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.

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!

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.

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.

Dead Flowers and the Perfect Spring Meal

The Rolling Stones might normally bring ideas of rock n' roll, strange gyrations, effects of heavy drug, alcohol, and eyeliner abuse, tight pants, whatever the opposite of aging gracefully is, and did I mention effects of heavy drug use? Yes, I am thinking specifically of you, Keith Richards (with the eyeliner thing too).

Since Easter, I've been listening to a lot of The Rolling Stones and its been conjuring images of Easter brunch and as I continued ambling down that strange road, spring menus pop to mind also.

Now, you may be wondering if The Stones have put out an Easter album or if I have a secret single copy of the never released "Lullabies About Fluffy Baby Animals" album. Sorry to disappoint, but as far as I know they haven't and I don't. Also, as far as my knowledge of their music extends, I can't think of any songs that they sing about celebrating Jesus' resurrection or bunny rabbits either.

It all stems from the orphans' Easter brunch I had last year. It wasn't a brunch for real orphans, I'm not even minutely that benevolent, but rather for myself and friends of mine in Louisville who lived too far away from their families to make the trip.

I constructed the menu based on what I feel are Easter (and spring, for that matter) meal essentials--items heavy on fresh herbs and or citrus. A mushroom, thyme, and Parmesan quiche, French toast with lemon curd, and mimosas. Thanks to the lovely persons I invited, monkey-bread, wine, and a banana cream cake were added to the list.

The company was lovely, the meal was lovely, the flattery of my culinary prowess was lovely, and to top off all that loveliness it turned into an old-fashioned campfire singalong (sans campfire) which included a more authentically country-twang version of Dead Flowers (The crooner we had is Kentucky not some awkward English boy pretending to be). So there lies connection numero uno.

Secondly, I'm very, (let me emphasize with italics) very manic-depressive when it comes to the weather. Luckily, I've been enjoying rain-free Junish weather since November, but on the other hand, I don't have the general over-energetic mania I normally get around this time of year. The Rolling Stones have that same energetic push that I think could fairly be described as manic, like spring, that just makes you want to play drums on your steering wheel or do cartwheels in dewy grass or dance around like. . .Mick Jagger.

Since Easter feels more like the start of spring to me than any other time, partially due to the food involved, I've started day-dreaming over classic springtime menus. Ham and potatoes are some of my family's Easter traditions. These cut across all seasons for me, but the way they are prepared can spruce their springtime cred up a bit--honey glazes or fruit sauces for the ham and fresh chives or parsley for the potatoes seem to be like little Easter bonnets--definitely a springtime thing. The dessert is always fruity (usually citrus) and light--a beautiful lemon chiffon cake with raspberry cream from Fine Cooking and Martha's coconut cake have been some of my past favorites.

This Easter I traveled home (listening to Sticky Fingers (I'm driving this far-fetched interweaving home)), slept, and ate some, well, Mexican food. I was thinking of all the things I would like to make for an Easter brunch and spring meals, pining over the nonexistence of lemons, angel food (which requires an oven), and many other non-Mexican things I can't have while the perfect spring-Easter meal was being rapidly devoured right in front of me (into me?) in all its Mexican glory--enchiladas verdes.

I hadn't ever thought about how perfect enchiladas verdes are for spring or for an Easter brunch. I've been eating them incessantly since I moved here and never thought of compartmentalizing them into a seasonal entree (seasons mean something entirely different here too, so it really wouldn't work). My case for putting them into the spring file; to start, they're a beautiful mossy green. I feel like that's enough explanation right there. But to continue, they are also tangy--thanks to those little tomatillos, full of fresh herbs, and have a hint of citrus (sometimes lime juice is added, but I think tomatillos have an almost citrus taste themselves), but are still warm and comforting with filling layers of tortillas, so they fit nicely into the delicate spring balance of being fresh and light, but also warm and filling.

Also, they are not heavy, cheesy, meat-filled monsters like the enchiladas you will find in the U.S. Often, they are only tortillas and sauce with a sprinkling of queso fresco and thin slices of onion. You can have them topped with any number of delicious items like eggs, shredded chicken, cecina, or beef. My personal preference is with an over-easy egg or shredded chicken.


Enchiladas Verdes--adapted from Bon Appetit, June 2007--this sauce would also be perfect for chilaquiles verdes or served with eggs.

3 lbs tomatillos, husks removed
3 large jalapeños, chopped
6 cloves of garlic, chopped
1 1/2 tsp cumin
1 1/2 bunches cilantro, coarsley chopped
3/4 C parsley, coarsley chopped
1/3 C mint, coarsley chopped
1 Tbsp sugar
1/2 C chicken stock
1 Tbsp fresh-squeezed lime juice
corn tortillas*

Cover tomatillos and jalapeños with water and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until tomatillos are soft (this didn't take long for me, but the tomatillos here are much smaller than the ones I've seen in the states. Bon Appetit suggests 15 minutes simmering and 15 sitting in the water). Drain and let cool.
Chop tomatillos (If the tomatillos have absorbed water try to get rid of it, but keep the seeds) and jalapeños (discard seeds if you want a milder sauce) and place in a blender or food processor. Add remaining ingredients except tortillas. Blend.
Return mixture to saucepan and heat over medium low heat. Heat until warmed thoroughly or until a desired thickness is reached.
Place corn tortillas in a separate skillet and cover with a small ammount of salsa verde. Heat for a few minutes over low heat to soften tortillas. Transfer tortillas to serving plates and fold in half twice. Cover with additional sauce. Top with egg, chicken, cecina etc. as well as onions and sour cream. Ahh, bliss.


*of course you can use store bought, but the taste doesn't compare at all. Check out this video tutorial on epicurious--be inspired to make your own.

Afternoon Delight

To clarify: this title in no way relates to the song of the same name or its surprisingly adult-themed innuendos. Though, I keep playing those karaoke scenes from Arrested Development over and over in my mind.

My afternoon delight evokes lazy afternoons when there is nothing to do at that moment or in the future. Books are read, games are played, and cocktails are drunk in the sunshine (or if it is March and you don't live in Mexico, hopefully in the sunshine or by a fireplace). Sometimes one, sometimes one too many, but it doesn't make any difference, because on these special afternoons there's nothing you have to do and you are void of any nagging guilt that you should be doing something.

I had more than my share of these afternoons in college and a fair dose in Louisville too. A couple of my favorites include post-work $2 margaritas during Jeopardy, drinking champagne after a late breakfast and watching Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen, and post bluegrass brunch Orange Bourbon Sours and the complete first season of 90210. Those were lovely, hazy afternoons.

Here in Mexico I'm working all week and on the weekends I'm generally off to the beach or Oaxaca City (which both invite a certain kind of afternoon laziness, but it isn't the same as being home or sprawled across a friends couch).

Not long ago I decided to get a few things accomplished around Miahuatlán for the weekend--clean, run some errands, eat at my favorite local spots, and just generally laze about with an afternoon libation or two.

Generally my afternoon drinks of choice are something to play around with. I may use a recipe for inspiration, but generally I just raid cabinets and refrigerators to concoct something interesting. Cucumbers, grapefruit, and gin;oranges and bourbon; capers and vodka; have been a few delightful combinations I've come across. A couple of weeks ago, I had it in my mind to make a traditional daytime libation, the bloody mary, but maybe give it a little twist.

I had been inspired to have a bloody mary when checking out at the grocery store. I needed to spend a little more money to meet my maximum coupon value (my job gives me little grocery store coupons as part of my salary, but they won't give you change. Therefore it has become my mission to spend every penny of each coupon with minimal out of pocket expense.) I was already purchasing tomato juice and the impulse items happened to include a small bottle of vodka.

Olives were easy to come by, but alas, I had no horseradish or worcestershire. I tried to amend for the missing horseradish by using my precious Sriracha (which I smuggled back after Christmas), to me it has a certain horseradish flavor to it--the same type of spice. To make up for a little extra saltiness I used some of the olive brine and soy sauce. It was pretty delicious, but I would like to have some worcestershire the next time I make it.

I'm not filling this out in true recipe form, because I think personal preference is very important especially when it comes to drinks--I may tend to like mine a little spicier and a lot vodkaier than most, plus to write it down as a recipe would mean I'd have to remember what measurements I used--and I don't.

Sriracha Bloody Mary "Outline"
Along with the tomato juice, vodka, sriracha, and olive juice, I splashed a little bit of soy sauce (if I had had it I would've used worcestershire too) in and a hefty squeeze of lime. garnish with celery, pickles, olives, cocktail shrimp, pickled green beans, cucumber. . .I saw a recipe that recommended making bacon salt (bacon grease + salt) to rim the glass. Doesn't sound too shabby, but I would probably end up sticking the slices of bacon and a curl of endive in--drinkable BLT.

Great Expectations and Yams

There are certain things that inevitably make me happy. Planning a trip somewhere new. Getting long emails from old friends. Eating trout in a lovely mountain-side shack. Seeing pictures of a frijolito looking shockingly human. Watching a hip, tough-looking twenty-something Mexican boy carry around his bag that says "Be the Prom Queen" (this one makes me happy over and over again).

I've been fortunate enough to have several of these pleasing moments this past week. Whether they were pleasant surprises, ridiculous things that cross your path, or the rare ones--a wave of inspiration that results in something that actually matches up to your imagination, they make me so satisfied and content.

Imagination and expectations have been something I've always reveled in and simultaneously struggled with furiously. Planning things (I think I've mentioned my obsessive party planning) and picturing the way things will be is half the enjoyment, but sometimes if the outcome doesn't match up it can be quite crushing.

When I was a kid, my family had this great alphabet cookbook that we got from sending in flour proofs of purchase (Gold Medal...? That's flour right?). It had an "A" is for Apple Pie recipe to alphabet breakdown accompanied by these fantastic illustrations that I would drool over.

"H" was for Honey Comb Cookies (or something to that effect) and had a picture of a beehive, drops of honey, and the most delicious-looking, golden cookies. They looked like the cookies that the Berenstain Bears were always eating and with the alphabet cookbook they were within my sweet-butter hungry reach.

I built up in my mind that these cookies would be everything I loved about honey and cookies--which was no small feat mind you. But with an illustration like they had and the Berenstain Bears' apparent enjoyment, how could they not be?

The cookies were made. They were soft, not crisp. They didn't carry the buttery honey crunch of which I'd dreamed. They did not remotely resemble the cookies that Brother and Sister Bear ate. It was crushing. I had dreamed of honeycomb transformed into something less messy and sticky and more buttery (almost like a honey shortbread. . .mmm which gives me another idea), but all I got was a bland, dark brown (couldn't even be called tarnished gold) rounds. I even had a real name, not just my familial relationship title, and I still couldn't get the cookies I wanted? That's when I first bitterly understood the obnoxious advice "I know it's not fair, but sometimes the world's not fair." Oh, didn't I know it.

Years later, when my friend Jess and I were touring London, I think I found what I was hoping for in those cookies in a British candy bar she introduced me too (and has my eternal thanks for). Even with this eventual resolution, since the early honey-cookie disappointment I've tried (and generally failed) to have a little restraint in my recipe hopes.

So last week when I had a couple of yams I needed to use up and decided to concoct a coconut curry around them, I tried not to get too carried away with my expectations.

The recipe was inspired by a butternut squash curry that my former filthy, Louisville-hippie mansionmate, Liz, would talk about. Not talk really, but have a Pentecostal-worthy spell about. I decided that the yams would be a nice starchy staple-substitute for the squash and could be balanced with some poblanos and calabacitas (similar to zucchini) to give it a little green and crunch.

My plan was initially bogged down by thick, syrupy coconut cream which I had purchased thinking it was coconut milk. I was able to remedy this by mixing a small ammount of the cream with some chicken stock to cut the sugar, but retain the coconut flavor, so keeping that in mind, use this recipe loosely, because I would recommend using coconut milk and maybe adding just a little honey. In spite of this setback, it turned out delightfully, I was incredibly pleased that it turned out as delicious as I'd imagined--serious catharsis for my experience with those damnable honey cookies.

Yellow Coconut Curry with Yams
4 Tbsp oil
6 garlic cloves, minced
1 medium onion, chopped
4 chiles de arbol, crushed (keep the seeds--easiest to crush straight in the saucepan)
2 yams, peeled and cubed
2 poblano peppers, seeds and stems removed, cut into large chunks
2 medium zucchini (I'm not ready to introduce you to another "mystery" yet.), cut into chunks.
1 can of coconut milk*
1 C of chicken stock*
2 Tbsp honey*
3 Tbsp yellow curry powder
*like I mentioned, I accidentally purchased coconut cream and had to make adjustments for that--so dip your fingahs in and figgah out how much you need of what.

In a large saucepan heat the oil over medium heat. Add cloves, onion, and chiles. Saute for 1 minute. Add yams and saute for 8 minutes, stirring occasionally to keep yams from sticking to the pan. Add the poblanos and zucchini saute for an additional 3 minutes. Add the remaining ingredients and turn heat to medium-low. Cook until yams are desired tenderness--15-20 minutes. Serve with rice and flatbread.

I didn't have any, but I think some basil would also go nicely in this dish, mmm and maybe some raisins and almonds. Oh man, I got to go eat!

Monday Market Mysteries

Agathe Christie, Mary Higgins Clark, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle can all bite me. My mysteries involve fruits and vegetables and things that I'm not sure if they are fruits or vegetables. How about that for suspense? Instead of tension and suspense being so thick you could cut them with a knife, I've got tangible mysterious things you can actually cut with a knife. And eat. If you dare. Whahahaha.

Grocery shopping has always inspired a few What the hell. . . .?-moments--generally at food, sometimes disgusting magazine covers. Shopping in Mexico at the market, my double-take-What the hell. . . ? reaction is constantly escalating. Not just because my love of profanity grows each and every day, either.

The whole market scene is completely overwhelming. It's crowded, hot, colorful, and delicious. On my first trips to the market, the mysteries were totally overlooked. My inability to successfully maneuver the crowds, being a (comparatively) gangly figure, and my blond hair, made me feel like an oddly yellowish leviathan with poor coordination. A leviathan that didn't speak Spanish very well.

The conspicuousness has decreased a bit (the "güera"s that greet me denote more of a familiar and amiable circus freak than a space invader) and my success at maneuvering through the crowds and the Spanish language have been consistently advancing. So now, instead of focusing on my conspicuous pain and useless tongue, I notice little heads of things I've never seen before peeping out at me.

Things with spikes, things with eyes, things of every color, shape, and size! All Dr. Seusiness aside, the fruits and vegetables are amazing, mainly because there are things I have never seen before, not even at Whole Foods for a thousand dollars per pound.

One of my first mystery purchases was what looked like a gourd's impression of my own dear sweet aguacate. Or an avocado that has had extensive plastic surgery. The shape is similar, a little more tucked and puckered in places, but it's smoother, tauter, and has opted for a chemical peel to remove the dark age spots and sun damage, resulting in a much lighter green, youthful appearance.

I wasn't exactly sure what it was or what to do with it, but my first instinct said "Bite it," so I did.
It was a little gross. Maybe gross is too strong of a word. It was fresh and crisp, true, but also a definite flavor I would describe as Elmersesque. It didn't make me gag, but it wasn't exactly a pleasant surprise. A little more work than my lazy instincts would like was definitely necessary.

So I chopped it up, sauteed it in some garlic, whipped up some spicy peanut sauce, cooked some rice noodles, and my mystery gal played well with others. It absorbed the other flavors nicely , but retained more of its squash-like crispness than zucchini and summer squash generally do. Oh, and it lost its glue taste.
So this is the part where you can't put the book down, because you're just dying to know who the killer is-- or in this case what this fruit is, right?

The rain pounded against my office window. The wind howled like a blood-thirsty wolf as I sat hunched at my desk. The lights flickered off . I felt a presence--I knew they would come find me, I had gotten to close to the truth and had to be stopped--the lights flickered on, I looked up.
"Aah, so it was you, Chayote."

I've never noticed chayote in the U.S., but I've also never looked for it. If you happen to stumble upon it, check it out. Or make yourself some spicy peanut noodles and throw in whatever the hell you want (I'm dying to rip off The Onion and add a tagline to my blog so it's Aguacate: Now with Twice as Many Swears).

Spicy Peanut Noodles
or as I prefer calling them "Hot P-Noods."
I always make a huge batch of these, because they're great leftover.

1 package rice noodles--I prefer a medium thickness with this sauce, but again, WtHYW.
2 Tbsp peanut oil
4 cloves of garlic, chopped
3 cups chayote, peeled and chopped (zuchini, brocoli, peapods, green beans...you really can't go wrong)

1 red bell pepper, cut in strips
1 cup natural unsweetend peanut butter
1/2 c soy sauce
1/4 c sriracha
1/4 c honey
1/4 c water
Spicy peanuts to garnish*
Fresh cilantro

Begin cooking rice noodles according to package directions.
In a medium skillet heat heat peanut oil over medium low heat. Add garlic. Sauté for 1 minute. Add chayote and bell pepper. Sauté for 5-6 minutes or until vegetables are tender. Lower heat and add remaining ingredients. Mix well and taste for desired spiciness, sweetness, and saltiness. Simmer on low heat for 2-3 minutes or until sauce is warm and vegetables are desired tenderness. Mix with rice noodles and top each serving with spicy peanuts and fresh cilantro.

*spicy peanuts are essentially peanuts coated in chile powder--easy to substitute if you don't have ready made ones at hand.

Vitamina T

¿Febrero, Febrero, por qué eres cruel en todo el mundo?

I may not be enduring blizzards and sub-zero temperatures (Fahrenheit sub-zero! Now that is a crazy thing), but in spite of a general balminess, February is still kind of sucking.

The semester is ending, so the normal finals mess is getting cleaned up. I'm hoping once it is over I will suddenly find myself with abnormally high levels of energy or I may consider switching my high levels of coffee consumption for speed.

Generally at this time of year, I'm fighting off a cold and trying to consume as many oranges and grapefruits as I can. I even resorted to putting those Emergen-C packets in chamomile tea one particularly bleak February when I lived in a cold, dank, hippie-basement. Thankfully, this year, I haven't been stuffed up with a vague, foggy wish to die at all (knock on wood). Therefore, my vitamin of choice has switched from "C" to "T".

"Vitamina T" is a joke I've heard repeatedly here in Mexico. It refers to the "T" heavy diet of tacos, tlayudas, tostadas, tortas. . ..I think you get the idea. While it may only be a joke, I have a strange faith in the curative (comfortingly curative) properties of all these delicious items. These past few weeks I have turned to them again and again. They give me a nice little pick up and a few moments of quiet enjoyment-- a meaty, spicy solace.

So if you do or don't have a cold and February is bumming you out a little bit--make yourself a batch of the major "T"--(¿señor T?)--tacos. The ease of preparation itself is a bit curative. There are as many possibilities as delicious Mexican dishes that start with the letter "T". Be creative!

*slow cook some chicken, pork, or beef in the crock-pot. You can choose to jazz it up with some seasoning, (citrus juices, garlic, or use my mama's crock-pot meat) or just leave it as is.
*pick up a pack of chorizo at the grocery store--if you don't live close to a grocery store that sells chorizo. . . nah, you aren't looking hard enough, you live close to a grocery store that sells chorizo. If "strange" meats make you uncomfortable, don't read the ingredient label. If you are very comfortable with all meats, cook up those blood-red, ground up salivary glands, lips, and cheeks and enjoy their facey goodness.
*beans and rice (for those animal-haters). I used to frequently make a bean and rice mixture for tacos using Zataran's Black Beans and Rice mix, it already has spices mixed in, so it makes it nice and easy. Cook according to package directions, then throw in a can of refried beans, a can of corn (drained), and some chopped jalapenos. If you want to get really crazy you can use this mix with some meat.
*tacos dorados. Deep fried tacos=deep fried comfort. If you do it right, they are crispy and delicious, not heavy or greasy.

Regardless of what main ingredient you choose, there are a few things that are a MUST for a real taco.
--corn tortillas. . . don't insult me, your tacos, or Oaxaca by putting your goodies on flour tortillas or those crispy molded shells. Seriously. You can warm them up in the microwave or toast them in an oil free skillet (or you can be really legit and dip them in the meat juices before you warm them in a skillet.)
--diced onions or some shredded green cabbage
--fresh cilantro
--salsa. The chunky, tomatoey salsas of my youth aren't to be found here. Usually you get a green salsa or a warm color (anything from 60s sofa-yellow, true-red,tiger-lily-orange, or a zombie-purple-red) that is primarily pulverized peppers. Chunky tomato salsas are still good, but the simpler, hotter ones can really showcase the flavor of the meat without overpowering it. Mrs Renfros is a good salsa verde choice.
--limes. They've got vitamin C, if you have a cold--you can lazily kill the proverbial birds

I hope you enjoy a batch soon and make your February a little bit less gruesome.

No Deja para Mañana. . . .

I eat a lot of stupendous Mexican food. Loads. I love it, I crave it, and I devour it like I'm going into hibernation and need to build up fat reserves for months ahead. If I haven't had tacos in a span of a couple days I start to get edgy. I ponder over how much it might cost me to buy a whole spit of al pastor. I trade info about what restaurants have the best enchiladas verdes with my coworkers like insider stock tips. Oh and cecina. Cecina is my abusive paramour that I am always yearning for and who sometimes treats me so bad (only internally).
This is just the tip of my fanatical love of the cuisine. But for all that insanity, I rarely ever make any Mexican food. Every time I go out to eat, which is pretty frequently, I eat these amazing dishes (Usually, there have been a few sub-stellar moments in my dining experiences). "Every time" is not much of an exaggeration either. I have eaten pizza twice at the beach and three times in Miahuatlán (once was so horrible I can't even think about it without gagging. It was like Taco Bell and Totino's got together and came out with a St. Louis style Mexican pizza. I can personally advise these companies that it would not be a wise or successful venture and if they take that venture, you have been warned).
Beyond these scattered moments, I haven't eaten anything else that wasn't Mexican food. Since I frequently partake in these bountiful resources of Mexican food that surround me, when I make dinner I'll concoct something that bears as much resemblance to Italian and Asian food as possible. It ends now. Not the eating out or the attempt to fill the void in my life which the lack of Italian,Indian, Thai, and Vietnamese restaurants has caused, but the fact that I'm not even attempting to make some traditional Mexican dishes. I'm seizing the day. I'm taking up the mantle of a favorite quote of mine: No deja para mañana lo que puedes comer hoy. Translation: Don't leave for tomorrow what you can eat today. I love it when buds of truth spring up on the cafeteria white board.
Well the new year is upon us and at last I have a functioning stove in my new apartment. The bag is packed for my journey into traditional Oaxacan cuisine. It may be wrought with peril, but neither I nor my subjects (the people I make eat my food) are weak of spirit or stomach. I decided to begin my expedition with a dish that I have done extensive research on (meaning: I've probably eaten it at least once a week since September). Chilaquiles.
Chilaquiles rojos, chilaquiles verdes, chilaquiles con pollo, chilaquiles con huevo. All delicious and fantastic variations of fried tortillas in a sauce. The classic chilaquiles (rojos) sound, look, and essentially are, slightly soggy chips in a tomato sauce. I know that doesn't exactly sound appetizing, but they are fantastic. Some recipes I've seen layer and bake the chilaquiles like a lasagna. I have never had them this way (and do not have the oven-capacity to make them this way), but have always been served a generous portion of tortilla "chips" messily swimming in sauce, dolloped with crema and queso fresco crumbles. I say "chips", because chilaquiles are a breakfast dish traditionally meant to use up stale tortillas. Mexico's pan perdu. You slice them up, fry them, and top with sauce. I used some really nice tortilla chips to avoid my apartment smelling like a Moby Dick's (replace Moby Dick's with Long John Silver's if you haven't lived in Kentucky.)
I consulted a few recipes, but overall just followed my well-informed gut. So here you are friends, my first real recipe for an authentic Mexican dish. I hope you enjoy. I must say, I'm still brimming with pride over the compliments I received on them.

Chilaquiles
serves 4

2 tbsp olive oil
4 cloves of garlic
2 medium onions
1 lb of tomatoes, chopped
1/2 cup of chicken stock
2 chiles de arbol, crushed*
1 canned chipotle pepper, chopped, or 1 tbsp of a chipotle sauce**
1 bag quality corn tortilla chips
crema or créme fraiche or sour cream
queso fresco***

Heat oil in skillet on low heat. Dice garlic and 1 1/2 of the onions, add to skillet. Sauté over low heat until onions are tender, stirring occasionally. Add tomatoes, chicken stock, chiles de arbol, and chipotle sauce. Stir and sauté 5 minutes. Transfer tomato mixture to a blender and puree until smooth and return to skillet. Cook over low heat until thoroughly warmed. Slice remaining onion into rings. Divide chips among plates, cover generously in sauce, top with onions, queso fresco, and crema. Enjoy. Don't wait until tomorrow!

Shredded chicken or a fried egg are often found atop chilaquiles. They are a delicious way to give some extra heft to the meal.

*don't discard seeds, unless you wish to cut back the spice
**the chipotle also adds more heat, but a nice smoky flavor too. If you want to cut back the spice, cut back the chiles de arbol and taste and add more if needed.
***queso fresco can be found at many large chain groceries and always at a Mexican grocery. If you can't find it, substitute some feta or goat cheese crumbles.

Leftover Thanks

O.K. Thanksgiving is done. But one of the best parts is still leftover. . . .get it?

I feel like "leftovers" isn't an adequate term. I mean it is what it is, but it sounds so blah. Truthfully, they can be, but I'm thinking of the glory of Thanksgiving leftovers. I want a word that encapsulates the mashed potatoes that are reinvented with sour cream and cheddar or those delicious scraps of turkey transformed into the most glorious of sandwiches.

Ahh sandwiches. Sandwiches are the pinnacle of all that is delicious and simple for me. I want a holiday where the traditional food is sandwiches. All different types of sandwiches. Everyone has to make up a new sandwich and bring it. Or everyone brings separate pieces and the holiday is spent concocting new and delicious sandwich combinations.

Until I've fully developed that holiday, however, the tradition of Thanksgiving turkey sandwiches is the closest I've got. They are also the pinnacle of reinventing leftovers. A few simple steps, a few quality items, a few scraps of the demolished turkey and you have a phoenix rising from the ashes, but better, because it's a sandwich.

I didn't have leftover turkey this year, but my spicy chickens from across the street endured a late night plucking and supplied a sturdy foundation for a couple sandwichings.

So, if you still have a few scraps of that turkey around, or tucked some away in the freezer, get it out. I've concocted a recipe to mimic my sandwich de las sobras. Don't have your sandwich be a thoughtless, half-hearted jumble. Give the sandwich its due attention. It deserves our thoughts, our respect, our thanks.

makes 4 sandwiches
I was so thrilled with these sandwiches, I double-blogged today in hopes that I would catch you with some turkey scraps searching for meaning in this crazy world. . . .

3 C of cooked shredded turkey (or chicken)
2 Tbsp olive oil
5 Tbsp paprika
1 tsp cayenne pepper
4 crusty rolls
4 oz Manchego cheese, 8 slices
2 C shredded green cabbage
1/2 C fresh cilantro
2 Roma tomatoes, sliced
mayonnaise (if desired)

Heat olive oil in skillet over medium-low heat. Add turkey or chicken and toss to lightly coat with olive oil. Sprinkle with paprika and cayenne. Cook until thoroughly heated. Halve rolls and lightly toast. Place two slices of Manchego on bottom half of each roll. On each roll, top cheese with 3/4 C of the warm turkey. Toss the cabbage and cilantro together and divide between the sandwiches. Place several tomato slices on cabbage. Lightly spread mayonnaise on top half of roll. Place top half on to the tomatoes. Satisfy.

Soup and Sniffles

My boohooing the absence of Midwest seasons is over. Completely. It is 45 degrees (according to TWC) at my parents house today (feels like 35). Here, it is 70 and I'm wearing a sweater and scarf. I mean, I've always been a weenie when it comes to the cold, but this is a little much. I can even recognize that. In my defense, the locals are wearing parkas and stocking caps in the evenings. I'm starting to have panicky knots in my stomach about what 30 degrees is going to feel like in a couple of weeks. That's probably even being a bit optimistic that it will be 30 degrees. I'm consoled by the idea of my parents' fireplace, a functioning oven, and the fact that I'm planning on eating my weight in Christmas goodies, Indian, Thai, Korean, and Japanese food every single day.
My point, however, was that this past week has felt really cold. I know this probably doesn't garner much sympathy since I just said it was 70, but it has. Mwweh (that's the noise I always imagine my voice sounding like when I'm being very whiny). I also had a nasty cold that won't go away. (another Mwweeeh). Between my morgue of an apartment and the incessant whistling and rattling of failed nasal breathing, I discovered a desire to make soup. I probably can't even claim to have discovered a desire. A frigid apartment and nasal maladies are pretty much signs that soup is hunting me down.
Soup appealing to me was the glimmer in my sad mucousy week (did I mention my 16 year old dog died too? It really was a pitiful stretch). I love making soup. It has a tendency to always be exactly what you need. I can't think of another food that is quite as comforting and necessary in sad, sick times. It is one of the easiest things to mess around with, without fear of losing the delicious. No real planning and gathering the correct ingredients necessary. Look in your fridge and around your kitchen and you should be able to whip up something warm, smooth, and satisfying. Also, a delicious meal that can be cooked in a single saucepan satisfies my minimal-dish-usage quota (which gets even more strict when I'm ill). Up until last week, though, making soup in Mexico hadn't occurred to me. Not once. But now, a chill in the air and snot in my nose has put it back in my repertoire.
Potatoes were the dominant vegetable at hand, so potato soup it was. Nice timing too, since I started making creamy potato soups about a year ago, when my friends came to Louisville for Thanksgiving. Potato soup in bread bowls and K Cider was the welcoming meal I made in a fit of nostalgia, replicating one of our favorite meals in college. My potato soup impressed me so much, that throughout the winter, I regularly made large pots of it, varying it each time depending on what was around. So convenience and a double dose of nostalgia made this recipe, feel free to throw in some bacon, broccoli, celery, cheese, or any delicious random thing that you have lying around. Well, maybe not Krispy Kremes, save those for dessert. That would be the ultimate body and soul soothing meal, fit for the sick or wallowing.

Creamy Potato Soup
6 tablespoons of butter
6 cloves of garlic, minced
2 dried chiles de arbol*, crushed
1 medium onion, chopped
1 pound of potatoes, cubed
12 C chicken stock
2 C of carrots, sliced
2 C of zucchini, chopped
3 C milk
salt
black pepper

Melt 4 Tbsp of butter in a large heavy saucepan over low heat. Add the garlic, onion, and chiles. Simmer over low heat for about two minutes (make sure to keep it low so the butter doesn't burn) or until onions are translucent. Add potatoes and remaining butter. Cook for 3 minutes more over low heat. Stir to keep vegetables from burning. Add chicken stock and raise to medium-high heat.** Cover and cook until potatoes are tender, stirring occasionally. When potatoes are tender, add carrots and zuccini. Cook 5 minutes. Ladle about 4 cups of vegetables and liquid into a blender (it should be heavy on the potatoes). Puree. Return to saucepan. Reduce heat to low. Add milk. Cook until thoroughly heated or desired thickness (if you want a really thick soup you can puree more potatoes). Salt and pepper to taste. Serve with some crusty bread and white cheddar. Maybe crumble some bacon on top. Oooh yeah, bacon. Oh! And have a Happy Thanksgiving, mis estadounidenses. Safe travels! Safe gorging!

*These bitches are HOT. If you aren't a spice-monger, you may want to hold off or cut back.
Also, if you crush them by hand, don't touch your eyes for like a day. It BURNS!!!!
** This is a more expedient method, but feel free to cook over low heat for an extended period, just as long as the potatoes get cooked, it's all good.

Oscar's Grocery

"Oh man, I'm soooo hungry."
"Me too. Let's get something to eat."
"Hmm. I'll go anywhere, but not Oscar's Grocery."
"Eww no. It looks sooo gross. I heard they had fingernails in their bread."
"Whoa. I heard they had boogers in their soup."
"Egh. Oh no! It looks like everything but Oscar's is closed!"
"Oh man, I'm SO hungry! What are we going to do?"
"I guess we'll have to go to Oscar's."
"Oh gross. I guess I'll get a cinnamon roll. I hope there aren't any fingernails. . ."
"Me too. Well here we go."
"Hey. . . .this is. . . .really good!"
"Oh my gosh. This is the best cinnamon roll I've ever tasted!"
"WE LOVE OSCAR'S GROCERY!"

The enchanting dialogue you have just read is a rough recreation of a game my siblings and I used to play entitled: Oscar's Grocery. We would use this role-play whenever we would have a stick of gum. We would roll the stick up so it looked like a cinnamon roll and go through all the steps until we were forced to acquiesce and buy food from Oscar's. Then we would timidly bite into our "cinnamon roll" and let the surprised delight and praise for this ill-reputed grocery spring forth. I know what you're thinking. The answer is yes. Yes, we were home-schooled.
I've always had the same Oscar's Grocery attitude towards banana-flavored things. Not with such a level of disgust that we held for Oscar's, but why would I pick banana when there were other possibilities? I like bananas and banana bread, but beyond that banana just always seemed like such a blah option to me when there are things like peaches, melons, and berries.
Over the weekend, Matthew, Allison, and I headed to the Lagunas de Chacahua. On our way we stopped for breakfast in Puerto Escondido. The restaurant had a tantalizing list of licuados.
Licuados are a blended drink of fruit, milk, and either sugar or honey to sweeten it. Occasionally they will include nuts or chocolate instead of fruit. They are similar to a smoothie, but since milk is used instead of only fruit or yogurt they are fairly thin.
I was excited for a cantaloupe licuado, but when Matthew tried to order it, the proprietress informed us that there was only banana available. Blah, I think would appropriately summarize my internal response. I've always been a supporter of bananas in smoothies where other fruits are featured, it gives a nice heft, but as a solo artist? I quickly opted for an orange juice. Matthew went ahead and got the banana licuado. Fortunately, just like in my childhood game, just because I'm not thrilled about something, doesn't mean I'm not going to try it (Not eating vs. eating--which did you think would win?). Good thing too, because the licuado was fantastic. Sweet, smooth, cold, and the banana was anything, but blah. The next day in Chacahua, Matthew's second banana licuado cemented my love of the drink. "I LOVE BANANA LICUADOS!" So at my first chance I recruited Allison (and her blender) to make my own.


Licuado de platano
This will probably make about three large servings
6 ripe bananas
3 C milk
5 Tbsp honey
1 tsp vanilla extract


Throw everything in a blender and whrrrrrr until smooth.
If you prefer things extremely cold,
throw in a cup of crushed ice. Salud.

Pizza Escondida

Three day weekends. Three day weekends in Mexico. Three day weekends in Mexico during November. Three day weekends in Mexico during November at the beach. Three day weekends in Mexico during November at the beach with pizza. These are all wonderful things, but the last one is truly wonderful because of that delicious little word pizza.
You know what's bad about pizza? Nothing. You know what's bad about loving pizza and living in a small town in Mexico? A lot of things. Primarily that I don't have an oven and there are two pizza places in Miahuatlán--one is ok and the other is positively revolting. Enjoying a truly delicious pizza this past weekend was a rare and delightful pleasure.
During my weekend travels I spent Sunday afternoon through Monday morning in Puerto Escondido. The town is one of the larger (if not the largest) towns on the Oaxacan coast. It is a popular tourist destination, because of incredible surfing, bountiful nightlife, and lovely beaches. The crowd that this drew, however, at times made me feel like I was simultaneously at an extremely large frat party and Bob Marley cover band concert. Frat boys and trustifarians? What a lovely combination.
Fortunately, the blitzed and shirtless are not the only ones drawn to Puerto Escondido. The town has a large number of visitors and expats from Italy. Apparently this is partially due to a popular Italian movie Puerto Escondido. While they may be among the bare chested numbskulls I sneered at, with the Italian tourists came the Italian restaurants. So it's all right by me.
Capers, mushrooms, ham, and artichokes smothered in mozzarella sat atop a perfectly sweet and mildly vinegary tomato sauce. Oh and the crust. I am a true believer that the crust is what divides a good pizza and a great pizza. This one was great. It had that slight crackery-crispness in spots that gives way to a soft chewiness, with a nice floury feel when it first touches your mouth. Mmmm. This reminiscence will get me through another pizzaless month.
Though I haven't been able to make it here, my favorite pizza crust recipe is from one of Ina Garten's cookbooks. I think it is Barefoot Contessa: Parties. I don't have the cookbook here, but I found the recipe on the interweb and copied it for your pizzaing pleasure.

Ingredients

For the dough:

nocoupons

• 1 1/4 cups warm (100 to 110 degrees F) water
• 2 packages dry yeast
• 1 tablespoon honey
• 3 tablespoons good olive oil
• 4 cups all-purpose flour, plus extra for kneading
• 2 teaspoons kosher salt

Directions

For the dough, combine the water, yeast, honey, and olive oil in the bowl of an electric mixer fitted with a dough hook. Add 3 cups flour, then the salt, and mix. While mixing, add 1 more cup of flour, or enough to make a soft dough. Knead the dough on low to medium speed for about 10 minutes until smooth, sprinkling it with flour, if necessary, to keep it from sticking to the bowl.

When the dough is ready, turn it out onto a floured board and knead by hand a dozen times. It should be smooth and elastic. Place the dough in a well-oiled bowl and turn it several times to cover it lightly with oil. Cover the bowl with a kitchen towel. Allow the dough to rest at room temperature for 30 minutes.

Divide the dough into 6 equal parts and roll each one into a smooth ball. Place the balls on a baking sheet and cover them with a damp towel. Allow the dough to rest for 10 minutes. Use immediately, or refrigerate for up to 4 hours.

If you've chilled the dough, take it out of the refrigerator approximately 30 minutes ahead to let it come to room temperature. Roll and stretch each ball into a rough 8-inch circle and place them all on baking sheets sprinkled with cornmeal. (You will be able to fit 2 pizzas on each 18 by 13-inch baking sheet.)

Top with desired ingredients. Bake for 8-12 minutes (or until crust is golden brown) at 450 degrees. (The version I found on the internet was for grilling these bad boys, but I'm pretty sure these are the directions in the cookbook.)

These pizzas are so good. I love the size they are and playing around with different toppings for each pizza. It's a good clean out your fridge creativity exercise. Here are two of my favorite topping combinations I've created in my pizza frenzies. Throw them on in whatever proportion you see fit. Usually I use diced tomatoes, garlic, and oregano instead of pizza sauce, but again, as you like it.

Fresh Thyme
Bacon (cooked)
Potato (bake or boiled, but definitely cooked)
Mushroom
Parmesan cheese

Shredded chicken or pork
Black beans
Tomatoes
Green salsa
Mozzarella cheese