsamic vinegar. Cook for about 35-40 minutes stirring occasionally and until thick and marmalady. So easy!

Enjoy on all kinds of sandwiches. I did a roasted yellow pepper and zucchini sandwich with manchego and topped with the marmalade just the other day and it was fantastic. You could even use it in an appetizer: melba toast with goat cheese and balsamic onion marmalade--sounds good to me. Maybe I'll get some other recipes going so I don't lapse and see more ideas in a cookbook by someone else. Or maybe I'll just eat.

Happiness is a Warm Boozy Cider

The only tongue in cheek element about that statement is my tongue checking my cheeks to see if there are any rogue drops of boozy cider that I missed savoring last weekend. Seriously. If Sr. Lennon had seen a recipe for my latest obsession instead of a firearm magazine, I think we would have a very different tune on our hands. Something you curl up with next to the fire and say in a mawkish mom-voice "Isn't that sweet?" (sans traces of irony).

Can I then, in clear conscience, present this recipe? Will I be responsible for a wave of musical production that is more cloying than acidic? More Barney than Oscar the Grouch? More bland smile than cynical smirk?

Several factors support the resounding "no" in my head. I'm fairly certain that if people read this and take inspiration away, it will be to make a boozy cider and curl up next to the fire instead of to write a song. Which, honestly, is all I'm going for. I've about got the edginess of a warm marshmallow which doesn't seem sufficient for musical inspiration . Plus, I figure, read the news and you'll find ample ludicrousness to inspire the strangest and most satirical of tunes.

My inspiration actually came from Thanksgiving. My fellow English teachers, the two lovely Mexicans stuck in the gringo office, and I had quite a lovely Thanksgiving spread for such a motley bunch of crumbums that worked the whole day. It was cool enough that having rich, autumnal-inspired menu items actually tasted good. Creamy spinach dip,fish in a pineapple-cinnamon sauce, orange-glazed beets, carrot-ginger soup, and boozy cider created an impressive cornucopia of fall treats.

Allison brought this inspiring concoction, lovingly spiced and spiked, and two days later I made it myself (as I always say, if someone does something you like, copy it and pretend it was your idea) and then again last weekend when I went with some friends up to the lovely cabañas in San Jose del Pacifico. Chilly mountains, adorable cabins, and fires were made to be drenched in apple juice, spices, and rum. It looks like for those of you in the midwest (Iowa especially), today (6-12 inches of snow, feels like -9°) was also made to be drenched in apple juice, spices, and rum. Maybe it will inspire you to do something creative or at very least not freak out while cut off from the outside world.

Ok, I've mentioned this before, but to reiterate, I'm not a recipe maker who is going to hold your hand and minutely guide you through this (especially for drinks). For that matter I'm not really a hand holder either, but that digresses into issues of clamminess. Anyway, the point is, I'll give you a basic outline and then push you into the swimming pool and see if you can swim. Yes, I am available to watch children.

Boozy Cider
Apple Juice
Cinnamon sticks
Whole cloves
Freshly grated ginger
Spiced Rum

Let the apple juice simmer with the spices for about 30 minutes. Add rum before drinking.

Homemade Prozac

Blame it on the rain (for the record, Milli Vanilli lyrics do not come up often enough in conversation), this time of year, the association of fall with going to school and all the new beginnings that went along with it. I'm blaming my antsy feeling to start something new on all of these things. Or maybe it's just that I'm on my third cup of coffee and have eight more hours to sit at my desk before I can go home. Should probably blame it on that.

Wherever the blame lies, I've been playing the whatdoiwanttodowithmylife game also known as the existentialcareerlifemindmeld. I've played a lot of games, got really pissed playing (read: sucking at) a lot of games, but this wins the prize for the least fun game I've ever played. Despite my aversion, I keep coming back to it. Even though I much prefer the whatamigoingtoeatforlunch game or the whatcrazymixeddrinkcanimakewiththecontentsofmyfridgeandliquorcabinet game.

Amidst loathing and continuing to play this game,I contemplated graduate school, but the GREs, lengthy applications, economy, and not having 60 grand stuffed under my mattress scared me off. I also browsed employment search engines, but you'd be surprised how few things show up when I entered "lover of Mexico" and "eat" as keywords. I guess I'll have to wait until Rick Bayless retires to get my dream job as Rick Bayless.

I don't mean to sound down and out about my current sitch, because I'm not. I just have what a Peruvian friend calls patas de perro (dog feet), a sort of restless, wandering nature/mind--which isn't limited to just the geographic, either. But even with this disorder, I know Oaxaca is so great, I love being here, and I love my job. My students are lovely and impressionable enough that I'm creating a cache of students who speak my personal brand of English, I just met my friends new baby (ok, that was well over a month ago now, but my internal arguments are longwinded and pair as well with a long stare out my office window as a cold saison with pommes frites), I'm heading to the mountains this weekend, and I'm in the midst of planning my second annual Oaxacan Thanksgiving. Not too shabby.

I've also remembered that nothing soothes my restless, overthinking mind like the beautiful melding of salt, sweet, and an unhealthy dose of butter. A gem of a holiday treat from Food and Wine that my sister made last Christmas fills this criteria perfectly--Chocolate-Almond Saltine Toffee. I definitely raised my skeptical eyebrow at the idea of saltines in a candy context, but lowered it in a euphoric stupor.

This sweetly rich and salty memory gave me the motivation to finally write a damned blog entry, stop trying to plan something that doesn't need planned, and attempt my hand at this toffee without the use of a candy thermometer and a high propensity for disfiguring myself with moltent sugar. Which I believe at least as daring as flinging myself around on a trapeze without a net. If I can start growing a beard, I'm selling tickets.

Monday Market Mysteries Part II

I thought the world had become a safer place. I thought I could stroll safely through the market without some unknown nemesis lurking beneath the lettuce, mangoes, and beets. I thought with the evil chayote locked away all was well. I thought. . .wrong.
A new blight has descended upon the peaceful market scene. One who feeds on a well-known market dweller, mutilating her shining, golden features into a monstrous distortion of leprous black and grey boils.
The worst shock came when I realized I knew this villain. Hiding out in Oaxaca she's passing herself off as a seasonal delicacy and going by the name huitlacoche. But I'd recognize her monstrous features and fiendish ways anywhere, she once pillaged my mother's garden, torturing my siblings and I with here cruel, sadistic exploitations of the sweet corn patch. We called her corn smut.

No joke here, huitlacoche really is the same thing as corn smut. It is probably the food that has intrigued me most, probably because of the disgust it provoked in me as a child and never thinking of it as something edible or delicious. I've been wanting to try it, but haven't gotten to it yet, maybe because it is a little bit terrifying. Bugs, worms, intestines, feet, are all a little intimidating too, but never presented the same problem for me, because I've always had a special loathing and skin crawling reaction to mold. Huitlacoche looks like the most sinister mold I've ever seen, like something that could only be spawned by damp, festering gym socks with mayonnaise on them or something. I mean, grey/black, tumorous looking growths don't exactly spark the confidence that crispy red chapulines do.

That being said, I've still been eager to try it, so I bought some at the market two weeks ago and asked the secretary of the English department, the all-knowing Flor, how I should prepare it. She recommended blending it with garlic and chili, then frying it and using it in quesadillas. It sounded promising, but I've uncovered a problem with foods that look rotten; they rot on me. It has happened twice now. The past two Monday's, I've sought it out at the market, excitedly bought it, and had to toss it out a few days later.

Another problem has been October's pressing social schedule. This is also where I'm laying responsibility for my infrequent blogging. There was The Battle of Miahuatlán festivities to kick off the month and ongoing town or school events all month, culminating in Day of the Dead this weekend. It's been fantastic, but I haven't been doing a lot of kitchen experiments. I've been doing a lot of quick visits to papas or taco stands before the evenings events commence. One day soon, however, I will either conquer huitlacoche myself, or eat it at an establishment that has better produce management skills than I do.

I leaned slowly back in my chair slowly shaking my head. Huitlacoche had slipped
through my grasp yet again.
"You've won this round, Huitlacoche, you devilish little smut" I muttered, narrowing my eyes at the gathering darkness "but I'll will devour you yet," I added with a slight smile while lifting an icy Bohemia to my lips "oh yes, we will meet again."

Breakfast Pajamas

It feels like October. Yes, it is October, but the months here have rarely matched the descriptions I've stored away in my mental file cabinets. Today the sun is shining, the sky is blue, there is a cool breeze blowing, I'm reading ESPN to scrape up every accolade for my beloved Hawkeyes, and I'm wearing a sweater (I can barely contain my excitement with this one), all aspects darkly underlined on the October file.
To add to this excitement, my friends got an oven at their place. An honest to god oven!!! I commandeered it on a cool, rainy Saturday and made banana bread that my friend Jess made a couple years ago in the north country and I promptly tagged in my September and October files for future use.
I'm definitely projecting this fall feeling to a certain extent, I'm sweating wearing this sweater (my cool here is 70 degrees, not 45) and I won't get to watch a single Hawkeye game this season. That aside, I'm enjoying my faux-fall immensely. Tying certain aspects of my traditional fall to those I'm creating here.
My favorite fall traditions were generally also my laziest, it may be a coincidence, but more likely it is my undying love of being well pajamad. Living at home Saturday mornings at my parents house had me lounging in old flannel pants and playing Scrabble. My Louisville autumns saw me rocking the pajamas on my fire escape, listening to music, and enjoying a beer from BBC.
College has probably been the pinnacle of my pajama:normal clothing ratio(or low point if you're one of those "active" types). Looking back it seem like I was in pajamas for four solid years, but especially in the fall. Cooking breakfast on Saturday mornings before games, my friend Katie and I would daydream about owning cute pajamas with an egg and bacon print from the over-priced boutique. Later, as we would make our way to the game full of heavy breakfast foods and a bevy of beverages, we would host our pretend talk-show (our imaginary wardrobe being the aforementioned jammers) Breakfast Pajamas. Some may daydream about illustrious careers with fancy wardrobes, but give me a job where I can be a total ass and wear comfy pants with bacon strips on them.
For some reason unbeknownst to me, I can't ever remember what happened on this talk show. But I do remember making a condescending, mildly-amused, closed-mouth reporter laugh after pretty much everything we said. Maybe that was all there was. Whatever the content, the memories of football, crisp weather, breakfast, and cozy pajamas summarize everything I'm importing to Mexico for my full fall enjoyment.
These were the jumble of memories rolling through my head when I stumbled on something called red flannel hash. I've never gotten into the hash thing. Partly because the sight has always made me vomit in my mouth (just a little bit)and partly because my old roommate Roxie told me it was good, she generally lies. But red flannel made me think of pajamas and the recipe from epicurious involves beets and sweet potatoes, roots and tubers feel autumnal to me every time, plus there's bacon. It kind of screamed "I am fall, trick!" Maybe not the breakfast meal to take home to mom, nah, probably even mom would overlook the foul-mouthedness for the delicious.

Red Flannel Pajama Hash
serves 4
8 bacon slices
1 jalapeño, chopped
1 medium onion, chopped
1/4 C fresh parsley
1/4 C sour cream thinned with about 1 Tbsp milk or fresh cream
1 C coarsely chopped cooked beets (roasted, steamed, boiled..whateva)
1 C coarsely chopped cooked sweet potatoes
1 C coarsely chopped cooked potatoes

In a large skillet fry bacon until crispy. Remove from skillet and crumble into a medium mixing bowl. Drain off excess bacon grease, but leave a thin coating in skillet.
Add remaining ingredients to bowl with bacon, salt and pepper, and mix.
Heat skillet over medium-high heat and transfer contents of mixing bowl to skillet. Using a spatula, smash hash mixture. Cook for about 15 minutes, turning up bottom occasionally to prevent sticking, but allowing to crisp and brown. Repeat smashing as needed.
Divide amongst hungry. Top with poached or over-easy egg.

199

So Mexico turned 199 last week (September 16 for you nogoodnicks that think cinco de mayo is independence day). I had this big plan to list 199 things I love about Mexican food, but I got to 38 (1/5.24 of 199. .that's significant, right?) and decided I would rather go eat all these things I was talking about, drink mezcal, and get decked out in red, white, and green garb than finish this list. I made the right choice. But here are the 38 I got to.

1. Chiles Rellenos
2. So many different varieties of things I had previously thought of in single-fixed terms like "mango" or "banana." I'd never thought about the answer to (or question) "What kind of mango would you like?" Thank you, God, for inventing fingers and their ability to point at things.
   
3. Spicy peanuts (especially when they are free with beer)
4. Oaxacan Mole! And all the 27 ingredients that go into it. And how people defend mole from their region like their mother. I've met a lot of poblanos that poo-poo the Oaxacan mole in favor of mole poblano. I totally understand. If there was an Iowa mole, it would be so much better than any other state's.
   
5. Chocolate.
6. Mezcal. Once referred to as "tequila for grownups and hobos" it can be fierce, but is generally smoky, smooth, earthy, and intoxicating. Enjoy with chile salt and citrus wedges.
   
7. ¿Con todo?
8. Fruit water
9. Lime and spicy with everything
10. Tomatillo tanginess
11. Los Danzantes
    
12. Ceviche
13. Ice cream and paletas near La Soledad in Oaxaca and from dudes pushing carts in Miahuatlán
14. Nanche, chayote, chamoy, epazote, and other mysterious things that I'd never heard of before and now know and love.
    
15. The Spanish word for pomegranate is grenada, which answers my query of why pomegranate syrup is named "grenadine" . . .which, yeah, I probably should have got from the "granate" part, but. . .I didn't. And now I do. And I find it very satisfying.
    
16. Cilantro's prevalence.
17. How my students almost always respond to the question "What is your favorite food?" with "My favorite food is Mexican food."
    
18. Spicy pork! Chorizo, cecina! So red! So luscious!
19. Chilaquiles
20. Squash flower soup
    
21. Al pastor or shepherd's style--pork cooked gyro-style. And the accompanying joke Al pastor alemán (german shepherd) that it is made of dog. Also the fact that if that joke is at times true, I don't care, because it's sooo good.
    
22. Licuados
    
23. Atole. A hot, sweet drink made from corn. It kind of reminds me of a runny Cream of Wheat in texture and has some vanilla and cinnamon flavors to it. Sold from carts in the morning alongside tamales. Perfect rainy day breakfast.
24. Tamales.
    
25. Quesillo and its amazing elasticity.
26. Tostadas
27. Nopales
28. Eating breakfast in the clouds in San Jose del Pacifico.
29. Hot chocolate.
30. Flan.
31. Buying grilled chicken in the street.
    
32. Huevos Rancheros from The Pelican in San Agustinillo.
33. Goat.
34. Mangos cut to look like flowers (or pine cones), sprinkled with lime, chili powder, and served on a stick.
    
35. Tortillas. Corn tortillas.
36. Enchiladas Verdes.
37. Tasajo. It's like the offspring of beef jerky and a ribeye. I didn't eat it for the first bit I was here, because of the cafeteria's tasajo's resemblance to shriveled ears. Now it's a highly enjoyable accompaniment to enchiladas or chilaquiles.
    
38. Tortas.
39. 
    

There are tons more, but that's as far as I made it. What are your favorites? Can you think of 71 more?

Y'all Know What This Is?

I'm sure you don't. Those of you who have enjoyed popular music in the last few years probably know that it's a celebration (bitches), but not of what. I shan't keep you dangling in suspense any longer. Oaxaca and I are celebrating our one year anniversary today. All together now. . .Aaah.

It's pretty crazy. I can't believe it's been a full year already. We've had some turbulence (immigration, curvy mountain roads, chorizo aftermath), but Oaxaca and I really love each other. That being said, it ain't gonna last. Unfortunately, Oaxaca and I aren't meant for the long haul, because my family and that Vietnamese salad with vermicelli, mint, cilantro, basil, cucumber, and rice wine vinaigrette (what's it called?) don't live here. We're from two different worlds!

Reconciling the fleeting nature of our love, I've decided to enjoy the precious moments we have together. I also need to get serious about picking up some Oaxacan cooking skills, so I can carry Oaxaca with me and devour its memory wherever I go. Let's be honest, I'm in it for the food (cuisinedigger?).

To honor my anniversary, I decided to tackle my most beloved and also avoided dish(I've avoided cooking them, not eating them) . Chiles Rellenos.

Chiles rellenos are found in many areas of Mexico and the U.S. and can vary widely from the type of chilies to the guts. The first chile relleno I ever ate was in Taos, New Mexico at The Chile Connection when I was 11 years old. It was a poblano stuffed with shredded, spiced beef without the egg batter coating you generally see. It was wonderful and the first step in this downward spiral of my chile relleno obsessed life.

In Oaxaca they are usually filled with a spicy chicken called picadillo (which can also refer to pork or beef seasoned in the same manner), almonds, and raisins. The chiles are usually poblanos or chiles de agua, the latter are hotter and what we call banana peppers at home (I think. My chile knowledge isn't very large. I know, I know. I'll put it on the Ways I Must Improve as a Human list. Luckily, I can now check "share a delicious Oaxacan chile relleno recipe with the masses" off of that list.

Chiles Rellenos
Serves 4 (you'll want at least 2 each)

8 medium-large poblano peppers
2 Tbsp olive oil
1 large onion, halved and thinly sliced
4 cloves of garlic, minced
2 jalapeño peppers, chopped
2 tsp chili powder
2 tsp cinnamon
1 tsp cumin
1/2 tsp cloves
8 oz of tomato sauce
2 fresh tomatoes (preferably juicy ones), diced and juices retained
2 C chicken, cooked and shredded
1/2 C almonds, coarsely chopped
1/2 C raisins
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
2 1/2 teaspoons salt
1/2 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
vegetable shortening for frying

Using a long fork, roast poblanos over an open flame until skin is blistered and blackish. Try and roast thoroughly, because then the skin flakes off easily. Let me push the "using a long fork" part too. I first did this with the peppers sitting directly on my gas stove, sans utensil, and it was difficult to get the tops and tips of the peppers charred, yet surprisingly easy to do so to my fingers. Remove skin and set aside in a cover bowl to cool. Be careful not to tear the flesh of the peppers, you want them completely intact at this point, just minus the skin.

For the picadillo, coat a medium skillet with olive oil, place over medium heat, and add onion, garlic, jalapeños, chili powder, cinnamon, cumin, and cloves. Cook until onions are soft. Add tomato sauce, tomatoes, chicken, almonds, and raisins. If your tomato sauce is pretty thick and your tomatoes aren't very juicy, add 1/4 C of chicken stock. It doesn't need to be very liquidy (yeah, I know), but you'll want a little so you can cook it down. I used canned tomato sauce and Roma tomatoes, so I needed it. Cook, stirring frequently, until excess liquid is evaporated. Turn of heat and set aside. You can make the picadillo in advance and refrigerate. Just rewarm before the stuffing.

Now get back to the peppers. They should be cool enough to handle now. Make a slit down one side of each pepper. Gently, gently. Stuff them with the picadillo mixture, so they are full, but that the slit is able to close.

You can reheat the peppers and eat them at this stage if you like or continue on for the breading. If you choose the breading here's the way epicurious does it: heat 1/2 inch shortening to 375°F. on a deep-fat thermometer. Fold yolks into egg whites. Working with 2 chiles at a time, using a slotted spoon, dip chiles into eggs and fry, turning occasionally, until golden, no more than a couple of minutes. With a slotted spoon transfer chiles to paper towels to drain. Enjoy.

Final apology--I was so busy enjoying my homemade chiles rellenos, that I didn't photograph them. I also didn't do the batter, because I was impatient to eat them (thus the epicurious section). So another list addition "Take pictures of beautiful foods" and "Buy things (like batteries) when you need them instead of saying over and over " I need to buy. . ."" And now, I'm off to the cafeteria for a breakfast serving of spicy, red meat.

With all this talk of anniversaries I almost forgot (ok, I did forget, but then I got an email and remembered--bad daughter) that my parents are celebrating 32 years of marriage today! It might not be as exciting as a 1st anniversary between a place and a human, but it isn't too shabby :) Happy anniversary rents!

Margee and Martha

The summer lull (aka No classes) at work has me watching lots of movies and reading lots of NY Times movie reviews. I've watched all kinds of random junk, pretty much whatever good quality pirated DVDs I can get my hands on. Rarely has it been a movie I sat down to watch, because I wanted to see it. One new movie that sparked my interest (based on content and not a monotonous 8 hour day) is Julie and Julia.

I haven't actually seen it, but everyone (Times included) keeps telling me how much they loved it, how much I would love it, and I believe them. I love a creative whim turning into a heartfelt success story. Something I love even more, however, is profiting on the use of others' creativity and turning it into my success story.

So without further ado (bahbahbaaaah!!!) adios, Aguacate. Hello. . .

Margee and Martha
The heartfelt story of two heartless women ruthlessly striving for culinary perfection. Though it may cost their souls, the gain of a homemade marshmallow of perfect proportion and density will make it all worthwhile.

Does this spell book deal segueing to movie deal or what? I bet Meryl Streep would do a pretty awesome Martha Stewart and if I ever think of a mid-twenties, blonde actress that doesn't annoy the shit out of me and actually eats (a lot), she could play me.

Maybe not. In reality, I do love Martha Stewart. I love how she's built such an empire, the lying to the feds, recipes ranging from incredibly simple to completely insane, the painstakingly beautiful desserts, her boozey drinks, her champagne and grapefruit sorbet, how I dream about someday getting married just because I want to have her berry-misu wedding cake. . . .However, I'm not planning on undertaking her oeuvre, not a chance. But I will pull out some of her simple and delicious recipes, rather than the more involved and my-god-why-would-you-bother ones.

So to combine my fleeting fancy of riding successes' coattails and Aguacate, I decide to make an avocado recipe of Martha's--Avocado Bruschetta with Green Sauce. And to move away from the themes of plagiarism to those lovely grey areas of inspiration, I have switched it to Avocado Tostadas with Green Sauce. In truth, partially because I can't find the quality of bread that I know Martha would insist upon.

Margee and Martha's Avocado Tostadas with Green Sauce
adapted from Martha Stewart Living July/August 1997
This is a great "final days of summer" meal or snack. Ridiculously easy to prepare and nice and light. Enjoy outdoors with some mezcal or a frosty mugged beer.

Serves 4
3/4 C Parsley
3/4 C Basil
1/8 C Cilantro
1/2 Jalapeño pepper, seeds discarded
3 Cloves of Garlic
5 Tbsp Extra-Virgin Olive Oil
1 Tsp Red Wine Vinegar
4 Ripe Avocados (aguacates maturas)
1 Tbsp Freshly Squeezed Lime Juice
3 oz queso fresco
8 Corn Tostadas

Finely chop parsley, basil, cilantro, jalapeño, and garlic. In a small bowl whisk together with olive oil and vinegar. Or if you don't have a completely crumbbum kitchen and possess a blender/food processor, ignore all of the above and blend it. It will be much more of a sauce that way. You could also cheat and use prepared pesto, but know, deep down in your soul that is spending time not chopping herbs,watching Law and Order: Special Victims Unit reruns, that Martha and I judge and loathe you.

Moving on. . .Remove pits and chop avocados. Toss with lime juice.

Spread sauce (or herb mixture) on tostadas. Divide avocados and queso fresco between tostadas. Salt, pepper, and green salsa (not the sauce you just made, a spicy one Anita's, Mrs Renfro's etc.) to taste.

Vacation, Boredom, Babies, Donuts

My vacation is over. This is surprisingly bittersweet. The surprise is "sweet" tacked on the end of that word up there, but it was no accident. My vacation was wonderful, wild, fun, ridiculous, and completely exhausting. Sweetly, I'm back in Mexico and back at a job that for the next 2 months will involve mainly movie watching, facebook stalking, and epicurious.com salivating. It will be mind-numbingly boring in about 2 seconds, yes, but right now it is peaceful and relaxing in a way that only about 2 of my vacation days were.

It was really wonderful, though. I saw many of my favorite people and devoured many of my favorite things. Sushi, BLTs, sweet corn, fresh berry sorbet, salmon, pork loin with fennel, California style pizza (one thing I don't hate about CA). . . .the menu goes on and on. Let me assure you, between the leviathan culinary talents of my mother, sister, and aunt (I should also give my grandpa an "up and coming" award, he made a fantastic blueberry pie) and my mother's gardening prowess combined with Iowa's fecundity, I gorged steadily and happily on the freshest, most local (backyard), and deliciously/maniacally prepared food. Not once interrupted by the thought that I ought to get batteries for my camera and take pictures for you.

Besides eating, I also spent lots of time staring admiringly at my enormously-adorable, enormous nephew. Pinching his cheeks, accepting his slobbery kisses, and trying to sear my absentee aunt face into his memory took up a large part of my time.

Now that I'm back in Mexico, I'm spending most of my internet time looking at these beautiful photos that the talented Jess Nelson took of him. So adorable!

I'm also spending most (actually, all ) of my eating time in the post-vacation carryover of spoiled laziness zone. Which means, I haven't cooked anything. And I don't want to. And I don't really want to tell you about a new recipe, delicious Mexican food, or a clever family anecdote. And I don't feel bad about it, not one bit. (I think this post-vacation zone is also marked by large quantities of surliness).

One thing that I do want to do; eat a caramel cruller from Nord's Bakery. Donuts are my lazy, IdowhatIwant food. Unfortunately, I can't get them here. But I bet you can find them and tell me where you found them and how much you loved them. Even though you will be enjoying them and not me, I'll keep day dreaming about them. Mainly because of that picture of Barrett. Look at it again. Now look at this cruller picture. The way his chubbiness folds on his left side. . .do you see it? He's an almost-walking, human donut advertisement. And I'm sold. So I'm going to go back to gushing about how cute he is and salivating over the donuts he reminds me of. So there's that. Happy August.

Simple Syrup is People! Uh, I Mean. . .Important

Perhaps you've noticed my month-long absence (say you noticed). Unfortunately, the last few weeks, I've been trapped in what I like to call "The Clima Oaxaca Vortex." This isn't at the hands of an evil supervillain (Though I like to think what that would be. Probably, my supervillain arch nemesis would be that tuna with sunglasses, a cereal personality, or whatever the putrid-embodiment of Applebee's would be, but I digress). Rather than any of these loathed enemies entrapping me, it has been Oaxaca's rainy season.

It has thrown things out of balance. Or it has thrown me and you (my faceless midwest minions) out of balance. The cold and the rain has me eating potato soup and a crockpotless version of crock-pot meat. Not menus exactly fit for my giant mid-western fan-base (I'm not calling you fat, I'm just exaggerating my popularity) suffering the mugginess of middle America's Junes and Julys. If I were living in Iowa in July and someone suggested I make a creamy potato soup I would be inclined to throw bricks at them.

To avoid such a painful calamity, I've come upon the means to resolving our differences. Of course, it's a beverage. But unlike most unifying, friend-making beverages, this one doesn't have alcohol.

It all began while I was mulling over simple syrup last Wednesday at dinner. Three memories came to mind: the worst dirty martini I've ever tasted, my dad cleaning, and the many times that I have cut corners.

The worst dirty martini experience occurred my senior year of college--my friends and I held "fake prom" in the spring of our junior and senior years. This entailed all the things that high school prom did--dressing up, going to a nice dinner, and dancing to cheesy music.

During the dinner portion of our evening, my younger brother ordered a dirty martini. Shortly after getting it, he sent it back. When he tried the next one, he had a confused and slightly disgusted look on his face. Thinking he was a novice dirty martini drinker, I figured I'd take it off his hands and get an extra drink. But it was wrong. It had a bland sickly sweet flavor with the normal touch of olive saltiness--it was like a flat olive soda--so once again, ignoring the "just chug it" advice of friends, the waiter was summoned and made to understand that something was amiss. It was then discovered that an old Absolut bottle was being used for simple syrup storage. In case you were wondering, simple syrup, vermouth, and olive juice is not delicious.

The second memory is not actually related to simple syrup in any way. But the "simple" portion reminded me of when my dad would clean using a product called Simple Green. It wasn't just the name that I remembered, but a whole "Simple Green is people!!!!!" production that put Charlton Heston to shame. Calm yourselves, dears, the recipe I'm building up to has no human ingredients.

I may have explained away any raised eyebrows over my first two associations (or raised more eyebrows with the fake proms and cleaning-inspired thespian father), but allow me to rationalize the pondering of things like simple syrup. More in depth than the explanation that I just truly enjoy thinking about minute food related things.

I mentioned that it was at dinner the other night, at Miahuatlán's finest establishment,Haciendita, that I was mulling over simple syrup. I was drinking a naranjada, a drink made from simple syrup, freshly-squeezed orange juice, and sparkling water--kind of like a sparkling orangeade. There is also a limonada which is the lime counterpart and definitely the jefe de jefes of drinks I've had in Mexico.

The restaurant I was at, has exceptional versions of both. I've made limonadas many times myself, but they pale in comparison to those at Haciendita. While enjoying this naranjada, I realized the weak pallor of my beverages lies in my circumvention of simple syrup. Which is foolish, because simple syrup is only equal parts water and sugar, boiled gently and cooled. It's SIMPLE! You can even store it for several weeks, preferably not in an old, unmarked, vodka bottle or something sinister that makes you feel like you're devouring humans in a futuristic distopia.

To help sustain vitality in the most sticky or rainy of months, I present: Limonada.
Limonada
alter amounts to make deliciously refreshing beverage to your sweet-sour-bubbly preference.

simple syrup
fresh-squeezed lime juice or orange juice for a naranjada
ice
sparkling water

For the simple syrup: 1 C sugar, 1 C water--put 'em in a small saucepan. Stir over medium heat until sugar dissolves. Let cool. Store in the fridge.

Put desired amounts of simple syrup and lime juice in a tall glass and mix well. Fill glass with ice and top with sparkling water. Tah-dah!!! Enjoy.

There Will Be Botanas

If the GRE were all food-related analogies, I would ace that crap blindfolded. Spain: tapas as Mexico: botanas. Duh. The answer should always be botanas.

Is snacking at the root of my love of the Spanish-speaking world? Umm, yes. Definitely yes. Though I've only been to Spain and Mexico, the libation accompaniments I've eaten in these locales have impressed me more than anywhere else.

This time of year (well, this time of year in the States) I'm on the prowl for some quality snacks. Not just any snacks either, I'm looking for small, simple foods that pair well with drinking outdoors in warm weather. Let's face it, summer is the love-child of nature and drinking, obviously.

I love all snacks, but for those lovely June days, a basket of potato chips is not going to cut it. Guacamole, fresh salsa, marinated olives, cheese and fruit, hummus, asparagus wrapped in prosciutto are a few classics that are a little more appropriate for the warm, alcohol drenched days of early summer. Fresh and salty are basically the criteria I'm trying to meet.

Mexico gets it. The botanas here are simple and delicious and are the perfect fit for warm days. If I could modify the Mexican flag, the snake that the eagle is clutching would have "Fresh and Salty" written on its body. Maybe it's already understood that snakes are fresh and salty, but for my taste you never can be too blatant.

The primary snack that accompanies a beer here feels like a no-brainer, but has a couple extra touches that push it up a few notches. Peanuts coated with chili powder and served with a lime wedge may not sound dazzling (they should, but I'll allow that they might not), but they are. Peanuts and beer have always been buddies, but these badboys are a cold Bohemia's soulmate. I'm not sure if they sell these same pre-made spiced up P's in the U.S. (check your local Mexican grocery), but I think some Spanish Peanuts, a little melted butter, a few shakes of chili powder, a tad of minced garlic, a quick toast in the oven, and served with a lime wedge would do just the trick.

Hmmm, I might need to change my Mexican flag slogan to "Chili and Lime," because my next botana favorite is also heavy on these. Or maybe I'll just imagine that the red and green are representative of these. I swear I'm not trying to belittle or offend the entire nation of Mexico by imagining the flag in snack related terms. I think of all flags in food related terms. I think this is a product of my birthday's proximity to the 4th of July and subsequently a lifetime of U.S. flag birthday cakes.

Anyway, moving away from my food-culture broad-brushing and back to the snacks--my favorite bar snack so far is incredibly simple. It is a plate of carrots, jicama, and cucumber cut into strips, topped with fresh lime juice and chili. It is beautiful, fresh, delicious, and light (let the beer bog you down, not the snacks).

This spiced up relish plate, a bowl of chili peanuts, and some guacamole are my botana trio of choice--the perfect way to spend a warm fuzzy-minded afternoon in the sun.

The Thorn-in- My- Side Birds

You know those books, those lovely, lovely books, that you pick up on a whim and get swept away in the story, the characters, the writing, and the emotions? The ones that keep you up later than you really want to be and sometimes feel an almost human affection for them? A Little Princess, The Grapes of Wrath, Pride and Prejudice, The Book Thief, Love in the Time of Cholera, The Bell Jar. . .the list goes on and on.

This past week, however, I finished The Thorn Birds, which I will be putting on a far different list. A black one. I hated it so much it will be hard not to look down upon people who say they "..thought it was ok."

Sure, I am a snob, but I'll admit that I'm not above liking things that most people think suck--it isn't all Ingmar Bergman films and John Steinbeck novels for me. I could (have, would, will) watch Cool Runnings repeatedly back to back and listen to some serious early '90s music mixes.

The crux of my tirade isn't how could someone love this, but how could apparently everyone love this? Taste is taste, I know it's relative and the idea of "good" taste and "bad" taste are ridiculous, but man, that book sucked it's way throughout most of the 20th century and became a New York Times bestseller--what is wrong with people!?!? (I'd say it was the '70s, but The Da Vinci Code reminds me that my generation is not so innocent either).

I kept reading thinking there had to be some redeeming quality, but the ridiculous dialogue and constant "tragedy" just kept going. I'm not sure if it counts as tragic if I'm exasperated instead of sad, though. I'll say this for Colleen McCullough, she sure is an inventive character killer. Death by pure spiteful will, burning in a bush fire, suffocation by wild boar, drowning-heart attack rescue...nobody dies the same (or a normal) death twice.

Why did I bother reading it? you may ask--I'm an idiot who finishes everything (in terms of books and movies only, unfortunately) I guess. Because if there ever was a time to quit anything, it was after page one of The Thorn Birds. But instead I hated my way through all 692 pages.

The one redeeming portion of the book was at the very beginning where they eat a dish referred to as "Jam Roly-Poly." I hate the name, but I can't blame that on the book, because apparently it is an actual old English dessert. It was described as biscuits laced with jam and topped with warm custard. It was a jam-biscuit beacon amidst my furious hostility at the "life's a shit-storm" theme and obnoxious early-20th-century Australian vernacular.

Moving on from the blinding hatred. . . I don't have an oven, so replicating a biscuity portion of this recipe was not going to be easy. I've faced worst feats before, for example: finishing The Thorn Birds. Stubbornness isn't one of the qualities I'm lacking, so working my way to the end of a book, movie, or final delicious end of a recipe idea are not areas where I am going to give up.

I decided to make a stove top corn bread to use as the base for pudding and jam. I used a basic cornbread recipe and just plopped the batter into an oiled skillet and cooked over low heat--with a final and slightly destructive flip at the end. I'll admit, I was craving buttermilk biscuits through the whole process though, just a thought if you've got an oven.

My toppings were store-bought strawberry jam and homemade vanilla pudding. The pudding recipe is one I've often used for fillings or dousings for anything that needs a filling or dousing (I was obsessed with making cream puffs in HS and this was a perfect filling). Like many delicious standards, this recipe comes from the staple-laden Better Homes and Gardens cookbook (a book worth lingering over).

The final result was pretty good, but only pretty good. The pudding was delicious as always, but paired with the sugary store-bought jam it was slightly cloying, in spite of the unsweetened cornbread as a base.

Luckily, it didn't inspire a passionate hatred like The Thorn Birds. After all, I did discover a good method for making cornbread sans stove and I gorged on the vanilla pudding leftovers the next day--which was quite satisfying.

Maybe it isn't so bad to venture into new and surprisingly sub-par territories, whether for books or recipes (on the rare occasion). It brings to mind past successes (even if it's in a longing kind of way) that should be revisited--I'm thinking cream puffs with the aforementioned pudding and a rereading of Anne of Green Gables are about due for another visit and all the affection I did not shower on The Thorn Birds.

Bacon Fever

"Swine flu! I had bacon fever once, but it turned out the cure was just more bacon."

If statements like this represent "the norm" of communication between you and your siblings, what exactly does that say?

a. We all read The Onion a lot.
b. We have some psychological aversion to taking things seriously.
c. We have nearly every Simpsons' episode memorized and try to mimic them in every aspect of daily life.
d. We have a lifelong devotion to cured meats.
e. We grew up on a farm in Iowa; pork fervor is in our blood.
f. All of the above.

Oh yes, it is all of the above.

I know bacon loving has become quite the fad these days (I'm still not sure how eating fried meats becomes a fad, but whatever), but I'd like to take this moment to say: Tricks! The Perdues were here first! And we'll be here (with clogged arteries) long after you go running back to chicken and fish--or some weak sauce like that.

Bacon was present for many of my fond memories with my family. Some moments I feel like bacon was a member of our family. An abnormally silent, highly valued, and acceptably edible member, but still.

Bacon was there in BLT form with garden-fresh tomatoes after swimming lessons every Summer. Bacon has come to all our large New Year's day parties snugly wrapped around prunes and adding to the delight of the cleverly named "big sandwich." Bacon has been the steadfast breakfast partner to waffles, french toast, eggs, ableskiver, crepes and numerous other breakfasts that have been lingered over in my parents kitchen.

Last week I was in one of those rare moods when I was hungry, but nothing really appealed to me. I was wandering aimlessly around Miahuatlán mulling over the food in my fridge--none of my stock sounded remotely appealing except for a cantaloupe whose days were numbered.

I contemplated this cantaloupe and drifted into a daydream of eating melon and prosciutto in the Italian countryside with a glass of prosecco. Then I had the realization that: hell, I am in Mexico. Prosciutto's cousin bacon, good ole sturdy bacon, my life long friend, lives here. And bacon crept into my mind, infecting me, and reminding me of all the good times we've shared.

So I decided to make an Italian countryside-daydream into a small Mexican city reality that showcased the food-love of my life. I came out with: Bacon Manchego Quesadillas with Melon Salsa.

It was just the trick. It sparked my hunger, was fresh, sweet, and savory. I was excited about my new twist while maintaining some (probably minimal, yes) Mexican cuisine elements. I practically ran home to make it--I mean, it has BACON in it--who can walk? It had everything my bacon revering family would be excited about: bacon.


Bacon Manchego Quesadillas with Melon Salsa

I actually didn't pile on the bacon or cheese. With the amounts below (and using a little of the grease for frying) the flavors are all strong without being a heavy, meaty-cheese bog. However, do as your conscience dictates--bog away. Also, make sure your cantaloupe is nice and ripe. The salsa will benefit from a juicy one.

Quesadillas
1/4 lb of bacon
8 medium corn tortillas
3/4 C refried beans
3 oz thinly sliced manchego cheese
Melon Salsa
2 cloves of garlic, minced
1/2 of a medium onion, diced
1 C fresh cilantro, chopped
1 small-medium cantaloupe, cut into small cubes
1 jalapeño
Juice of one lime


Assemble the salsa first. Combine all ingredients in a medium bowl and set aside.

Cook bacon in a medium skillet until you obtain desired crispness (preferred crisposity?). Remove bacon from skillet, blot with paper towels, and break into small pieces. Drain standing bacon grease from skillet, but allow a coating to remain and set the skillet aside.

Evenly spread 1/4 of the refried beans on a tortilla. Evenly distribute 1/4 of the manchego and bacon on the beans and top with another tortilla. Repeat with remaining ingredients.

Heat the skillet (with the bacon gloss) over medium high heat. Place one quesadilla in the skillet and cook 3-4 minutes or until the tortilla begins to crisp and brown. Flip quesadilla over and cook an additional 2-3 minutes. Remove from heat and cut into quarters. Repeat with each quesadilla.

Top quesadilla wedges with melon salsa and enjoy.

I almost forgot my shameless self-promotion for the day! Whew, that was close.
Please go vote (highly) on my enchilada recipe! I love winning!

Frying Times

Swine flu. Having nothing to do. A boss that is trying to deport you.
Come on, $25,000 Pyramid lovers, any guesses?
Brrrww: "The trying times Margee has had these last few weeks?"
Bing, bing! We have a winner!!!

If "Aaarggghh" (nice and phlegmy at the end) has ever been your standard response of disbelief and frustration for about a solid two weeks or longer, then I think you know where I'm coming from. Things and people that suck, just suck.

Fortunately, things have wound down. My back is feeling less and less like knotted tree roots and the "aarrrggh" sound is turning back into actual words, because swine flu scares have eased (mainly my boredom at being in my tiny apartment) and the aforementioned boss is no longer the boss. Woot, woot!

To really ease myself out of these trying times I have made a few visits to my friendly papas francesa man and turned the oil up to eleven for a little fryin' of my own.

I know there are the healthier comfort food options, but I prefer the unhealthy ones in particular trying times, because it's like a little gift. You're acknowledging that things suck and allowing yourself to partake in something you might not normally. Like your mind is saying "Yeah, it has been pretty bad. You go right ahead and eat those french fries while you stare darkly at nothing and listen to Leonard Cohen. Why don't you put a little more mayonnaise on them while you're at it?" Ahh. Thanks for understanding, mind, I think I will.

Every trick will tell you some different trick that is supposed to make the best french fries. Soaking in water, russet potatoes, chilling, draining--I have no idea. I've done it a thousand different ways and I really can't tell you what works best other than: hot oil + potatoes. Actually I don't even care if there are potatoes. Sweet potato fries (bake or fry) and these polenta fries have been some spud alternatives that I'm extremely fond of.

Regardless of what kind you want to make, I'm not going to run tests and tell you the best methods, I'm still in final stages of recovery, people! I'm leaving that part to you or you checking out Cook's Illustrated. They always have fantastic test kitchen recommendations to get "the best" of whatever. And their covers are just so dang purty.

My focus is on the eating of the fries. And what I want to be eating them with ( I mean sauce-wise because obviously I want to be eating them with beer).

My street french fries come with heavy drizzlings of mayonaise, catsup, hot sauce, and a nacho-cheesey sauce. I highly recommend recreating these. I would use Valentina for the hot sauce and maybe some Tostito's nacho cheese dip for the cheese. You though I was high class? Well, that was just a lie (but I do recommend eating these with a fork.)

If you aren't into the sloppy street-style fries, maybe make a variety of sauces to accompany your fries. Before Christmas at my family's Belgian Night, I made a trio of sauces to go with our fries.

First:
Saffron Aïoli Bon Appetit August, 2006

• 2 whole heads garlic
• 3 large egg yolks
• 2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
• 1 tablespoon saffron threads
• 3/4 cup canola oil
• 8 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 teaspoon salt
• 3/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil

reheat oven to 350°F.

Wrap each garlic head in foil and roast until soft, about 1 hour. Unwrap and let cool. Peel cloves and set aside.

In medium bowl, whisk together egg yolks and lemon. Set aside.

Place 2 tablespoons hot water in small bowl. In small, dry skillet over moderate heat, toast saffron for 30 seconds. Stir into hot water, then fold saffron water into egg mixture.

In blender, combine 4 tablespoons canola oil, raw garlic, roasted garlic, and salt. Blend on high speed until creamy, about 2 minutes. Add egg mixture and blend 1 more minute. With motor running, very slowly add olive oil and remaining canola oil in steady stream, and continue blending until thick, about 2 minutes. Set aside.

Second:
Bloody Mary Catsup--I created this with store bought catsup, but added some items for a little more spice and a little less sugar, because for me, store bought catsup is much, much too sweet and this felt all fancy.

• 1/2 C prepared catsup
• 1/2 C tomato paste
• 1 Tbsp chopped sweet red peppers
• 1 Tbsp hot sauce (preferably Tabasco)
• 1 tsp Worcestershire sauce
• 1 tsp horseradish
• Juice of 1/2 a lemon
  

Dump all ingredients into blender and blend until smooth.


Not that salt isn't a respectable and adequate companion for the fry-world, but sometimes in your darkest hours you got to jazz things up a bit. It doesn't even need to be very involved. Throw some garlic and parmesan cheese into store bought mayonaise and be thankful for those lovely Belgians that have given us possibly the most beautiful of coping mechanisms.

Let Me Count the Ways

I recently broke a five-year stint and reentered the world of "people who go to the dentist." Ouch. I'm not that afraid of the dentist or that negligent about dental hygiene, but one thing I have been these past five years--poor and uninsured. Well folks, Mexico is just the cure for that, universal health care and reasonably priced private practitioners and I'm back in the game!

Unfortunately, my leap back onto the scene was not as painless as my bill. Five cavities. Yes, five. One for every year that I have not been to the dentist. Now, once again, I would like to stress that it isn't only on account of my grossness. I brush my teeth at least twice a day, usually thrice. I was told once that the enamel did not form properly on my molars and that is why I am so susceptible to cavities--as this makes me feel better about myself and hygienic practices, I often reiterate it.

Beyond excusing myself of any responsibility and reveling in the low cost of living in Mexico, I have also been reminiscing about my five favorite things I have eaten over the last five years that have contributed to my five rotting teeth. Aaah repetition, what a device.

Ice cream--that category could take up the whole list, but a few of my favorites have been last Labor Day's homemade pistachio (I shelled pistachios for a solid hour and it was very, very worth it), Ted Drewe's concretes, nuez and melon paletas from street vendors here in Miahuatlán, evening visits to Whitey's in Iowa City, and Martha's Grapefruit and Champagne sorbet we made several Christmases ago.

Donuts from Nord's Bakery in Louisville. I can't even explain how often I dream about their caramel krulers (It's what I imagine eating a cherub to be like) or their pecan rolls or their long johns (I didn't even think I liked long johns). My favorite Sunday morning ritual was to walk to Nord's buy two or three donuts and take them next door to the coffee shop for some Guatamalen Antigua and free copies of National Geographic. Ahh living.

Anything made by my grandma--she wasn't able to do a lot of cooking these last five years, but she still rolled out some serious sweets, especially around Christmas (chocolate souffle, almond cookies, buckeyes) and on birthdays when grandchildren received a giant rice crispy cake. I must also mention that she was a stickler about dental hygiene and everyone had a toothbrush at grandma's house--she would not be pleased that I am crediting her for contributing to my five cavities, but everything she made was sooo good I was never able to control myself or want to lose the flavor by a tooth brushing.

Fresh fruit pies--especially peach and raspberry. Every summer, when my mom has either gathered the fruit from her orchard or hunted out all the wild raspberries from every corner of Iowa it is time to visit and eat. She has so many different peach pie recipes too--one baked with cream, one no-bake with a glaze made from more peaches, one with a crumb topping. . .it goes on and on. I never get tired of it (dessert, snack, breakfast, appetizer) and could easily polish off an entire one myself if I didn't have to share.

Swedish Fish--this seems kind of sacrilegious. I know there are a thousand other things I have eaten in the past five years that have been made with love and talent that I should put instead, but the one sweet that keeps popping its red-fishy head up in my mind is Swedish Fish. I just love them. I don't know what it is, they are a weird texture and a very unnatural chemical flavor, but I adore these things, maybe it's something in my Scandinavian blood. Or maybe it is there awesome ad team that came up with "the one thing that sucks about friends is that you can't eat them." My sentiments exactly.
I also feel with the way they stick to my teeth and my fondness of binging on them after binging on other things before falling asleep in college has probably had more of a detrimental effect on my teeth than any of the other things on this list. I may have just had to shell out dough for their handiwork, but I'd shell out some serious pesos for a bag of those bad boys. Mmmmmmm.

To sweets and repeating our mistakes!!!