Good Food In Mexico City

Local Flavor: Pulquería La Pirata

2012-01-24T16:30:00.002-06:00

I like pulque and I'm glad it's back in fashion. New pulquerías are starting to spring up and anything new that isn't a 'Mc...' 'Wal...' or 'Star...' in this town is a good thing.

Pulque is fermented agua miel (fresh sap) of the maguey cactus, from which tequila and mezcal are also derived. It’s translucent, milky white, viscous and vaguely effervescent, with a piquant, yeasty taste, and just a hint of sweetness. The alcohol content is low, but it can catch up with you. It comes two ways, plain, i.e. white and unadulterated, and flavored with fruits, vegetables, or occasionally grain. Known as curados, these sweetened pulques may include strawberry, mango, guayaba, celery, beet, or even oatmeal. While true aficionados will only imbibe the pure stuff, beginners may find curados more palatable.

Once used only in Aztec rituals, pulque has long been considered the alcoholic drink of the common man. Fifty years ago there were hundreds of pulquerias in the capital, now only a few dozen survive. As beer and stronger distilled liquors became the preferred libations, the outmoded pulquería joined the endangered species list. Until recently they were the dominion of rough working class men and a few ‘ladies of ill repute’. Most establishments sold the drink to ‘decent’ women only through discreet side windows, reminiscent of prohibition era speakeasies.

Pulquería La Pirata is a typical, old-time neighborhood bar. It conserves an authentic folksy old-movie atmosphere. In the same spot for over 60 years in the solidly middle class neighborhood of Escandón, it attracts old-timers and hipsters alike.
I enter through swinging saloon doors to a sun dappled, tiled room painted in mis-matched shades of blue and green, the floors strewn with sawdust. I approach an old wooden bar that runs the length of one wall. The portly bartender, Don Santiago, has a look of languid resignation on his face. Behind him are metal canisters of curados - piña, melón, apio (celery), avena (oatmeal). No one greets me or even seems to notice that I’m here. I clear my throat and tentatively order – “un vaso de apio, por favor” (a glass of celery, please). I’m served, the milky, celadon green drink, the glass rimmed with salt. I taste. It goes down smoothly - sweet but not cloyingly so, a little yeasty, tangy and fragrant of celery. The salt gives it a kick. Easy to love - a milkshake for grown-ups. I finish my glass and order another. Most pulquerías offer botanas, light snacks to accompany your drink. For the price of a glass of pulque (less than $1 US) a satisfying meal can also be had. So I help myself to a free taco of chicharrón prensado from the bar. And then another. There are a few other time honored venues for this most Mexican of beverages, but La Pirata somehow evokes the past more than most. ¡Viva la vida!

Pulquería La Pirata
Calle 13 de Septiembre, corner of 12 de Diciembre,
right below the Viaducto,
Colonia Escandon

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A note to my readers: See my recent article "A Weekend in Havana"

Close to home: Maximo Bistrot Local

2012-01-10T17:16:00.010-06:00

I love to criticize. I was raised in New York after all, where criticism is an art form. But Maximo Bistrot Local, a fine new venue for creative cuisine in the constantly up-and-coming Colonia Roma, defies even me to find fault.

Cool and chic Maximo replaces a dowdy medical supply store; where wheelchairs and artificial limbs were once sold you can find the best brandade de morue this side of the Seine. The space, airy and sunny during the day, warm and cozy at night, has been smartly and discreetly given new life. Windows and rooms, once blocked up, were opened, those lovely old tile floors, until not so long ago routinely torn out by tasteless renovators, have been replaced. Simple but comfortable wooden bistro chairs and tables are given room to breathe, both inside and out on the street. Adornment is minimal. Ambient music is mercifully turned low. It’s a space you’re happy to spend some time in. The kitchen is open to view—and the food coming out of that kitchen is worthy of hyperbole.

Chef Eduardo García, formerly of the esteemed Pujol, also worked at Manhattan’s star-strewn Le Bernardín, that high-falutin´temple of good fish. He has brought all of his gastronomic skills to his own place, along with his wife, the affable Gabriela. The only thing they left behind is pretension. The restaurant’s publicity claims that ‘materia prima’ is local and organic, if possible. The chef visits our spectacular markets daily, choosing what looks best, then adroitly improvising a new menu each day.

The dishes are French and Italian in theory, Spanish in their simple elaboration, all with soulful respect to Mexican tradition. Food looks like food, not art.

The menu wisely sticks to five or six appetizers and the same number of ‘platos fuertes’.

A recent starter was so simply labeled it almost escaped my notice. ‘Sopa de raiz de apio y chicharro’ makes use of that divine root so common in France and so elusive here: celerie rave (celeriac in English). A simple, light cream of fresh pea, green as a Provençal field in spring, is perfumed with that refined essence of celery. The color and fragrance would have pleased Mme. Chanel. Esparragos y holandesa are not toyed with, just done correctly. They looked like the end result of an episode of The French Chef.

Another example. Perfectly grilled octopus, tender as a baby’s thigh (must be) is complimented by a drizzle of ‘guajillo emulsion’. A couple of days later this combination had morphed into a brick-red creamy reduced chili sauce and a generous puddle of sautéed huitlacoche – essentially Mexican.

The tuna arrived seared on the top and sushi-pink in the middle, cloaked in a robe of red Mediterranean peperonata. Likewise, ‘filete de cerdo’ is left blushing and juicy in the center, as pork should be unless you’re doing carnitas. Smart.

Desserts are safely relegated to such Parisian bistro classics as a crackly crème bruleé or a rich pot de crème de chocolate. Richer still was a cheesecake of goat cheese, the likes of which I’ve seen neither in Paris, New York nor el DF.

The wine list is carefully chosen, featuring some unusual Mexican vintages—and there’s a good range of prices. Dinner with a glass of wine hovers around $300 pesos per person. A prix fixe comida is offered on weekdays for $130 pesos.

After an excellent repast on a recent sun-drenched Sunday, my astute dining companion, The French Lady, recalled her favorite bistro in Paris, L’Ebauchoir. Wrinkling her nose in typical Parisian fashion, she agreed to be quoted. “This place reminds me of it.” she said. “It is very, very good!”

She needn’t say more. Nor will I.

Maximo Bistrot Local

Tonalá 133, corner of Zacatecas, (3 blocks south of

Av. Alvaro Obregón) Colonia Roma

Open Tuesday – Saturday : 1 -11:00 pm,

Sunday, 11:00 am-7:00 pm

closed Monday

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Chinese New Year: Asian Bay

2012-01-03T12:01:00.010-06:00

I recently came back from a month in India, with a 4-day stop in Shanghai at the end. It was my first visit to China, and the food lived up to my expectations. The endless variety of dumplings, the shop windows full of glistening roast ducks, the surprises like tofu skin salad—I was in heaven (click here to see photos). The only problem was returning to Mexico City. While I love my hometown—it has no shortage of culinary delights—the Asian food scene here is sparse.

So the best Christmas present this year was the discovery that a Chinese restaurant had opened while I was away. Last time I travelled, I was dismayed to find that a Starbucks had planted itself practically under my window during my absence; this Asian invasion is so much more to my liking. Asian Bay, located in the thick of Condesa’s restaurant melee, is no ordinary chop suey joint. It’s a high level ‘Chinese food-for-Chinese people’ restaurant.

The young chef, Luís Alfonso Chiu is the son of immigrants from Canton. He grew up in the deco/colonial house, now converted into the restaurant. But the family feeling continues. As chef Chiu presides over the kitchen or mingles with clients his proud parents, Alfonso and Patricia, quietly run the ship.

Chef Luís recounted how his grandparents, who arrived here during the Mexican revolution, had been ‘asked to leave’ during the growing anti-Chinese movement of the ‘20’s and ‘30’s (astute business people, the Chinese were resented by the Mexican upper classes). His parents were born in China but the lure of Mexico remained and they immigrated--lucky for us. The chef grew up here, is as Mexican as mole, but loved the food of his ancestors, so he went back to Canton and Shanghai to study cooking.

Meanwhile, the pretty house has been converted into a pleasant restaurant – the covered plant filled courtyard is bright, warmed by touches of wood and bamboo. And of course, there’s the requisite fish tank.

As for the food: I’ll let you in on a secret: two menus are available, one for ‘gringos’ whose perceived tastes are simpler, the other, similar but more ample, for Chinese patrons (don't worry, the Chinese version is translated into Spanish). The menu is divided into appetizers, soups, meats, poultry, fish, and dim sum (Chinese ‘tapas’). I’m a big fan of dim sum and there’s satisfying selection here, with a choice of steamed, baked and fried. No clichés are to be found.

The har gow, morsels of shrimp perfumed with ginger, wrapped in rice pasta and steamed, are fashioned with loving care. Xiaolongbao, those famous pork dumplings from Shanghai that squirt soup when you bite into them, are as good as those we lusted after there. Char shiu bao, poofy, steamed bread encasing a mouthful of sweet, fragrant pork – are the best I have tasted anywhere. The salt & pepper squid is crispy yet tender.

The menu is mainly Cantonese with nods to spicy Sichuan and mild, sweet Shanghai-style cooking. ‘Fish filets Sichuan style’ is a refined version of the Sichuan hot pot, a hell’s brew of fiery peppers in liters of bubbling oil. Here the boneless filets are served on a plate with a reassuringly conservative oil/Sichuan pepper sauce that doesn’t overwhelm.

A Five-spice duck is bathed in a finger-licking, slightly sweet brown sauce – this reminds me of typical Shanghainese dishes. Pato Pekin is roast duck served the traditional way, carved at your table and rolled into little burritos with a bit of hoisin sauce, scallion and cucumber. Vegetables, simply listed as verduras chinas de temporada turned out to be, recently, beautifully sautéed baby bok choys, dressed with a little stock and a hint of ginger. Perfection itself.

The only caveat I have is that the dim sum are priced disproportionally to the rest of the menu: $70-80 per plate of 4--high even by New York Chinatown standards--whereas main dishes hover around $130. Dinner, with a beer or tea will be $250-300 pesos--money well spent.

I wondered how you say ‘buen provecho’ in Chinese. “You don’t,” a Chinese-speaking friend explained, “You just eat.” Fine with me.

Asian Bay Restaurante

Av. Tamaulipas 95 (between Vicente Suarez & Campeche) Condesa

Open Monday - Thursday: 12:00 -10:30 pm

Friday, Saturday 12:00 -11:30 pm

Sun:12-9 pm

Tel. 5553-4582

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And the winner is…The best of 2011

2011-12-26T16:23:00.018-06:00

It’s that time of year, the end of the cycle. Many new restaurants have opened in our sprawling metropolis and, try as we may it’s impossible to keep up. It’s nice to see that the wolf is not beating at the kitchen door here. So, in the spirit of complete autocracy, I offer my best list. Take it or eat it.

1. The Pedro Infante “Best Mexican” award goes to…

Fonda El Refugio – This old timer has been spiffed up, its kitchen brought up to 21st century Slow Food hipness, without sacrificing traditional flavor and recipes. Grandma would be proud.

Runner up: Coox Hanal – still the best Yucatecan food in the city if not nation.

2. The Anna Magnani “Best Foreigner” award goes, once again, to Rosetta. Chef Reygadas’ Italian kitchen just gets better and better.

Runner up: Osteria 8 – this little upstart Italian does the best pizza in town and the ambitious menu doesn’t fail to impress. Now if only we could gussy it up a little and provide a little more elbowroom.

3. The Pan Am International award goes to....
Mero Toro, the Condesa temple of consistantly creative high-falutin cooking.

Runner up: D.O. It's multi-regional Spanish and they get everything right.

4. The Eve Harrington ‘best newcomer’ award goes to…

Máximo Bistrot Local. This pretty, unpretentious place at the corner of Tonalá & Zacatecas in la Roma, does French a la Mexicana, is hip to local and organic, and is generally full of ‘buena onda’. ¡Felicidades!

Runner up: El Beso Huasteco. A pretty, restored house, nicely presented Mexican classics, low prices. What’s not to like?

5. The Jack Kerouac ‘best street stall’ award goes to…

El Caguamo. Still the best seafood stand in the city.

Runner up: El Tacetón. (corner Baja California & Tuxpan, Col. Roma)This busy stand near the Chilpancingo metro stop serves a tempting selection of tacos de guisados.

6. The Frank Sinatra ‘one for the road’ award for best watering hole goes to:

Pulquería La Pirata (Calle 13 de Septiembre, corner of 12 de Diciembre, and right below the Viaducto, Colonia Escandon). For pure Mexican ambience, it doesn’t get any better.

Runner up: Mezcaleria La Nacional Querétaro, corner of Orizaba, Colonia Roma
This fairly new addition to the growing hipster scene in ‘La Roma’ offers a large selection of reasonably priced mezcals, as well as light food.

And the jury’s out on:
Azul Condesa. We really want to love Ricardo Muñoz’ uptown venue but have been repeatedly disappointed.

Izote. I confess I had avoided Patricia Quintana’s world famous venue in recent years due to her sky-rocketing prices and inconsistent quality. But she’s given the joint a makeover and there’s a new menu so we’ll be back soon and let you know.

May my reader’s have a happy and fattening New Year.

A note to my readers: The new, expended 2012 edition of my book is now for sale on Amazon. See the bar on the right of this page to click and buy

From Chiapas to Chihuahua: Regional Mexican Cuisine in El D.F. - Part II

2011-12-11T19:19:00.000-06:00

Almost 2000 miles separate Mexico’s northern border with the United States and its southern extreme, which meets Guatemala. While both regions share ingredients and techniques we associate with Mexican cooking – corn, chilies, beans, etc. – the cultural and environmental influences are very different and the flavors are, too.

Chiapas, the southernmost state is home to several indigenous cultures, those least affected by colonialization and the reforms of the Revolution. Poor and marginalized to this day, Mayan people of the region have conserved much of their cultural and culinary identity. The state embraces ocean, tropical lowlands, and mountains, so there’s a great variety of materia prima. Fewer types of chilies are found here, but unusual herbs, vegetables, and fruits, such as chipilin, yuca, chicozapote, guanábana, and chirimoya are daily staples. “Pre-hispanic” meats such as armadillo, iguana and jabalí (wild boar) are found in the markets. Corn, as always in Mexico, is the basis of every meal, but unique to Chiapas are drinks made of ground and toasted corn and a wide variety of tamales.

A short taxi ride south of the centro histórico, Chamula’s is the only restaurant in Mexico City specializing in authentic Chiapaneca cuisine. The old-fashioned dining room is decorated with colorful hand-woven tablecloths and local crafts. Many unusual dishes are offered; start with a refreshing pozol, a slightly sweet drink made with toasted corn and chili. Notable among the entremeses (appetizers) are several kinds of tamales including one scented with chipilin, a pungent green herb. Chicken with mole or pork with pipian are favorite main courses, as is grilled tasajo (thinly sliced beef marinated in an achiote-flavored chili sauce). The Lacondon menu even offers wild boar and iguana. On weekends, a great marimba band, the music typical of the region, plays.

At the northern extreme of Mexico from Chiapas, the rough, dry terrain of Chihuahua has a culture influenced by American and European immigrants (including a large community of German dialect-speaking Mennonites, famed for their cheese) and by the indigenous nomadic tribes. With less variety to choose from, it’s cowboy and beef country up here—they like their meat, spiced up with lots of picante chilies. Wheat tortillas are more common than corn.

This homey place specializes in the cuisine of Chihuahua, the state from which owner Raul Vargas hails (his wife is from Jalisco, explaining the incongruous use of “Tequila” in the name). Red and blue tablecloths, yellow walls, wooden floors, and Northern-themed prints create a warm and comforting atmosphere. Sopa de tortilla is fragrant with cumin, and garnished with chicharrón, avocado, and roast chiles. Frijoles norteñas come sprinkled with pungent, white queso Chihuahua, and slices of pickled chiles. A popular main course is asados: grilled beef prepared in red colorado or green pasado sauce and served with fresh wheat tortillas. Vibrant red cecina adobada (dried, pounded and chilied beef) was a big hit at our table. The lemonade is rich and not too sweet, and the tequila flan is exceptional. Ask to sample their special house mezcal, produced in the state.

Chamula’s Bar
Bolivar 438, corner. Torquemada, Colonia Obrera
Metro José Peon Contreras
Tel. 5519-1336
Open daily 1-9 PM.

La Toma de Tequila
Toluca 28-C at Baja California
Metro Centro Médico (at the exit marked Toluca)
Tel. 5584-5250
Open 1PM – 8PM Daily
No credit cards are accepted.

Eating Around: Regional Mexican Cuisine in El D.F., Part I

2011-11-23T12:32:00.000-06:00

Mexican food is not one cuisine, but a conglomeration of many. Like Italy or China, differences from region to region are great, and ingredients are influenced by climate, geography, and patterns of immigration. While most states in Mexico have at least some distinctive dishes, several stand out for their truly distinctive and highly elaborated gastronomic traditions: Puebla, Oaxaca, and the Yucatan are the best known, and Mexico City is the one place where you can find it all.

Puebla
Everyone thinks of mole poblano when they talk about Puebla. This dark rich sauce, made of dried chillies, nuts, seeds, tomatoes onions, and spices—and the famous touch of chocolate--is most often served over chicken, or as enchiladas (sometimes called enmoladas). But it is only one of the exquisite dishes from this state, south-east of Mexico City. Another highlight of Puebla’s cuisine is chile en nogada, a stuffed poblano chile smothered with a cremy sauce of ground nuts and dotted with pomegranate seeds. The red, white and green of this dish—the colors of Mexico’s flag-- make it a favorite around Independence Day. Pipian (green or red) is a simpler sauce with a base of ground pumpkin seeds.
My favorite place for cocina poblana in Mexico City is Casa Merlos (Victoriano Zepeda 80, Colonia Observatorio, Tel. 5277-4360, open Thursday-Sunday from 1-4 pm). Although located in an out-of-the-way neighborhood west of the centro, it is worth the effort to reach. Start with chalupas (literally “little boats”), which are essentially another form of sopes. Manchamanteles (“tablecloth stainers”) is a juicy stew of pork cooked with dried and fresh fruit (often pineapple or apples). Pipian, and of course, the renowned mole poblano are also excellent here. The family-run Casa Merlos features several seasonal festivals: in October up to 10 different moles are offered.

Oaxaca
The state of Oaxaca has a large indigenous population and its cuisine reflects this. An enormous variety of chilies (amarillos, chilhuacles, chilcostles and costeños are some of the most popular), herbs, particularly the anis-flavored hoja santa, exotic fruits such as..., unusual meats like armadillo and iguana, and insects (those famous chapulines or grasshoppers) are eaten here. Known as the "Land of the Seven Moles," Oaxaca is, along with Puebla, the state most famous for this sauce.
Delicious Oaxacan food can be found at La Bella Lula, (Río Lerma, betweem Río Rhin and Río Sena in Colonia Cuauhtémoc. Tel. 5207-6356, There is also a branch at Miguel Angel de Quevedo 652 in Coyoacán. Both are open daily from 10am-7pm). This popular restaurant, around the corner from the Hotel María Cristina, has been serving authentic southern specialties since 1982. There are always a few of Oaxaca’s seven moles on the menu; my favorite is the almendrado, mildly sweet and tart, yet complex. For a real taste of Oaxaca, don’t miss the tlayudas con asiento, large, thin, crisp tortillas spread with unrefined manteca (better than it sounds), or the tasajo, tender strips of pork marinated in chile and spices. Their hand-made tortillas are top-notch, the ambience populár and festive.

Yucatán
The Yucatan peninsula is geographically isolated from the rest of the country, so its culture, heavily influenced by Mayan civilization (as well as Spanish, Carribean and Lebanese) has remained quite distinct. It is characterized by very hot sauces (typical of very hot places), and local ingredients like achiote (or anatto, a fragrant red spice) lima (an aromatic lime), and naranjas agrias (sweet-sour orange). Turkey, wild boar, and shark provide the protein .
I love Yucatecan cuisine and have tried many places in the city, but my favorite is Coox Hanal (Isabel La Católica 83, 2nd floor, near Mesones, open daily from 10:30am to 6pm), a simple place in the centro. Start with a sopa de lima, (chicken soup perfumed with those special lemons and tortilla strips), then move on to panuchos (tortillas with black beans and cochinita pibil, a spicy marinated pork), papadzules (tortillas rolled up with chopped eggs and an earthy, green pumpkin seed sauce--a good option for vegetarians) and my favorite, pan de cazón, (tortillas layered with fish, black beans and a light, spicy tomato sauce) Beware the fiery chile habanera that sits on top (also used in one of the salsas you find on the table)—it is the world’s hottest chile. Wash it all down with their ice-cold horchata, a milky-looking drink made from ground almonds and rice.

Mexico drinks to its roots: Pulquerias

2011-11-16T22:39:00.002-06:00

This week I'm on vacation so I'll let the Los Angeles Times do the work for me: click below:

http://www.latimes.com/features/food/la-fo-pulquerias-20111110,0,3582676.story

On a Clear Day You Can See Forever: Don Toribio

2011-11-01T11:12:00.005-06:00

Why is the combination of a beautiful view and decent food so hard to find? Too often I’ve encountered lousy grub while enjoying some of the world’s most spectacular vistas, from the rooftops of Paris to the docks of Singapore. The D.F.’s potential best, the bar/restaurant in the Torre Latinamericana, is a disaster of vulgar music and overpriced, mediocre food. I am pleased therefore, to have found an exception, so obvious, had it been a dog it would’ve bit me. Situated atop a Deco edifice in the heart of Mexico City’s centro histórico, Don Toribio, open for several years now, overlooks the Alameda. The view of the Palacio de Bellas Artes is stunning. And on a recent crystal clear October afternoon I could make out the snow-dusted mountains up north.

Enter through a tacky mini-mall and take the elevator on the right to the 5th floor. Doors open to a broad terrace, a nicely appointed space with white tablecloths and plain, modern furniture —all very appealing. Several tables front the outdoor terrace; others are glassed in with wrap-around vistas.

The simple, wisely limited menu is Argentine – Mexican. Don Toribio bills itself as a parilla (grill) and grilled meat such as arrachera (skirt steak) is excellent. An order of nicely appointed mixed sopes or empanadas will make good starters to share. Main dishes –hearty salads or grilled meats are accompanied by soup of the day – the sopa de tortilla is exemplary. Avoid the complicated “a las finas hierbas”) and stick to the basic (“a las brasas”).

The best news of all is that the prices are more than reasonable. A comida can be had for under $100. When has a nice glass of Argentine wine cost $40 in recent years?

Breakfast is offered daily, and there is night-time service Thursday and Friday.

Don Toribio

Juarez 30, 5^th floor

Open Monday, Tuesday , Wednesday, Saturday & Sunday, 8 a.m.-7 p.m.

Thursday, Friday until 11

Tel. 5518 - 7595

If Walls Could Talk: Fonda La Reforma

2011-10-19T09:31:00.001-05:00

“Stop!” I yelled as our car sailed down a narrow street in Colonia Guerrero, an area north of the historic center, bustling with funky Sunday commerce.

It was the sign on a corner restaurant that had caught my eye. “Fonda La Reforma: We’re backed by 75 years of tradition” it proudly proclaimed. I love tradition--and old, timeworn places. By the time I left my city of birth, New York, we had little of either left. But here in Mexico City, venues for nostalgia still abound. They linger, sometimes languish, waiting to be re-discovered and lauded by, well, people like me.

Aluminum soup pots, dented by years of serious stirring and ancient chipped cazuelas, browned by flame and mole, filled the window of the open kitchen. An old lady, in no hurry at all, stirred one of them. In another window the words “exquisito mole” were emblazoned over a crude painting of a mole pot. This is an archetypal fonda. It offers 35 or 40 peso comida corridas like any other.

But here there’s a difference. Besides its age--over 80 years--La Reforma has the distinction of having been a hangout for one of the most important writers of Mexico’s golden age, Salvador Novo. Poet, essayist, novelist and general bon vivant, Novo (1904-1974) was perhaps best known as a chronicler of life in the big city. A genuine eccentric, gay and out at an early age, he was sort of a Mexican Oscar Wilde but with a relatively happy ending. Novo loved all things urban, especially food. His Cocina Mexicana is and informal chronicle of cooking and eating in Mexico City. The Fonda la Reforma appears in its pages. Novo ate here with Octavio Paz. One of the elderly owners claims that other famous people also graced her humble dining room, but she can’t recall their names. If walls could talk.

Located across from the huge Mercado Martinez de la Torre (see my earlier post), La Reforma was founded in the late 1920’s by Maria Canales as a simple puesto offering pancita to feed hungry market venders and shoppers. It was taken over a few years later by her daughter, who had no less than 12 children herself.

Two generations later, the restaurant is still in the hands of the Canales Sánchez family. ‘Baby brother’ Marco Antonio, 60-something, whips up egg whites for the chiles rellenos, a house specialty since time immemorial. Meanwhile, sister Jovita, who’s approaching 80 (from which direction I’m not sure), deep-fries the chilies themselves. And they’ve got those chilies down! The crust is crisp but fluffy, the chili and cheese light as a cloud, the caldo de jitomate just thick enough and mildly spiky.

I sampled an earthy verdolagas con carne (purslane with chunks of falling-apart pork). The chocolaty mole (offered only Saturday, Sunday and Monday) is if not quite exquisite, certainly good. Lunches are served daily to old-timers and young locals alike. As they have been for 80 years.

I don’t promise a four-star meal at La Reforma. But for those wanting a soul-satisfying, authentic home-style meal in a prototypical inner-city D.F. fonda, this is the place.

Fonda La Reforma is located at the corner of calles Heroes & Degollado,
Colonia Guerrero
It's 2 blocks north and west of Metro Guerrero
Open daily for comida

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Dinner at Eight: Osteria 8

2011-10-04T10:24:00.018-05:00

I was skeptical, even though a French friend had highly recommended the place. “This little hole in the wall is GOOD?” I thought as we sat down at one of the eight little tables. But this particular lady, Françoise, had owned a restaurant in Paris, so I figured if she said “c’est bon” I'd try it.

Little did I imagine the gem I would find. No bigger or fancier than the fonda it undoubtedly replaced, this mini-trattoría and pizzeria does some of the best Italian this side of the Lido. Owner Stephan Gialleonardo hails from that bastion of great Italian cooking--the Bronx. “I learned from my grandfather, a Napolitano who worked as chef on a depression-era gambling boat,” he explains. “Those floating casinos were owned by some rather discerning eaters.” he adds. The chef, who later studied at New York’s French Culinary Institute, decided to open his own place. He and his wife Patricia Ramirez inaugurated Osteria 8 two years ago and it has been a well-kept secret amongst savvy Condechis ever since.

Raw ingredients are fresh, seasonal and, in many cases organic and local. Pasta is house-made. A smartly limited menu of regional standards includes six appetizers (e.g., fried calamares and several salads), five pastas--none of them clichés--and a risotto ‘de chef’. There are specials, such as the knockout ‘ensalada romana’, soon to appear on the regular menu by popular demand. ‘Lechuga romana’ is iceberg lettuce and I admire a chef who’s not afraid of it. Here the old steakhouse special has been given a touch of class – a perfect wedge is swathed in a light gorgonzola sauce, then accessorized with chopped tomato, red onion and bacon – a Park Avenue debutante never looked so pretty. Chef Gialleonardo takes advantage of what’s in the market: “I love this season –especially the wild mushrooms, which right now (September) are particularly good” he says, disappearing into the tiny kitchen to prepare a spectacular tagliatelle with chantarelles. The lighter-than-angel’s-wings pasta is tossed with delicate slivers of golden mushrooms and bits of guanciale (a type of unsmoked bacon), good olive oil and parmesan. Divine. A home-made sausage I sampled was just as good. “The sausage recipe was my grandfather’s,” the chef explains. “But it took a lot of experiments to get it just right”. Then arrives what is just about the prettiest pizza I’ve seen outside Fordham Road – or Naples. Patricia does the pizzas. “My wife’s a kick-ass pizza-maker”, the chef assures me. She is indeed: the tomato-based mushroom and guanciale number I order is textbook-perfect. I’m an old New Yorker: when it comes to pizza, you CAN be too rich and too thin. This one has chutzpah, but is delicate and subtle at the same time.

Desserts are rich, dairy-based affairs your nonna would fatten you up with: panna cotta, crème brulée, gelato, all done correctly.
House wine is decent and its price customer-friendly. Service is swift and efficient. Prices may seem on the steep side for such an apparently humble place ($200-300 per person), but it’s worth every peso.
Plans to open a larger space in the neighborhood are underway. But meanwhile, we’ll gladly pack into this little gem of an Italo-hole-in-the-wall. Cin cin & buona provata!

Osteria 8
Sinaloa 252, (near Av. Veracruz) on the edge of Colonias Roma & Condesa
Tel. 5212-2008
Open Tuesday- Saturday 1:30 - 11 p.m., Sunday until 8, closed Mondays

A note to my readers: Good Food in Mexico City has been chosen by Saveur Magazine as one of the top Global food blogs! See: http://www.saveur.com/article/Kitchen/SAVEURs-Favorite-Global-Food-Blogs

Back to the Future: Fonda el Refugio

2011-09-21T19:44:00.017-05:00

1978: a giddily dilapidated, pre-quake Mexico City. I was a fresh-faced college student, here on a mission to study the murals. I strolled through the legendary Zona Rosa, which was already resting on the glamorous laurels of a bygone era, like some aging old-Hollywood diva who hadn’t made a picture in years. I passed the faded Hotel Geneva, which according to my mother, had been home to artists and bohos from around the world.

It was lunchtime. My dog-eared guidebook suggested I eat only in “nice” places for traditional Mexican food and this was it . I remember entering the portal of the Fonda el Refugio with a sense of relief, a feeling that someone’s grandma would take care of me. Little did I realize that she would indeed be there, perhaps minding the books if not the kitchen. The room was cozy, old wood floors and ceiling framing dark colonial style furniture punctuated with bright Frida-like touches. It still is.

I recall the mole verde, a beautiful jade colored sauce whose nutty/minty taste and soft reassuring texture gently cradled a velvety chicken breast. I can smell the heady aroma of roasted corn that wafted from the little basket of hand-made tortillas. The memory of my first dinner at el Refugio is iconic, nostalgic and one of my fondest early Mexican experiences.

But nice dreams suffer, memories fray at the edges. Repeated visits, over the years, to this 57 year-old bastion of Mexican goodwill did not fare so well. It went downhill.

Claudio Hall, grandson of the founder, agrees. Hall’s grandma was neither an indigenous braided countrywoman nor a chef. A glamorous upper-class lady, she was an astute businesswoman who liked the idea of creating an elegant restaurant that served Mexican food. It took off, and during the ‘época de oro’ of the Zona Rosa the Fonda became a hangout for the likes of Cantinflas and Maria Felix.

“Grandmother never touched a stove in her life”, explains the affable Hall, who speaks in unaccented English.

“Surely the recipes are treasured family secrets?” I ask. “Not a one” he replies. “She was a great collector of classic Mexican cookbooks – we have an amazing library. All our recipes come from books”.

When he returned to Mexico a couple of years ago after a few years in the US, he felt lost at sea and was looking for a job. But he had never thought of going into the family business. “After grandmother passed away the place went downhill. In fact, we were on the brink of bankruptcy. I decided to inject some life back into it, in effect, to save it.” Hall is not a chef. He went back to school to study gastronomy.

Thankfully, he has changed nary a thing on the menu. Classic dishes rule. You’ll find antojitos such as enchiladas, garnachas and sopes, moles, pipianes, chiles rellenos,--you name it, they do it. I was happy to see manchamanteles, that fruity mestizo stew, once a staple in houses that looked just like this (Tuesdays only).

The chile en nogada I sampled was textbook perfect – an ideal balance of sweet and savory spice, and the cream sauce did not cloy.

That memorable green mole is offered on Wednesdays. Everything’s done the old-fashioned way: salsas are ground in stone molcajetes, tortillas are hand-pressed. “I didn’t want to change anything,” Hall claims, “just improve and bring back the quality. It was no mean feat: some of the staff have been here for decades and didn’t want to be told what for - old habits are hard to break”.

So, no new concepts, no pretentious 21^st century updating. Just better quality raw ingredients, as much as possible locally grown. That isn’t to say the menu won’t offer surprises: there are unusual daily and seasonal specials, as well as mezcal tastings –perhaps one of the few nods to current fashion.

“I hired one chef who insisted on re-inventing everything--he wanted to serve something with foam!

We let him go”, said Claudio.

“Andale!,” I say. And I’m sure grandma would agree.

Fonda el Refugio

Liverpool 166, near Insurgentes, Zona Rosa

Metro: Insurgentes

Tel: 5207-2732

Open Monday-Saturday 1-11 p.m. , Sunday until 10.

STRANGE FRUIT: Tropical wonders from the market

2011-09-08T11:06:00.017-05:00

Our Mexican summer rainy season brings some of the most visually and gustatorily compelling tropical fruits to market. Most, such as the hot pink Frida-portraited pitahaya or the sugary chico zapote are good for gawking at and eating fresh, nothing more. Others, like the mealy but perfumy mamey or the gooey black zapote negro are better when prepared. Below are a few suggestions.

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These beautiful rosa mexicana guayabas (guavas) are common around the State of Mexico. They were in great demand in the pre-conquest era. The Spaniards brought them back and made 'ate' or guava paste which is also available here in markets stalls where chiles and moles are sold. Easy to make is 'agua de guayaba': just throw a few whole guayabas into the blender with some water and a little sugar. Strain and serve.

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The mamey, whose beautiful orange-red interior color I once tried to paint my kitchen with middling success, is native to Mexico but common all over Latin-America, especially the Carribean. Currently fashionable amongst creative chefs of so-called Nueva Cocina Mexicana as an ingredient for tarts and créme brulée, it's best consumed at home as a liquado or milkshake. Scoop out the pulp, blend with 2 cups of milk, a little sugar if desired and a few ice cubes.

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These delightful fruits, in the city called zapote chico are also native to tropical Mexico - they are grown in low-lying areas near el D.F. as well. Their flesh, tasting like brown sugar, is sublime all by itself.

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The zapote prieto or negro is related to the fruit above in name only. It is native to the central Mexican states. The jet black pulp of these odd, squishy anomalies are commonly scooped out of their skins, seeds and membranes discarded, mashed and augmented with orange juice and perhaps a shot of tequila, then eaten with a spoon as dessert. Their preparation makes a mess but will impress your guests.

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Nopal cactus fruits are called 'tuna' in Spanish, confusing many visitors. They are full of seeds so make for annoying eating. But an agua preparada de tuna - fruit peeled, in the blender with water, then strained - nothing else - is more refreshing than Blanche Dubois' lemon-Coke. They vary in color from green to yellow to a deep royal crimson.

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The agressive looking guanábana contains a docile white custard-like and headily perfumed flesh. It is usually made into a paste, ice cream or agua fresca, but can be consumed as is. But be sure to buy a nice ripe one.

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The spectacular pitahaya has been justly celebrated in Mexican still-life painting since colonial times. A cactus fruit native to the Americas, it has become even more popular in Asia and is common in Thai and Malaysian markets. The inner flesh can be bluish-white or deep red. Its taste is unremarkable, somewhat like a kiwi but less acidic. It is simply admired and consumed as is.

Shopping in Mexico is a never-ending mind-blowing experience. Support your local tianguis and/or traditional market.

Shelling out - How to tip in Mexico

2011-08-31T13:34:00.011-05:00

I’ve slung hash. I started as a busboy at Miss Colleen’s Chinese Restaurant. There was no future in it, as to graduate to a waiter you had to write in Chinese. But I got to take home all the leftovers. I then worked at a Jewish Deli (low pay and tips, no comment), a jazz club (no customers, no tips, but I could get drunk every night for free). By the time I was ready to retire – at 25 - from the ‘food services industry’ (i.e. toiling in Mafia owned kitchens) I was wearing what they used to call a monkey suit and was chosen to serve champagne to then President Mitterrand at a French Embassy event (I hid under the table but they found me). So I know what it’s like to work for tips. As I considered myself a very good waiter, who worked efficiently and gave a minimum of attitude, I’m both sympathetic and highly critical of bad service. But I know a girl’s gotta eat.

Mexico is a service-oriented country. There are a lot of people here whose work is doing something for someone else. Most middle class people have maids. People are available to carry your bags, pump your gas, shine your shoes, bone your chicken. Few of these people are well paid. Some aren’t paid at all.

Many foreigners, recent émigrés or visitors to The Big Taco are confused about tipping. One wants to do it ‘right’, do as the natives do. My father, who spent his last years in Japan, where they’ve never even heard of tipping, always told the story of having left a few yen on a restaurant table. His worried waitress came running out after him to give it back – not to offend. Likewise, my friends in Madrid wouldn’t let me leave a euro in the dish of a bar, claiming that wait-people are well paid in Spain. Not so sure about that. I think now, given Spain’s economic situation, these same friends would pocket my tip themselves.

Here is my advice on what gratuity to leave. Of course it’s subjective. I tend to err on the side of generous. Let’s face it, most of the people who serve you a 400 peso meal can’t afford one themselves and never will. I feel guilty when I buy a bottle of wine that costs what the bagger earns in 3 days. So I do what I can.

Street stalls - nothing is expected, and most people don’t leave tips

Market stalls/owner run fondas – I usually leave a few pesos. If the lunch is $35, I’ll leave 5. It’s optional – some people do, many don’t.

Restaurants (from Vips to Pujol) – Here, 10-15% is the norm (not 15-20 as in the US), although I tend to err towards 15. This is where you may leave more or less depending on the quality of the service. But remember that what you and I may think of as over-zealous service is here considered attentive. People are taught that it’s not nice to leave dirty plates in front of someone, so they are whisked away even when others are still eating. We may think that’s rude, here it’s good service. So don’t penalize your server for this. Wait service in Mexico is generally friendly – have you ever had surly waiter snap at you here? I haven’t.
A few high-end places add a ‘servicio’ charge of 15% onto their bill, as restaurants in France do. Although this is uncommon, it happens. I don’t like this phenomenon at all, because most people don’t expect it here, and leave a tip on top of the service. So, take the advice of my mother and always check your bill. You’ll be surprised how often you’ll find an error, and it never seems to be in your favor.

Bars – if you only drink, a small gratuity is the norm, in a dive, perhaps a couple of pesos, in a ‘nice’ place more.

Other, non-dining tipping situations:

Taxis – a tip is not expected. This will surprise New Yorkers where a full tip is not only expected but extorted. But I usually round off and give them a little extra. Come on, taxis are very cheap here…

Gas stations – Those Pemex guys expect a little something: 2-5 pesos, depending on whether they do extra things like wash your windows or check the oil. Let’s face it, it’s nice not to do it yourself, and it’s not sexy for a lady wearing high heels and a Little Black Dress to pump gas.

Gas delivery – tip those guys who carry the heavy cylinders to the roof - $5 (pesos) each. And give the truck 10 or 15 or they’ll never come back.

Water bottles – I give 2 or 3 pesos extra per ‘garrafon’.

Car parkers/'cuidadores' - we give these guys 5-10 pesos; sometimes more: the lady at the Lagunilla market (on Reforma) wants $20 to look after our car. It's worth it.

Baggers at the super – I’m generous with these people. There’s a sign in my local Superama (which is owned by Walmart, a company known for its miserliness) that clearly states that baggers aren’t paid at all. You just spent $70 on Haagen Daaz. Shell out.

Bogart to Ann Sheriden: "What do you reccomend?"; Ann to Bogart "Nothing, I never eat here, myself"

A note to my readers: Good Food in Mexico City has been included, amidst stellar company, in the New York Times' Diner's Journal

Shanghai Express: Mojing's back & Super Día has the Goods

2011-08-24T05:39:00.006-05:00

Miss Anna May Wong might have moved to el D.F. had she known...

"I'm an occidental woman in an oriental mood for love", Mae West once sang. I know how she felt, only it's the food I'm usually in the mood for. We need not worry, for the Chinese are coming. Their products are everywhere, from the tianguis to Palacio de Hierro. It is said that Mexican flags and Virgins de Guadalupe are all made in China now. There used to be a Chinese community here in Mexico, workers brought in the 19th century to build railroads. They later opened 'fast food' restaurants called cafés de chinos, serving nominally Chinese dishes like chop suey as well as eggs, coffee and sweet rolls, much like the typical American coffee shop of yore. A few remain. But the Chinese themselves either assimilated into the population, left, or were, sometime around the revolution, ungratefully kicked out. But as we all know, things have changed. Communism ain't what it used to be. They're coming back in droves, this time not as abused laborers but as savvy business-people. And if that means more Chinese restaurants for us, I say, more power to 'em.

Mojing, a Cantonese palace hidden inside a Chinese mini-mall, is amongst the few venues for 'real' Asian food in the city. It opened last year and was reported on in a popular lifestyle magazine that feigns 'hipness' (but in fact panders to the dumbest Malinchista instincts of middle class Mexicans). It was described as an anomaly, a 'wierd' Chinese restaurant where frogs are eaten whole. Sadly, 'authenticity' when referring to cuisine, is still not much appreciated here. Hence the plethora of lousy chop suey joints of the type that back in the US went out of style sometime around the demise of the Beatles. Of course, smelling "Chinese for Chinese" I went as fast as I could and wasn't disappointed. An expert chef from Hong Kong, Tan, prepares dishes for an almost exclusively Asian clientele, so no chow mein or sweet & sour is to be found. In fact, the waiters speak little Spanish (much less English). I had trouble getting them to understand that I wanted tea! Better to order it in Chinese: cha. And they stared in amazement when I ordered and proficiently handled chopsticks (palillos en español). The menu, however, is well translated into Spanish. There are so many interesting dishes to try, I couldn't possibly list them all here. Start with some dense steamed dumplings, served with the proper black vinegar, soy and hot oil dipping sauce. And/or some savory hongos en salsa picante. Soups are large - the "chica' is enough for six bowls. I like agri-picante con mariscos. Try the carne en salsa ligeramente picosa, fragrant beef with ginger and semi-crunchy green peppers and onions. Or, a whole fish with ginger and scallions and soy sauce. Camaron frito con anis chino and carne de cerdo con queso de soya deshydratado (pressed tofu,which is common in NY's Chinatown but something I've never seen in Mexico) are just two unusual but mouthwatering options from the large menu. Vegetables are fresh and bright: order estrapajo con ajo picado, the chopped garlic perfectly complements the crunchy, verdant zucchini-like loofah.

The space is large, with typical Chinese restaurant kitchy decor, a TV blairing Chinese programming. Tsingtao beer is available and only $25 pesos. Prices are reasonable; a full meal will be around $200 pesos. Although closed for a couple of months this spring (2011) they are back in business as of August with not one but TWO chefs, the friendly hostess promissed me. And an inexpensive ($65 peso) buffet is offered weekdays which is light years ahead of the normally gloppy competitors.
This is the real thing...津津有味 (Jīnjīnyǒuwèi: Buen provecho!)

Mojing Comida China
c/ Humboldt 56 (inside the mall)
between Artículo 123 & Juarez, Centro
Te. 5512 6901

Open Daily 12-11PM

Note: Along the corner street, Articulo 123, are congregated a number of unsavory homeless people. Women alone may feel uncomfortable walking by them, so it is best to enter from the Humboldt side, even if you have to walk out of your way. That's big city life.

Meanwhile, in the most unlikely neighborhood is found Super Día, a huge Chinese supermarket. It will not dissapoint those in need of any sort of dry or bottled Asian ingredient. From noodles of every kind, to Szechuan bean sauce and many types of sesame oil, chili oil, oyster sauce, dark or light soy etc. etc., even the hard to find Shaoxing cooking wine, it's all here. A nice selection of woks are in stock, and for anyone thinking of opening a dim sum parlour, industrial size steamers are available.

Super Día is located in Colonia Tabacalera (near the Museo San Carlos, Between Metros Revolución & Hidalgo) Av. Puente de Alvarado 34

A note to my readers: Good Food in Mexico City has been included, amidst stellar company, in the New York Times. See: Diner's Journal

In Search of Lost Time: Pâtisserie Dominique

2011-08-18T13:45:00.013-05:00

I love Paris. Who doesn’t? I sometimes have fantasies of moving there, of being as French as possible, of breathing my last breath in a brasserie, napkin tucked in, spoon in hand, crème brulée cracked. Maybe that’s my future, maybe not. Meanwhile, I’ll make do with an occasional fattening visit (see my article on that), and a periodic foray into the land of Francofilia a la Mexicana that our great Euro-leaning city affords. But the best French food here is to be found at The French Lady’s house, that is, when she proffers an invitation.

One of my favorite parts of life in Paree is that morning experience, always full of bittersweet nostalgia for I don’t know what, when, sitting in a café, I tear open a warm, crusty, buttery croissant. Never in Mexico, nor, for that matter, anywhere else in the highly civilized world have I been able to recreate that divine Proustian sensation. Believe me, I’ve tried. In New York, no matter how good the pastry is, either the cup is paper, the price annoying, the traffic blaring or the company ornery - none conducive to reflection. In Madrid they put sticky stuff on their pastries so that you have to eat with knife and fork or you get punished-–ants at the meditative picnic. Here in Mexico, in theory, we have all the right elements for romance: old-fashioned cafés, a laid back, poetic ambience, nice people who think about life and death a lot. But no good croissants. Until now, that is.

Dominique, who hails from the Alsace area of France near Germany, where they know a thing or two about baking, works miracles. Her eponymously named French-style hole-in-the-wall patisserie has been quietly churning out pastries and little French breakfasts for over three years now. I don’t know how I missed it. Located on a quiet, fairly well preserved street in Colonia Roma that recalls Paris as far as possible in this urban jumble, you walk through pretty turn-of-the-century doors into another world. Exquisite looking chocolate confections are preserved under glass, and baskets of fresh breads and those buttery breakfast morsels await. Sit at one of the two little round tables, surrounded by light, swirly French grande-mère décor, and order. The complete breakfast, consisting of juice, eggs, bread and coffee is, at 100 peso, a bargain. There are only two choices both pure bistro: omelettes or oeufs en cocotte: eggs swirled with crème fraîche and baked in a little ramekin. Perfect. Coffee - I order ‘café crème’ of course – is rich as it should be. And there are those croissants. She even does the almond ones. Correctly. I can now have my Parisian moment not ten minutes from home. What does The French Lady think? With a reluctant Parisian sniff, she gives Dominique the heads up. Allons-y.

Patisserie Dominique
Chiapas 157-A (between Monterrey & Medellín), Col. Roma
Open Tuesday-Saturday 9:30-6:30, closed Sunday and, in true French fashion, Monday.
http://patisseriedominique.com.mx/

The Forbidden Fruit? – Pomegranate Season in Mexico

2011-08-10T20:02:00.011-05:00

They’re back. Those spectacular, evocative, erotic, granadas that splash their sparkling translucent ruby visages all over Mexican market displays like blood-drenched lights on Broadway. A symbol of either God’s goodness, or fertility depending on how you look at it, they’ve been painted and sculpted since the beginning of Art History, from Botticelli’s ‘Virgin of the Pomegranate to Cézanne’s Still Life with Watermelon and Pomegranate. And then there's the oil on canvas entitled "Vendedor de Granadas" completed by this writer a few years before changing careers and becoming a food journalist. Some even claim it wasn’t an apple but a pomegranate with which Eve tempted Adam making it the original forbidden fruit.

Pomegranates, which originated in Northern India and/or Persia, are used extensively in Iranian cooking but sporadically in other cuisines. They were brought to the New World by the Spanish and are widely cultivated here. But they play an important role in only one traditional Mexican dish – the famed chiles en nogada (see my earlier post) which is offered all over Mexico from early August until the Fiesta Patrias of mid- September. The seeds are used to garnish the white walnut cream sauce and complete the requisite triumvirate of flag colors. Otherwise, pomegranates are simply eaten, whole or pre-seeded. A plethora of ‘invented’ recipes such as pomegranate margaritas or salsas are out there, but nothing is found in the Kennedy/Bayless lexicon of tried and true tradition. So look to my previous post for Regina’s mom's family chile en nogada recipe. And try this Italian one, loosely adapted from every Italian mamma’s favorite fallback cookbook, The Silver Spoon.

Chicken with Pomegranate Sauce

In my version this dish is prepared as a fricassee, i.e. sauteed and simmered in liquid. It is similar to an Iranian baked specialty, and my guess is that it originates in Sicily where Arab influence is evident.

2 tablespoons olive oil

3 tablespoons butter

1 whole chicken cut up in serving size pieces (back discarded) or 1 breast cut in 4 and 2 leg, 2 thighs

1 small onion, finely chopped

20 g. dried porcini (available in Mexico City in the San Juan Market)

5 medium pomegranates

1 cup (250 g) cream (use a combination of ‘crema para batir’ and 'crema' or crème fraiche if you can get it – straight Mexican crema or American sour cream is too acidic)

4 fresh sage leaves, chopped (or use 1/2 teaspoon dried if no fresh is available)

salt and pepper

1. Soak the mushrooms in a bowl of 1 ½ cups hot tap water

2. Make pomegranate juice. It’s easier than you think. Simply cut fruits in half (through the middle, i.e. with stem and 'belly-button' on either end) and press through an orange juice squeezer, either the hand kind (see photo), the lever variety, or an electric model. No need to remove the seeds and “press with a wooden spoon” or “run through a blender and strain” as other recipes will have you laboriously do. Reserve a half for seeds to garnish, or make life easy and buy an extra cup of prepared seeds at the market.

3. In a large, heavy casserole or ceramic cazuela, heat the oil and butter; pat dry and lightly salt the chicken. Brown the chicken, turning from time to time about 10 minutes. Remove from pan.

4. Add the onions and sauté 2 or 3 minutes, stirring with a wooden spoon or spatula

5. Add chicken, pomegranate juice, mushrooms and their liquid. Bring to a boil and lower heat to a very low simmer. Partially cover and cook for about 45 minutes, turning the chicken from time to time. Test a piece for doneness.

6. When chicken is done, remove the pieces with a slotted spoon to a ceramic bowl and cover to keep warm. Raise the heat under the sauce a little and add the cream and sage, stirring. Add pepper and salt if necessary. Cook slowly for a few minutes so the sauce thickens. Put the chicken back in and heat through.

Serve, garnished with pomegranate seeds.

A note to my readers: See this excellent article on me and my blog (en español)
http://elextranjero.com.mx/wordpress/?p=2071

Mushroom season in Mexico – with a French twist

2011-08-03T23:53:00.017-05:00

Once again wild mushrooms are hitting the markets of central Mexico. Here in the capital, the month of August is peak fungus time. An extraordinary, colorful variety of them are available, mostly culled from the wilds of the states of Mexico, Hidalgo, Morelos and Puebla. Some, like the yellow duraznillos, the grayish clavitos or the spongy morillas, correspond closely to such Euro- appreciated and high priced treasures as chanterelles and morels. As a curious food writer and amateur chef I am compelled and inspired to buy and cook.

The French Lady, with whom I occasionally trek to the San Juan market, waxed nostalgic there a few days ago, upon spying piles of morels. “Ou la la”, she moaned, “if only we were in Paree right now…” A tear rolled down her cheek. You see, her dad’s favorite Parisian restaurant Moissonier, serves his and her favorite dish – poulet aux morilles. “I’ll make it for you”, I offered hesitantly, worried about the possibly self-defeating challenge of cooking French for the French.

To shore up my confidence, I called up some local kitchen-addict friends and together we concocted a five course all-mushroom feast for 12. The French Lady was pleased – “just like home”, she exclaimed, delicately licking the last drop of creamy morel-infused sauce from her plate with her pinky.

Chef Lesley decided to keep us grounded in nuestra tierra by whipping up a tinga de setas to serve as a botana. It was pure Mexican, with a contemporary twist – pleasantly chewy threads of meaty mushroom augmented by a mildly spiky chile-infused salsa, served as rolled up tacos. She, being the atypical Mexicana, was indeed willing to share her recipe, which I include, below.

Chef Nora, on the other hand, decided to take the French bull by the horns and threw together an elegant carpaccio de hongos, simple slivers of a large, Alice in Wonderland-like mushroom called pambazo (in France it’s a cèpe) dressed with the best olive oil you can get and sprinkled with chopped hazelnuts. Her pièce de résistance however was the galette de hongos silvestres. An impressive rectangular pie of flaky, buttery crust reveals a payload of sautéed fungi. It tastes like butter, Julia Child-like in quantity, goes into this rich savory. Her recipe follows.

Chef Daniel, who is both a professional chef and French, brought two mushroom-less desserts, a cherry clafouti and a textbook perfect praline-laden apple tart.

My contribution was the aforementioned chicken with morels. Yes, I’ve been to Moissonier myself and if I must say so, my version of this Lyonnais classic did indeed hit the marks. It’s not as hard to make as you might think. Try it. Drag out your old Piaf LPs and invite the French. They’ll love you forever.

(note: see my previous article on mushroom season for hints on where to buy them)

Tinga de Setas

(Oyster mushrooms in tomato-chipotle sauce)
Makes about 3 cups

This is a vegetarian variation on the typical Mexican tinga, which usually calls for shredded chicken or beef, in a smoky, tomato-chipotle sauce. The oyster mushrooms, sliced into strips, are firm and hearty -- you really don't miss the meat. Using fresh tomatoes makes a difference. I haven't tried this dish using canned, but the idea here is to create something soft and bright, not acidic.

3 tablespoons neutral oil, such as safflower
1/2 medium onion, diced
1 large garlic clove, minced
1 lb or about 500g ripe tomatoes, chopped
1 lb or about 500g setas (oyster mushrooms), sliced into strips

2 canned chipotles in adobo, or to taste, chopped
Salt to taste

Heat a few tablespoons of oil in a heavy-bottomed skillet over medium-high heat. When hot, add onion and garlic and stir quickly. (Lower the flame if garlic starts to burn.) Cook until onion is translucent, 3 to 5 minutes. Stir in diced tomatoes. Cover and cook until the tomatoes start to break down and soften, about another 5 minutes. Stir occasionally so the tomatoes don't stick to the pan.

When the tomatoes are sufficiently soft, stir in mushrooms, making sure they're mixed as much as possible with the juicy tomatoey bits. Lower the flame to medium, cover and cook for 7 to 10 minutes, until mushrooms are tender and no longer rubbery.
Remove from flame and stir in chipotle to taste, and then salt.

Serve with warm corn tortillas.

Gallette of wild mushrooms

The dough: pate brisée with herbs

2 ½ cups flour

½ teaspoon salt

12 ½ tablespoons (180g) butter cut in cubes

¼ cup cold water

1 teaspoon fresh rosemary, finely chopped

½ teaspoon fresh thyme, finely chopped

1 teaspoon fresh marjoram, finely chopped

Filling

½ lb (200g) requesón or ricotta cheese

5 oz (150g) blue cheese (if it’s very strong, use a little less)

2 ¼ lb (1kg) mixed wild mushrooms, cleaned and sliced

2 oz (50g) pancetta, diced

3 scallions, chopped, including the green part

3 shallots, finely chopped

2 cloves garlic, finely chopped

1 branch fresh rosemary

1 branch fresh thyme

2 tablespoons cooking oil, such as safflower

2 tablespoons butter

1 cup dark beer

1 egg, beaten

Salt and pepper

Prepare the dough:

In a food processor, add all the ingredients except the water. ‘Pulse’ various times until you see balls of dough the size of a pea. Add the ice water little by little until it forms a large ball. Empty the contents onto a lightly floured workspace and form a thick disk with the dough. Cover with plastic and chill for at least an hour.

Prepare the mushroom filling:

In a large frying pan at medium heat put a tablespoon of butter and 1 of oil. When hot, add the pancetta and sauté until golden. Add the scallions and shallot and when they turn transparent, add the garlic. Stir and fry for a minute or two. Empty into a bowl and return the pan to the flame, raising the heat, and, if necessary, adding more oil and butter. Sauté the mushrooms, little by little, being careful not to put too much into the pan at a time, or they will steam instead of fry. Once wilted, combine the mushrooms with the scallion mixture. Return contents to the pan, and add the herbs and beer. Cook until liquid evaporates. Set aside to cool.

Prepare the cheeses:
In a small bowl, mash the two cheeses with a fork until soft and mixed.

Assemble the gallette:

Preheat the oven to 190 C (375 F)

On a floured surface, roll out the dough about 3mm thick (as for thin crust pizza) and to the desired shape - it can be round or rectangular. Roll out the cheese mixture onto the dough leaving a border of 1 ½” (3 cm). Then cover with the mushroom mixture. Fold the borders inward. Brush on the beaten egg.

Bake on a greased cookie sheet for 35 minutes or until the dough is golden.

Cool for 15 minutes before serving.

Poulet aux Morilles

This dish is from the Rhône area of France, i.e. Lyon. Traditionally it is made with vin jaune, or ‘yellow wine’ which comes from Jura. But even if you could find this wine outside France it would be beyond your budget and mine. Just use any nice dry wine; dry vermouth works well.

250 gm (1/2 lb.) fresh morels (morillas in Mexico), rinsed and quickly dried – a salad spinner works great for this

1 large chicken, cut into serving size pieces, breast in 4, leg and thigh separated. Reserve the back for another use

1 cup dry white wine

1 cup (200 gm) crème fraiche (crème fraiche is less sour than our Mexican ‘crema’ or American sour cream –if you can’t find it, substitute half crema or sour cream and half whipping cream)

4 tablespoons butter

1 large or 2 small shallots, 2 tablespoons finely chopped

1 tablespoon cornstarch mixed into 2 tablespoons cold water

Salt and pepper

Directions:

- In a heavy casserole over medium heat, melt half the butter and brown the chicken, a few pieces at a time, on all sides ; set aside.

-Add the morels to the same casserole. Cook at high heat for 3-5 minutes, stirring to prevent burning, until tender. Remove to a bowl.

-Add the wine, de-glazing the bottom by scraping with a wooden spoon and bring to light boil until the alcohol burns off, 2-3 minutes. Return chicken to casserole with ½ cup water. Lower heat and simmer, covered, turning the chicken from time to time.

-After 30 minutes, remove a breast piece and cut into it: if it is done (i.e. white to the core), remove the breasts and leave the thighs and legs to cook 10 minutes more. Once more, remove chicken to a ceramic bowl and cover to keep warm.

-Add cream and mushrooms to the pot, stirring with a wire whisk or a fork, bringing to a slow bubbly simmer. If the sauce is very thin, you may want to thicken it at this point with cornstarch. Raise the heat; make sure the cornstarch is completely dissolved in the water; whisk it into the sauce, stirring until the sauce starts to thicken and continue to whisk at medium heat for 2 or 3 minutes. Add the chicken, simmering until it is re-heated through. Taste, adjusting salt and pepper. Serve over wide buttered pasta such as tagliatelle or egg noodles.

Serves 6-8

The party's over

Way downtown – Doña Chela of Tlapan

2011-07-26T11:22:00.007-05:00

Doña Chela herself

Reluctant to venture south of the Viaducto, I recently risked bearings lost and made my way down to Tlalpan. A surprisingly tranquil little hamlet, Tlalpan was another one of those villages, like Coyoacán, that eventually made its way into the greedy maw of that hungry beast, ‘El D.F.’ Its quaint small-town center and colonial buildings survive, testaments to the day, not so long ago, when Mexico City’s centro was the centro, and these places existed autonomously and were visited on burro or tram through fields of corn. Central Tlalpan, home to a mix of Marxian lumpenproletariat and the decidedly well-heeled, is still tattered at the edges. It could use a little loving care. Huge mansions are minimally maintained. A hundred year old convent is topped by what looks like a five story parking lot, way above the supposed limit – who did those nuns pay off to get their ‘permiso de contrucción’? Unlike Coyoacán whose center is relatively intact, Tlalpan struggles to keep face like an aged Hollywood diva of yore. But a walk down the streets surrounding the peaceful, recently renovated zócalo, pays off. An ancient church, San Agustín de las Cuevas, shimmers, its meditative courtyard providing refuge for the city-weary. Casa Frissac, a mansion of bygone days, houses a museum and cultural center. And the red brick Mercado de la Paz dates to 1888 and is the oldest still functioning market building in the city. Enter through one of its welcoming portals. Inside, down the well-trodden stone paths happens to be one of the best fondas in town: that of Doña Chela.

“¡Sabor y Calidad!” shouts the sign, and Chela doesn’t mince words, just chilies. Covering several stalls due to popular demand, she cooks up a veritable encyclopedia of Mexican antojitos, from tacos de guisados – filled with green or red mole to enchiladas, tostadas, grilled meats, sopes, huaraches (no, not shoes, but large oblongs of meat topped masa). On a cool day one can order a piping hot and rich pozole. If you had a few too many last night, try a bowl of pancita, that offal hang-over cure, famous from here to Tijuana. And now is the season for chiles en nogada. I had to try one. Chela’s are exemplary – the chile charred just enough to lift the crunch, the savory filling fragrant and, best of all, the ‘nogada’ or creamy nut sauce, which is so often cloying, is sweetened judiciously with a light touch of cinnamon and nutmeg. A winner. I asked Chela, who is surprisingly young to be such a market diva, from whence emanates the recipe. I expected to hear “es de mi abuela” or some such comforting answer. But Chela’s efficient reply was “viene del Once”…that’s TV’s channel 11, the culture station. Let’s face it, sometimes life imitates art and it’s not a bad thing.

Fonda Doña Chela

Mercado de la Paz, just off the main plaza of Tlalpan

The best way to get there by public transportation is

Metrobus to Perisur, then a short taxi ride.

Down in the Valley: Humbertos & Fonda 99.99

2011-07-25T16:00:00.001-05:00

Salbutes de 'but' negro

Colonia Del Valle is that quiet, resolutely middle-class, luster-less neighborhood where lots of people live, essential to every big city. Think Queens. There are nice, post-war vintage homes, clean streets, a few tidy parks. You don’t feel the genteel breeziness of Polanco, the buzz of the Condesa, the encroaching hipsterism of La Roma, the intellectual vibe of Coyoacán or the walk-on-the-wild-side artsiness of Santa Maria la Ribera. But there are some cultural and culinary gems hidden in the Valley’s streets. The Centro Libanés is one. Fonda Margarita is another. And now I've discovered two Yucatecan mini-institutions, owned by brothers, that sit back to back on a particularly quiet thoroughfare. These busy kitchens whip up their versions of that most incendiary of Mexican regional cuisines, and are amongst the best in the city.

Fonda 99.99 is the simpler of the two, its décor practically non-existent – it’s bright and clean inside, at least –the color scheme is hospital white. The menu is limited to those well-worn peninsular antojitos: cochinita pibil, in its various guises, such as tacos, panuchos and tortas. The sopa de lima has that particularly satisfying savory balance of perfumy and picant. And padadzules, those eggy, blue concoctions, a rare (in the Mexican lexicon, anyway) vegetarian, if not vegan dish, are creamy and nutty. I asked a manager from whence comes the 99.99 theme – she couldn’t tell me. Avis's old “we try harder” ethic, I suppose.

The quarter-century-old Humbertos, entered through 99’s driveway or from around the corner, sports warmer decoration. It features a long and intriguing menu. Expectant diners line up for a table – they look happy when they are seated and eat a lot. Here, the ‘99’ theme spills over, and all prices end in .99, even though we no longer use 1-centavo coins in Mexico. “99 44/100 per cent pure” promised those old Ivory Soap ads. As a particularly cynical kid I always wondered about the other .56 percent. The missing percentage here undoubtedly refers to the part of the menu that isn’t Yucatecan. Could be ‘spaghetti rojo a los 6 quesos. Six cheeses! Don’t order it. Stick to the many southern regional specialties, some familiar others less so. The afore-mentioned cochinita is succulent and perfectly complimented by the fiery but aromatic jade-green salsa. Try the delectable but oddly named salbutes de ‘but’ negro: light crispy sopes are topped with ground meat steeped in the salsa called recado negro. I never really ‘got’ this sauce myself, it always seemed thin and lacking in complexity. But here it works, perfuming the meat with a delicate smokiness. A little chopped egg makes for pretty. Tacos de lechón, suckling pig, were addictive - I lusted after my neighbor’s huge plate of pure lechón, Monday’s special. But I had ordered the tacos de cazón, that light baby shark with which the Yucatecans work so well. The classic pan de cazón, is presented here as a pretty stack of herby braised fish, black beans and tortillas swathed in gorgeous red tomato/chili sauce like a Dior model in crimson organdy. Of course you’ll wash it all down with ice-cold horchata or Montejo beer.

Prices in both places are reasonable – a comida will set you back no more than $100 pesos. But be aware that they are only open for lunch - no late night chilli-fests.

So go down to the valley - it can get hot there.

Fonda 99.99

Moras 347, between Miguel Laurent & San Lorenzo, 6 blocks east of Av. Insurgentes, Col. Del Valle (Metrobus Parque Hundido)

Tel. 5559-8762

Open Tuesday-Saturday 1-8PM, Sunday until 6

Restaurante Humbertos

Patricio Sanz 1440, (entry from Calle Mora, see below)
Col. Del Valle

Tel. 5559-8760

Open every day but Tuesday, 1-6PM

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A note to my readers: See my new article about eating in Egypt:

http://www.zesterdaily.com/travel/985-street-food-in-cairo-egypt

Cuba Libre: Cuban lunch in the Mercado Medellín

2011-07-13T17:00:00.014-05:00

I’ve always liked Cuban food. I’ll never forget the recently disappeared Victor’s Café, haven for ex-pat Cubans and their fans and a beloved New York institution. I hung out there with my mother back in the ‘70’s. Aromas of garlic soup, roasted red peppers and spicy picadillo greeted entering patrons. The intoxicating strains of Afro-Cuban music blared from the juke box. These were some of my earliest and most pleasurable foreign restaurant memories. So it was my nose and ears that led me to an extra-ordinary stand in the middle of the Mercado de Medellín. This better-than-average traditional market located in the heart of Colonia Roma, is home to several stands that offer exotic looking South American products. But it’s rare to find a market stall offering anything other than prepared Mexican food. Several months ago this Cuban lunch counter, Banquetes Viant, opened up, the first of its kind in Mexico.

Gina & Rafael

The affable Gina and her looming business partner Rafael hail from Havana but have lived in Mexico for 16 years. From 'the island' they imported their outgoing good humor, criollo cooking skills and penchant for peppering their speech with ‘mi amor’s. Gina started cooking for other ex-patriots out of her kitchen and recently decided to expand. The simple menu includes the dense yellow achiote infused Cuban tamales. Or those grilled Cuban tortas: if you’re lucky Gina will have some succulent ‘lechón asado’ - suckling pig - on hand to fill them. I usually order what on her menu is called simply ‘moros y cristianos’ (mixed black beans and rice). This ‘blue-plate special’ includes a dollop of chicken, pork or beef cooked in a fragrant garlicky sauce, crispy tostones (plantain chips), a small salad and the requisite eponymous rice and bean mixture. All for $50 pesos. Accompany your lunch with a Malta, a refreshing sparkling malt flavored drink, like a sweetened, non-alcoholic beer.
If you're in the mood to celebrate, buy a cone from Eugenio Palmeiro Ríos' ice cream stand at the corner - it's just about the best in Mexico, and, according to Palmeiro, also an Habanero, made according to his memories of that iconic Havana institution, Heladeria Coppelia.

Last time I lunched at Gina's lively spot a hunky young Cubano dressed in sports clothes, gold chains, muscles bulging, stopped by to enjoy the salsa blaring from the radio behind the counter, bumping and grinding, singing a few bars, before moving on to do his shopping. That’s what Cuba, its people and its food does to you.

Banquetes Viant Comida Cubana
locales 203-204
In the middle of Mercado Medellín near the entrance to the ‘food court’
Tel. 5564 8440
Between Monterrey & Medellín, Campeche & Coahuila, Colonia Roma
Open daily for lunch

See my previous articles on Cuba, its cuisine and culture:
A Weekend in Havana
I'll See you in C.U.B.A.

Low Price ‘Nice’: The Polanco Tianguis

2011-07-05T18:44:00.014-05:00

Polanco isn’t my cup of tea. Kind of reminds me of New York’s Upper East Side, where I always feel underdressed and everything smells like Chanel or fake strawberry. But we art & good food loving Chilangos all end up there once in a while to hit the fine-dining restaurants, the blue chip galleries, maybe do a little shopping at the Antara mall or visit our friends who do live there, most of them in enviable sprawling apartments. But let’s face it, Polanco’s set up for the gente ‘nice’ - my favorite slang term for those who don’t need to count their pesos, or as we New Yorkers used to say, the ‘Park Avenue set’. There are, therefore, fewer reasonably priced places to shop for food and eat than in other parts of town. That’s why the sprawling Saturday tianguis (or street market) that sets up at the eastern end of Parque Lincoln is such a welcome and much needed addition to Polanco’s genteel scene. I spent last Saturday morning there.
The customary fruits, vegetables, meats and Mexican staples like chilies are all on offer. Unusual is the spectacular display of produce, brought to you “in living color” as they used to say on NBC, by the ingenuity of a few vendors and the open space the park provides. But best of all are the prepared food stalls. A veritable encyclopedia of Mexican antojitos stands lines the Luís G. Urbina side of the park. On offer are delectable tacos of mole verde at Doña Chela’s guisados stand. The good Doña will even prepare a full comida corrida including soup, for 30 pesos. At Tacos el Cuñado, you can sample such meaty specialties from the State of Mexico as cecina adobada, (salted, chilies meat) or campechana (cecina + chorizo). Next is a nameless stand offering everything blue: sopes, quesadillas, tlacoyos (eye-shaped gorditas stuffed with fava beans, frijoles or cheese) –all made with blue corn. The sign for barbacoa (pit roasted mutton) from Capulhuac, also in Mexico State, lauds it as ‘exquisite’ and so it is, succulent and earthy. Spicy, fragrant mixiotes, shreaded meat wrapped and roasted, segues into a tidy fish and seafood stand which elbows Dany, the carnitas vendor from Michoacan. There’s even a little hamburger puesto which sits by itself, as, I suppose, it should and attracts a youthful clientele. And the smells that waft from it are alluring. A colorful aguas de frutas table and an old-fashioned vendor of tepache (fermented pineapple juice) quench thirsts. And desserts aren't forgotten at the booth that offers flan, arroz con leche, cakes and fruit concoctions.

Saturday, after I finished my ambulatory brunch, I wandered west, thinking I would pick up a little of that good pastrami from Kurson Kosher, the only Jewish deli in Mexico, on the other side of the park – until I remembered what day it was.

The Polanco Tianguis

Parque Lincoln,

Calle Aristotoles, between Emilio Castelar & Luís G. Urbina

2 blocks south and 3 west of Metro Polanco

Saturdays, 9-5, más o menos

Jazz and Cocktails: The Divas Go Mexican

2011-06-29T12:26:00.023-05:00

Besides my passions for food and art, I have always been a jazz buff. As a teen growing up in New York, I would stalk the jazz clubs, listening from the street, sneaking into festival concerts during intermission, going to every free performance I could manage. I saw so many ‘greats:’ Diz, Basie, Bill Evans, Stan Getz. You name ‘em, I saw ‘em. But it was the singers I really fell for. To me, Sarah Vaughan was a Goddess and I saw her innumerable times. And Ella, Anita, Carmen, Betty Carter... the list goes on. How quaint, you say. But what does all this have to do with ‘Good Food in Mexico City’? Well, read on, my friends...

Merrill at Midnight

Helen Merrill is my favorite living jazz singer. And it was a thrill when, on a recent jaunt to New York, friend and music journalist Jim Gavin (author of the excellent Stormy Weather: The Life of Lena Horne) arranged a dinner for the three of us. Almost 30 years ago, as a young foodie and jazz enthusiast, the best employment I could garner was to work the swing shift at a smoke-filled jazz club in Cambridge. I’d arrive home at 4 in the morning and, hopelessly hopped up on coffee and drink orders, I’d put on some of Helen’s old LPs, listening with headphones to her mysterious, hazy vocalizing. Her intense blue bebop and reworking of melody, the intoxicating balance of space and sound, always jibed especially well through ‘the wee small hours’. She’d breath ‘Lazy Afternoon’ with a musical sigh: “…there’s not another human… in vieeew…but us twooooo,” and I’d agree. I only had a few old scratchy LPs from the ‘50’s – the early ‘80’s was a bleak time for jazz and little was available. So I figured she must be long dead, a tragic diva lost to the pitfalls of the ‘jazz life’. This couldn’t have been further from the truth. Helen was, and is, very much still here, putting that myth to rest and having produced an enormous body of work over a career that spans 65 years. After her early successes in the New York jazz scene, Merrill--Bronx born of Croatian immigrants--spent time living and recording in Italy and Japan, returning to the US in the ‘70’s. She’s made more than 40 albums, all of them exquisite, but the most famous is her first, recorded in 1954, and simply entitled ‘Helen Merrill’. It features the trumpet master Clifford Brown (who did die young, in an auto accident) and was arranged by the then unknown Quincy Jones. When I asked Helen why this disk is so famous – in jazz circles, anyway - and appreciated, she paused before responding, “I don’t know, really…we were just a bunch of young people having a good time.” “It’s the mood it creates”, I suggested. “Even the upbeat songs are imbued with pain and longing – and that blue cover adds something as well.” On the angst-ridden cover, a black & white Merrill, tinted blue, screams ferociously into the microphone. “I cried when I saw it,” she lamented.

Helen knows I live in Mexico and she wanted Mexican food, assuming I’d lead her to the best. Naturally, I don’t pay much attention to the Mexican restaurant scene north of the border. But this being an emergency, I sent queries to several local chefs. It was Zarela Martinez (whose ‘Zarela’ is now closed) who suggested a new place in the Village, Empellón. This homey, classically decorated spot was the dream of former pastry chef of WD-50 and Alinea, Alex Stupak, who, despite being a gringo, appreciates the complexity of the Mexican lexicon and wanted to do something about the paucity of sophisticated Mexican food on the east coast. It opened only recently--and to much acclaim. The menu is intriguing, offering many classics reinvented.

“I want a Margarita,” Helen declared when she arrived and was seated at our corner table, a spot we would occupy for the next 5 hours. I ordered her a classic one, but she complained that it didn’t have enough tequila - “it’s not working” – so she joined me in a straight shot for round two. I loved our ceviches which followed, one of octopus with ‘parsnip and salsa Papanteca (chile arbol, chipotle, pumpkin seeds). The other was a black bass with beets and guava puree that was not cloyingly sweet--rather, tantalizingly perfumey. We followed with an array of artsy tacos: a simple chicken with yucca to add a sweet crunch hit all the marks. Why didn’t they think of it down here? Lamb barbacoa with salsa borracha was an artisanal version of the pit-roasted Bajio classic; it conjured the earthiness of the original. And the duck confit with swiss chard and guajillo was something you’ll never find here in Mexico or at your local taco truck--but it would make any Frenchman happy, the meltingly soft roast meat caressed and prodded by the mild, non-spicy sauce – a winner. We never even got to the main dishes. Unfortunately, the two rooms get raucously noisy and service is perfunctory. But the food is good. Chef Stupak’s re-thought classics, while reminiscent of the originals are modern, unpretentiously creative and successful--like a Helen Merrill album. We practically closed the place down, finally leaving at 1AM. “Jazz people don’t go to bed early,” Jim opined. We talked of jazz and life, of feeling like black sheep for our ‘odd’ interests, and of the future. When I asked Helen, who is a youthful 80, if she will record any more, she replied, “I’ve done enough. But,” she mused, “who really knows…”

Twisted Sister

The next night I attended the performance of another jazz legend, the great Annie Ross. Annie sings Tuesdays at the Metropolitan Room in Chelsea and is the author of that classic crazy-girl tune, ‘Twisted’ (“My analyst told me…that I was right out of my head…the way he described it… he said I’d be better dead than live…”), recorded by many others but ne’er as well. British-born Annie got her start in the movies and made a name for herself in the ‘50’s by setting words to bop jazz instrumentals and later as member of the trio Lambert, Hendricks & Ross. You might have seen her in the Altman film Short Cuts, where she plays a pessimistic version of herself. Her good looks, humor, swing, timing, and cool material made her the original hipster. And so she remains. This evening we were astounded to find a special guest in attendance: none other than Jon Hendricks himself. (Lambert died in the ‘60’s.) It was a reunion of sorts, and the two blew the roof off with a couple of renditions of their old Basie and Ellington concoctions – as Annie herself proclaimed, “I’m 80 and he’s 90…we’re doing the best we can." Neither of their voices is strong, and those high notes don’t come easily anymore, but the rhythm and musicality are intact. Annie’s showstoppers were a haunting, introspective version of 'Lush Life' and a raucous, show-stopping rendition of that sad diner’s lament ‘One Meat Ball’ (“Little man felt so ill at ease, he said: ‘Some bread sir, if you please.’ The waiter hollered down the hall: You get no bread with ONE MEAT BALL.”). After the show, I chatted with Annie and the topic naturally returned to food. She’s apparently a great cook. And when she heard I’m from Mexico and ‘in the food life,’ she told me she has the BEST guacamole recipe going. I pleaded with her to send it to me and she replied, “Honey, I’ll tell you right now.” And here it is:

Annie’s Guacamole
Take a nice firm avocado and cut it in half, discarding the pit and skin
Mash it with a potato masher

Sprinkle on some lime juice and salt

Grate in some onion (here she’s insistent: “don’t chop, GRATE”)
Mix lightly and serve

“That’s IT!” Annie’s words, accompanied by a sweeping gesture.

And so you see, all roads DO lead to Mexican food. “The song has ended, but the melody lingers on.”

Mexican Street Food? Just Say 'Sí'

2011-06-21T17:41:00.010-05:00

Here in Mexico City the phrase "street food" can connote a kind of low-class, unsavory, health-risk from which tourists and locals alike are warned to stay away. Now, foodies on the cutting edge, perhaps feeling the economic crunch, are busy promoting this popular cooking. Restaurants with names such as Street in L.A. and Fonda in N.Y. are pulling in crowds. Anthony Bourdain and the Los Angeles Times are touting the world's street food as trendy, reminding us that the best cooking is often found in the most humble places. We fearless global eaters could have told them.

Some of our most cherished culinary moments may be of downing a hot dog or pretzel, an ice cream or a knish, that is, if we are an American. For the Japanese, it may be a steaming takoyaki ball; for Egyptians it's a fragrant bowl of fuul. And for Mexicans it's a tamal, an atole or a taco de chicharrón. Sold from a basket, a cart, an improvised stand, a truck, out of a doorway, on the beach, in a market stall, all are street food. The common factors are that the food is cheap, ready to eat and portable.

According to streetfood.org, street food constitutes up to 40 percent of the daily diet in the developing world. In many countries where people can't afford to eat in sit-down restaurants, all kinds of food are available, any time of day, and practically anywhere. And in large urban settings, people often just don't have time to sit down.

Street food recipes tend to be traditional, unaltered by globalization or modernization. While it is found all over the world, especially in Asia and Latin America, perhaps only Thailand vies with Mexico for such astounding variety. In the sprawling metropolis of Mexico City, at practically every corner, beloved dishes are cooking as you walk by, the heavenly aromas drawing you in.

Regional variations abound. In the high altitude center of the country, where our capital sits, the earthy roasting fumes of grilled meat tacos and a large variety of corn-based snacks pleasantly interrupt the (mostly) clear sun-drenched air. On the Pacific shores, seafood is the thing, from sparkling tangy ceviches to crispy fish tacos, or whole fresh fish splayed, slathered with chili paste and grilled as you listen to the waves roll in. The Caribbean coast also takes advantage of the ocean, with Spanish, African and indigenous influences evident. The variety is infinite.

When I first came to Mexico, almost 25 years ago, I was told not to go anywhere near the food I saw on the street — and I didn't. "You'll get sick," the pessimists assured me. "Don't drink the water," they admonished, fingers wagging. Having grown up in lower Manhattan surrounded by Italian, Jewish, Chinese and Hispanic immigrants and their cuisines, I was an early aficionado of "the authentic": foods prepared by and for people according to their long-held traditions. So I was dying to eat everything I saw and smelled in Mexico. But I held off and stuck to the nicer restaurants, with few exceptions. But I always felt I was missing out. Years later, when I moved to San Miguel de Allende in the heart of Mexico's central plains, I studied Spanish five days a week. Every morning, on the way to class, I would pass a festive, bustling stand that sold huaraches, large oblong slabs of corn masa (dough) dry-roasted on a griddle and heaped with smoky grilled meat, avocado, tomato, onion, queso fresco and various salsas. This stand was always busy, the savory fragrance perceptible a block away. My mouth would water like a hungry dog. I always passed it right by without availing myself, proud of my righteous self-control. "Don't eat on the street.” those voices echoed. Period. No exceptions.

Then, as the years went by and I moved full-time to Mexico, I just broke down. How could I, a self-described foodie, live in such stern abnegation in the face of this veritable banquet taking place 24 hours a day, I asked myself.  I started with the seemingly safe and graduated to the hard stuff (chicharrón or pork skin and lengua or tongue tacos became my favorites). I now look at small stands and market stalls as micro-restaurants where I can see what's being cooked, and by whom. The raw ingredients are right there before my eyes. Most of these operations specialize in one dish so you're assured they know what they're doing. I feel as safe eating in these places as in restaurants. Sure, there are rules to follow -- stick to busy places, avoid food fried in old oil, seafood sitting in the sun. But when I finally got over my fear and prejudice, a whole world of "real" Mexican food opened up to me. I have never gone back.

Have I ever gotten sick? Well, yes, a few times. Last time was after a buffet dinner at the home of an American friend. Go figure. Now, an incredible "authentic Mexican" feast has been spread before me, a dream-like cornucopia, an impossible buffet. Crusty corn-fragrant sopes piled high with spicy chorizo, potatoes, lettuce and spiky salsa. Hand-made quesadillas filled with everything from squash blossoms to huitlacoche (corn fungus). Steaming hot tamales filled with mole or salsa verde. Crispy tostadas heaped with fresh ceviches of crab, fish or shrimp. And the tacos, the endless variety of them! Tacos de guisados, stews, red, yellow, green and black, spooned into hand pressed tortillas. Tacos al carbón, meat grilled to smoky perfection and augmented with freshly ground salsas. Gamey barbacoa of mutton scooped right out of the maguey leaf in which it has been roasted and garnished with chopped onion, cilantro and lime. And that Mexico City classic, tacos al pastor, a legacy of the Lebanese immigrants whose lamb shawarma was "Mexicanized" to include pork and pineapple.

So what about that legendary stand in San Miguel de Allende? I still dream about it. Years ago the plaza was remodeled, chasing away the vendors. It disappeared forever. My loss - and theirs.

Note: See my many previous posts and/or my book for advice on where to eat street food in Mexico City. And for my New Yorker readers, I heartily reccomend the 'antojito' truck that parks on Roosevelt Av. between 74th and 75th St. in Jackson Hts. Queens.

A note to my DF readers:
The 'Mercado de 100' will take place this Sunday, June 26, from 9:30-2:30 in the Plaza Rio de Janeiro, Colonia Roma.

Fun in Acapulco

2011-05-25T17:36:00.020-05:00

Elvis Presely in Fun in Acapulco, 1963

Everybody goes on vacation once in a while, even food writers from the big city. With a light heart and a backpack I set off on an expedition to uncharted waters: Acapulco. In over thirty years of travel in Mexico, I’d never been to that fabled land of fun and sun. I avoided what I assumed would be a tacky, vulgar, ruined place. My mother, artist Esther Gilman , waxed poetic over its sandy shores. The story went that she and a hunky Italian lifeguard named Johnny had traveled there but had a big fight. My mother had forgotten the name of her hotel and wandered for hours, Spanish-less through the streets. She found her lodging and made up with the boyfriend. Upon returning to New York, she met and married my father, a skinny bespectacled Jewish intellectual. This was in 1947. She never went back to Acapulco but always extolled its virtues and insisted I go: “It’s so beautiful…” she would say, not realizing that things had changed in 40 years. Moral of the story, I figured, is that anyplace you go with an Italian stallion looks good.

Sadly, time has not been kind to Aca’s sandy shores. The powers that be have done little to conserve the loveliness of this spectacular natural spot. Natural bays are overlaid with leprous-looking commercial spread. Shameless, avaricious hucksterism has begotten endless chain stores, repetitive tacky tourist gee-gaw shops and over-built hotels. An enormous government building, plopped in the middle of the once graceful ‘costera’, which runs along the sea, is a real eyesore that is “swallowing our money” as one taxi driver put it to me.

News of wars between angry narco gangs emanates with alarming regularity. Heads roll. So why, you ask, would anyone go? I wondered too, as B. and I set off on the five hour trip in Estrella de Oro’s finest ‘Diamante’ autobus, visions of Buñuel’s Mexican Bus Ride dancing in my head. But I was curious to see this iconic Mexican vacation spot about which I’d heard so many mixed reviews. Thoughts of fresh fish propelled me. And Elvis slept here!

Greenish brown undulating country gave way to dark and jagged mountains, scarred peaks soaring until they blended with gray-blue misty skies. Then, in a few ear-popping minutes we descended to sea level and coconut palms began to wave at us, friendly tropical hosts. I could smell the sea air through the sealed bus windows – or so I thought.
We arrived in downtown Acapulco, to a shrill, messy area somewhere behind the market. Instead of tropical perfume, exhaust fumes seared my nostrils as I stepped outside. My heart was sinking as we boarded a taxi whose price we had to haggle down to take us to our hotel. But things started to look up when we got to Hotel Boca Chica in Caleta, the old part of Acapulco (I always go for the old, whenever possible). The Boca Chica - http://www.hotel-bocachica.com/ - is a retro gem, whose tiled mural facade was featured in the opening credits of Elvis Presley’s eponymous - to this article - 1963 classic film (a clunker to some critics). It has recently been restored/renovated to its original stylish fabulousness.

Comfortable 21^st century all-white rooms are punctuated with mid-century modern furniture and knick-knacks from the best DF antique shops. Cute white clad workers scurry about offering everything ‘vacation’, from Margaritas to massages. The lozenge shaped pool surrounded by ‘50’s woven chaises beckons. And best of all is the view, visible from the ample terraces of all the rooms. This, after all, is ‘old’ Aca, and there isn’t an ugly building in sight, just those breezy palms, lazy bananas, craggy, rocky bays, and the sea. Next-door is La Caletilla, a beach ‘popular’ in the Mexican sense –happy families recline, frolic, imbibe soft drinks, eat boiled shrimp and oysters. At night, the empty (and surprisingly clean) sands are home to a few joint-smoking fishermen back from a hard day’s work.
I was happy to check in here and never wanted to leave, but I was hungry, and food’s my business. So we headed out to explore.

El Amigo Miguel
www.elamigomiguel.com

This seafood classic, with four locations around town, just about sums up Acapulco’s

comida típica, the standard marine preparations offered all over Mexico : ceviches, cocktails, fried and sautéed filets, lots of salsa, lots of catsup. No surprises, but good fresh fish.
The standout at Miguel’s is the ceviche Acapulco style. Catsup, usually not my favorite ingredient, fills out the sauce, but here it is used discriminately, and imparts an appealing hint of sweetness; the fish is obviously fresh.

Here’s my recipe, the way I think it should be done:

Ceviche Acapulqueño

The fish

750 gm. (3/4 lb) huachinango (red snapper) or sierra (mackerel) filets cut into 1 cm (1/2”) dice
(in Mexico, your fish monger will do this for you free of charge). Here I like to sterilize the fish in a strong solution of the same drops you use on your vegetables. Elsewhere, you can use a couple drops of chlorine, or buy very good fish for sushi and forget it.

For the marinade:

1 medium (Spanish) onion, finely diced
2 fresh jalapeños (or to taste) finely diced
3 firm plum tomatoes, seeded (but not peeled) and chopped into ¼” dice
3 tb. each chopped cilantro and parsley
½ cup catsup
¾ cup fresh orange juice

¼ cup lime juice
a large pinch dried Mexican oregano
1 ts finely grated orange rind
1 ts Tabasco sauce (optional)
1 ts salt

Combine marinade ingredients in a glass or high-fired ceramic bowl at least a half hour in advance. Fold in fish and marinate for about an hour (a little more for huachinango, less for sierra). Serve in small dishes with home-fried tostadas. Alternatively, small cooked shrimp can be used but these don’t have to be marinated for more than a few minutes.

We also tried Miguel’s pescado a la talla. But Maria Cristina’s was better (see below).

Pie de la Cuesta: Bungalows Maria Cristina

Pie de la Cuesta is a natural, unspoiled beach area about a half hour’s drive from the city. One day, we commandeered a taxi to take us. The nearly empty beach is peppered with thatched palapas and a few rustic bungalows. There are very few vendors, few people at all.

We settled into old-fashioned wooden beach chairs under the first inviting palapa we saw and sat sipping icy beer, chatting with passing shrimp vendors and small beach boys

who should have been in school. Then we had Maria Cristina, owner of the place, prepare us another Pacific classic: pescado a la talla. This is a whole fish splayed open, slathered with an ‘adobo’ or chile mixture, then grilled. It was perfectly smoky, the deep red chile just spiky enough not to overwhelm the perfectly succulent fish. The rolling waves, warm caressing breeze, heady sea air and lazy mood of the place made it taste even better. We tried to take a bus back to town but the bus ran out of fuel after 5 minutes and we had to hitch a ride. Best to arrange transportation with a taxi. Or stay the night. But B. wanted to go dancing.

Restaurante Bar El Zorrito
Costera Miguel Alemán 212

Acapulco is located in the state of Guerrero and pozole is the region’s signature dish. It always seems to cool down enough at night for a bowl of hot soup, so we headed to El Zorrito, on the costera. Red, green or white pork-based chilli and hominy laden pozole was being consumed left and right. My favorite is the pumpkin-seed thickened green version, hard to find in the capital. We ate surrounded by happy local families and strolling mariachis. A few European tourists peered in curiously, then headed off to the foreigner-friendly Señor Frog’s down the street. Their loss.

Don’t be a drag, be a queen

Market food is always the best and the main Mercado Municipal is bustling with fresh fish – I wished I had brought my freezer bag to take home some of the freshest looking sardines I had ever seen. Closer to home base, we chose to lunch at the Fonda Amayrany in the middle of the small market near Caletilla beach. It’s an ordinary fonda ubiquitous throughout Mexico. What makes the difference here is the fact that this one is run by a group of transvestites. The gals will fry up a nice milanesa, fish or chicken filet, or prepare a plate of enchiladas. Simple is better in this kind of setting so I chose a filete de pescado al mojo de ajo. It was done to garlicky, crispy perfection. A family with several small children was our only company, and they seemed not to notice nor to care that these lady’s were not.

We thought we’d return for breakfast the next day, but found the stand closed. “Drag queens aren’t morning people,” ‘B’ speculated.

Diego Rivera designed this mural for collector Dolores Olmedo's house in the fifties

So with a tanned torso and a torta in hand I boarded the bus for the journey back to Mexico City while B. stayed on to look at several ‘50’s beach houses he wants to buy. Acapulco, ultimately, doesn’t try to be what it isn’t. There’s no pseudo-colonial architecture like in Puerto Vallarta. It’s either still-here retro (the best part), or in-your-face unapologetic new. I like the contrasts– big city gaudiness vs. natural beauty; urban energy vs. provincial slow pacing; tourist-town hawking vs. small-town friendliness. It's clean. The weather's always nice. And it's a few hours from the biggest city I know. There’s no culture here, well not the kind with a capital ‘C’, anyway. And gastronomy is too big a word for the food in this working class city whose brow stays low. But I never once felt the sinister mafia-tinged aura I feared. “The crime doesn’t affect tourists” I was assured from all sides. I'll stay away from weekends and Easter week. But I’ll be back.

The author at work

A note to my Mexico City readers: Don't fail to check out the Mercado de 100, this Sunday (May 29) from 9:30-2:30 in the Plaza Rio de Janeiro, Colonia Roma, under the plump naked David.

Blowing Kisses – El Beso Huasteco

2011-03-29T10:49:00.008-06:00

The renaissance of the once genteel but down-on-its-heels Colonia Roma doesn’t cease to astound. New restaurants are popping up like autumn chantarelles in the Auvergne, so fast I can’t keep up with them. The latest at the top of my pile of business cards is El Beso Huasteco, a friendly and pleasingly unpretentious place on Calle Córdoba. The young owners have refurbished a Porfiriato mansion with a mish-mash of early 20th century splendor, patterned mosaic floors, ornate cornices and all. They’ve filled it with colorful for-sale art and tchotchkes, which give it a festive air. The sunny rooms open to a central patio full of plants and buena onda (good vibes).

The menu proffers Mexican lunchtime comfort foods: Antojitos (corn-based dishes) are the order of the day here. Many recipes come from the Huasteca region in north-eastern Mexico, hence the restaurant’s name. Chef and partner Alfonso Girón emerged from his kitchen one recent sunny afternoon for a brief interview. He explained that he “…offers dishes people think of as common or ‘street foods’, keeping prices accessible. We don’t try to re-invent or deconstruct, but simply to present them in an attractive way, respecting Mexican tradition”. There’s nothing better than a classic when it's well made. “No foams or drizzles here”, he chuckles.
My favorite appetizer is ‘bocoles’, a variation on the classic gordita. Here they're golden and crusty outside, steamy soft and redolent of concentrated corn inside. Filled with chilied egg, chorizo or chicken and slathered with the circus-colored salsas handily provided, Mexican botanas don’t get much better.
Classic pozole rojo is served with all the trimmings. It is textbook good: sexy rich red and just picante enough. The less often seen green pozole is subtle, the pork broth enhanced by nutty pumpkin seed used as a thickener.
The selection of seldom seen tamales is intriguing: adobo de puerco is one of my favorites.

Open day and night, El Beso Huasteco is a good option when you want something down to earth, inexpensive, but handled with care.

El Beso Huasteco
Colonia Roma
Córdoba 146 (South of Av. Alvaro Obregón)
Open:Monday- Friday 8:30AM-10PM, Saturday, 10-10. Closed Sunday
Tel. 5574 6166

A note to my readers:
See my recent report on Santa Maria la Ribera in the New York Times:
http://www.nytimes.com/slideshow/2011/03/06/travel/20110306-SURFACING.html?scp=2&sq=mexico%20city%20gilman&st=cse