The Al Pastor was way better...

We travel to be surprised, right? While picking my favorite five dishes took some deliberation, coming up with five different foods or dishes that surprised me on a trip to Mexico should have taken me all of five minutes. But for some reason I wasn't expecting this. I have a vertiable library of Mexican cuisine in my condo courtesy of Rick Bayless, Diana Kennedy, and Susana Trilling, and have researched and cooked as many authentic dishes as I possibly could in the past three years. So how come I was wrong about so many things? Almost everywhere I turned in Mexico I was bewildered by some detail I’d never thought about, and which shattered my expectations. Luckily, they all turned out to be those good kind of surprises--cases where my preconceived notions actually hid something more intriguing and delicious.

1. The Tacos

Carnita Tacos at Mi Mercado in Coyoacan

I expected to find some kind of insight about the taco during my two weeks in Mexico. By seeing it in its homeland, I’d formulate some kind of hypothesis on the correct proportion, contents, and preparation to create some kind of Grand Taco Manifesto. But I can’t. While I ate tacos nearly every single day on my two week trip through Mexico City and Oaxaca, I left more confused than when I came.

Goat, Al Pastor, Chorizo and Potato, and Chicken Tinga Tacos

I found them tiny and rolled, like the petite little al pastor tacos found at El Huequito. But I also encountered huge, generously filled ones from Tacos Gus in Condesa, where dozens of great cazuelas of stewing meats and vegetables were open for examination. Some were fried like taquitos, and others were housed in unnaturally soft and pillowy corn tortillas.

The fillings were just as diverse. I ate thinly shaved versions of Al Pastor, juicy hunks of carnitas, and tongue so tender it nearly disintegrated in my mouth. But I also ate rajas with queso, mushroom with crema, and vegetable guisados stuffed with squash and corn. The possibilities for tacos are endless.

2. No Chips

Taking a homework break with bar peanuts...

With maybe one exception, I never snacked on fried tortilla chips. Because there were no chips, there were no bowls of dippable salsa. Sure, there were always salsas (everywhere), but for the most part they were wickedly hot and meant to be drizzled sparingly atop a main dish, not to be shoveled into your mouth with a chip.

What kinds of snacks did I see? Well, I’m not as sure about Mexico City, but in Oaxaca we encountered either peanuts, pineapple, or jicama which were covered in lime, chile, and salt. Perhaps I was in the wrong region, or not familiar with the proper procedure of ordering, but it was honestly a revelation not to start off a meal with dozens fried chips. It meant I could eat more tacos....

3. The Guacamole 

Looks more like an avocado sauce, right?

Because there were no chips, there wasn’t a whole lot of what we’d all recognize as guacamole. There was some to be sure (like at Taco Gus), but most of the time when guacamole hit the table it was a creamy and smooth sauce meant for spooning over other things, not the chunky dip I was used to. Like the salsa, is meant to add another dimension to a taco. In this case, the creamy sauce helped balance the fierce spice of the salsas.

Though I’ll never give up the chunkier guac, this did work better for tacos.

4. Meet the Tlayuda

Bigger than my head.

Of all the dishes I encountered, none surprised me more than this one. I’d never heard of this thing before, and yet everywhere I turned in Oaxaca they were there. When I asked people in what to eat in the city they told me about tlayudas. When a teacher at the language immersion program took us to eat, he took us to a tlayuda place.

So what is a tlayuda? They are described often as a Oaxacan pizza, but they more resemble an over-sized quesadilla. Instead of just cheese, they are stuffed with creamy black beans, various herbs, and fresh quesillo cheese. Often they are cooked directly on the coals of a fire, which lends them a distinct smokey note.

I'm probably screwing something up.

Freshly grilled meat is placed directly on top, making for one hell of a feast. You’d have to be incredibly hungry to finish one of these.

There is absolutely no reason why these aren’t taking over the world. They make burritos look positively wimpy. If anyone knows where to find a tlayuda  in Chicago, please let me know. Otherwise, I'll be looking for a recipe to make these at home soon.

5. The Chocolate

The best chocolate in the world.

For years I assumed the best chocolate in the world came from somewhere in Europe. Whether it was from Belgium or Switzerland, it really didn’t matter. Give me a fine bar of dark chocolate and I’ll be fine. But eating chocolate in the place where it has actually been growing for a thousand years has changed me. The chocolate isn’t as processed, and it has an aggressive bite which wraps around your tongue and never lets go. It has a bit of cinnamon mixed in. 

Once I discovered the hot chocolate at Mayordomo, I went back seven days in a row. Only after I found an even more rustic brand in the markets did my allegiance change. Regardless, when I flew back home my luggage was five pounds over the recommended limit, and I bet that was mostly due to the vast hoard of chocolate I brought back.

Our weekly roundup of what the two of us have written over on Serious Eats.

"Dinner Tonight" Column

QUICK MEALS TO YOUR TABLE FIVE DAYS A WEEK.

Chickpeas and Chorizo
The result is satisfying, flavorful, easy to prepare, and very economical. And makes great leftovers.

Alice Waters' Gazpacho
The bread thickens the soup and makes use of what would otherwise be stale. The rest of the soup is pretty much summer incarnate--what Waters calls "a liquid salad."

BLT with Avocado and Shrimp
This is no replacement for the classic BLT, but if you're like us and have basically been living on these sandwiches while tomatoes are in season, then this is a great variation.

Fusilli with Sausage, Kale, and Sungold Tomatoes
The sweet, intensely bright flavor of tomatoes are the perfect acidic foil for this traditional winter dish.

Pork Chops with Mint Julep Glaze
The mint julep name is sort of a misnomer. Sure it contains bourbon and mint, but the beef broth adds some meatiness and a sprinkle of allspice on the chops helps balance the sweetness. 

There isn't much argument that summertime is the peak season for cooking. It never gets easier than in August: the produce is top-notch, everywhere, and cheap. Locavores are finally settling down and enjoying themselves instead of passing judgement on the rest of us for buying zucchini out of season. You can make dinner by cutting up tomatoes and fresh mozzarella and calling it a masterpiece. My CSA vegetable delivery is overflowing with watermelon, cucumbers, and of course, tomatoes.

It's also the time when ambitious cooks get into things like pickling and canning to preserve the harvest. Which is how I ended up looking through old bookmarks and re-discovering a post on Food with Legs for Tomato Conserva, adapted from the very excellent Cooking By Hand, written by California chef Paul Bertolli.

The process was appealing for two reasons: one, and I am leaving town today for San Francisco, and I had a bag of tomatoes to use up. But more importantly, I've been trying to convince my wife for about a year now (which is as long as we've been married) that registering for a food mill was an absolutely necessary thing to do for our wedding. Our anniversary has come and gone, and it hasn't left its box. So it was time to use the damned thing, if for no other reason than to bolster my own arguments.

Tomato conserva is like homemade tomato paste, except it has none of the metallic edge, and it has a fancy Italian name.  The flavor is exceptional, super deep and tomato-ey (sorry, that's the best word there is) and if you keep it in the fridge under a layer of olive oil, it will last for quite some time, according to Bertolli. You use it like a condiment: spread on grilled slices of baguette with fresh goat cheese, dolloped into a nice bowl of white risotto, or used anywhere you might employ tomato paste to add a richer, fuller flavor to a sauce. Bertolli also mentions an intriguing idea, stirring it into the dough for fresh pasta to make a red-hued noodle.

But when I saw this, what I had most on my mind was homemade ketchup.

Tomato Conserva

Adapted from Paul Bertolli via Food with Legs

• 5 pounds summer tomatoes
• olive oil as needed

Do you need a food mill to make tomato conserva? No. You could instead peel the tomatoes first (the best way is to drop them in boiling water for 15-20 seconds, then quickly move them to a bowl of ice water to stop the cooking; the skins should easily slip off) and accept the presence of seeds. Or, you could peel them and proceed with the recipe, pushing the tomatoes through a strainer instead of a food mill to remove seeds. The big advantage of the food mill is that it can get rid of the seeds and the skins together.

Roughly chop the tomatoes. In a large skillet with high sides (so the tomatoes don't spill everywhere), heat a few tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat, then add the tomatoes. Bring the mixture to a boil as they release water, and boil for 2 minutes.

Dump it into a food mill with the smallest plate and crank it through into a bowl. You should have a sort of tomato liquid.

Spread a little more olive oil onto a sheet pan and carefully pour the tomato mixture into the pan.

Transfer to a 300 degree oven and cook for 1-2 hours, until the edges of the pan are beginning to caramelize, then lower the heat to 200 degrees and cook for an additional 2 hours until the mixture is deep red (brick colored), fairly dry, and almost shiny.

At 300 degrees, my paste was cooking pretty quickly -- to the point that some of the tomato was sticking to the pan and burning (see picture above).  Once I turned the heat down to 200, it no longer burned.  So keep a close eye on the tomatoes during the first, hotter stage.

Transfer to a sterilized jar and push it down to the jar with a sterilized spoon. Cover with olive oil completely. Refrigerate.

I went to Mexico to eat, and I handpicked the region of Oaxaca specifically because I figured I could eat there best. It’s a place where chiles, chocolate, and tomatoes have been growing for thousands of years, and where the holy trinity of corn, beans, and squash make up the local diet. Forget Italy, France, or Spain. Oaxaca is where my favorite food in the world comes from.

I spent two weeks walking its old colonial streets while studying Spanish, eating way more than any one person possibly should. I waited for my appetite to wane, and for some crazy hunger pangs for some other cuisine to hit, but it never happened. I rode away on that bus fourteen days later convinced I had only scratched the surface. I still had more to eat, and more to explore.

Excuse the overly dramatic title, but I can attest to the fact that I ate out twice a day for fourteen days. While nothing was even remotely bad, these are the five things I can't stop thinking about. Now, if you'll follow me into the smoke filled mercado...

5. Chorizo and Carne Asada Tacos - Mercado 20 de Noviembre

Literally, there was smoke.

I could see the smoke from the street, which billowed out in one long cloud of evaporated fat. How could I resist? I slowly strolled into the haze of the Mercado 20 de Noviembre, unsure of what was going on. Dozens of little stands were grilling all sorts of meat and onions over charcoal. But there didn’t seem to be any reason as to what was going on. Each vendor was cooking the same kind of meat, but there were no signs for how much things would cost. At the end of the hallways were a few tables. Unsure of what to do, I simply sat down and waited to see what they wanted me to do.

Finally, a waiter appeared and showed me some salsas. He then handed me a large tray with spring onions on them. I was supposed to hand this to one of the grilling stations, and then go from there. I randomly picked one, said “Mixto,” which I assumed would give me a sampling of everything, and handed them my tray. They threw the onions straight onto the charcoal, and then told me to sit down. An old lady came by to sell me tortillas.

The market, the salsa, the meat, and the final result.

A few minutes later, beautiful slabs of carne asada and fatty hunks of orange-tinged chorizo came for me. The tortillas were fragrant and soft, while the salsas were bright and spicy as hell. But it was the distinctly charcoaled cooked the meats that won me over, and helped make these the best taco of my trip.

4. Chiles en Nogada - Casa de los Sabores Cooking School with Pilar

I didn't eat all of these by myself...

My trip was a collection of fortunate accidents. I didn’t come to Oaxaca with many plans other than to learn a little Spanish and eat everything in sight. In fact, it was only the day before I left that I ended up at Casa de los Sabores cooking school with Pilar Cabrera.

At the same time I’d been trying to track down a perfect version of chiles en nogada, a celebratory dish in Mexico featuring poblano chiles stuffed with a meat and fruit mixture, and topped with a walnut sauce and pomegranate seeds. Though it’s much more of Pueblan dish than a Oaxacan one, I figured there would be one place that could satisfy my craving.

So imagine my surprise when the dish just happened to be on the cooking school menu. It did not disappoint. The chiles were heavily charred on the oven’s burners, and then stuffed with a chicken, apple, pear, and raisin mixture that was laced with all kinds of spices. The sauce was only sparingly used, so that the interplay of stuffing and chile was maximized.

3. Tamale with Mole Negro - Itanoni

Tamales look their prettiest with clothes on.

A temple to corn, Itanoni was recommended to me by a commenter on Serious Eats who dryly mentioned that it was “one of the most powerful eating experiences of my life.” I became addicted. Each dish was dedicated to maintaining the integrity of corn, with some dishes featuring specific varieties from very small farms.

The telelas stuffed with mushrooms and cream.

Essentially everything at Itanoni could have made the list, including some mad memelitas (thicker corn tortillas topped simply with cheese and beans) and the tetelas (large tortillas stuffed with various things like mushrooms and cream, and folded origami-style, into a large triangle).

But it’s these tamales that I’ve continued to dream about. I’ve had plenty of great tamales before, and even made some myself, but never had the masa been this fragrant and delicate. And I haven’t even gotten to the mole. While not as complex as my #1 dish, it was rich and lusty, which was just the right complement to such an ethereal and damn near perfect tamale as this one.

2. Stone Soup with Shrimp - Caldo de Piedra

Remove the rock before eating.

Caldo de Piedra is the stuff of fantasies, or at least TV. I first heard of this place Gourmet’s Diary of a Foodie, which showed this strange place where soups were cooked by plunging raging hot rocks into gourds filled with broth and seafood. The liquid immediately began to boil, almost instantly cooking the soup.

The fire, the raw soup, the rock, and the damage done.

I thought it would be a fascinating experience, you know, something I could say I’d done (I can’t imagine stone soup making it past the health inspectors in the States). But I didn’t expect it to taste so good. After the bubbling subsided, I sat there with my nose over the bowl, inhaling the delectable mixture of tomato and herbs, along with the aroma of shrimp. Each spoonful was brothy and spicy, while the shrimp were juicy and perfectly cooked. Believe me, I've already looked around my condo building for some perfectly sized rocks to do this at home.

1. Mole Negro with Turkey - Casa Oaxaca

Nearly an hour after the meal I was still haunted with the smell. It was the warming, soothing glow of mole which took the night to fully dissipate. Like how the best barbecue lingers in your nose for hours, this mole negro with turkey didn’t want to let go of me, and I was all to happy to have it stay. It came from Casa Oaxaca, which is regularly mentioned as the best restaurant in the city. And what can I say, other than that everyone is right.

Sorry the pictures sucks.

Everything, and I mean everything, that my wife and I ate was stunning. The mushroom soup with hoja santa and squash blossoms could have easily made the list (It probably would have had the picture come out better). But my god...this mole. I stumbled over dozens of excellent moles on my trip, but none that were this perfectly balanced between being decadently rich, slightly spicy, and utterly intoxicating. The trump card might have been the turkey breast, which felt oddly succulent. That is not something I’ve ever really said about turkey before. But that doesn't even begin to explain why I can still smell this dish when I close my eyes, or why I have to get back to Oaxaca to experience this one more time.

Our weekly roundup of what the two of us have written over on Serious Eats.

"Dinner Tonight" Column

QUICK MEALS TO YOUR TABLE FIVE DAYS A WEEK.

Chicken with Tomato-Saffron Vinaigrette with Mixed Greens
Paprika and saffron help give a vivid orange-red tinge and a round, mellow flavor to this simple summer salad.

Summer Succotash with Bacon
Lovely, lovely bacon fat and a shot of sherry vinegar help wake up this classic dish.

Eggplant Caponata
This is essentially an Italian variation of ratatouille, but with briny capers and golden raisins to give it a little kick.

Grilled Mustard Chicken with Fresh Corn Polenta
The sharp taste of the mustard is muted, leaving just a trace of its fragrance and a wonderful crust on the chicken. It's pretty much guaranteed to be among the most flavorful chicken off your grill with summer.

Sizzling Spicy Rib Eye Steaks
Usually we just opt for a simple coating of salt and pepper for our ribeyes, but after finding a good deal on these, we wanted to see if a dry rub would help add dimensions of flavor and actually improve the taste of the great cut of meat.

When I think of Mexican cuisine, I think of balance. Mexicans love acidity in their cooking, and that's what makes it so appealing to eat. Though it's a function of living in a warm climate--the same reason Thai cuisine is also fond of citrus, it's a necessary form of preservation--the culinary benefit has outlasted the necessity.

When you have something rich and heavy in your taco--like, say, hunks of pork shoulder that have been slow-cooked in lard to become authentic carnitas--it is always accompanied by a bright, refreshing salsa to counterbalance it. That's something that's unfortunately lost in translation with so much Americanized Mexican food: the acidity. Americans aren't as fond of it. The typical Mexican restaurant, like the one in my college town of Greencastle, Indiana, serves rich, heavy food that sits in your stomach for hours. Cheese, beans, ground beef, all of it flavorful but nothing to set it all in relief. Your tongue just gets tired.

A well-made guacamole is a perfect example of this necessary balance. Avocados are wonderful things, creamy and rich, and when you add salt their flavor deepens and becomes round.  But a guacamole really sings with a proper squeeze of lime juice. I've written before about the importance of acidity in seasoning, as important as salt itself, and Mexican cuisine intuitively understands this.

I'm taking a cuisine of Mexico class right now in culinary school, and one of the things chef continues to refer to is the frugality of Mexican cooking. The frank reality is that most of Mexican cooking was developed by people who didn't have a lot of money. They made use of everything, including the seeds from dried chiles (they can be charred until black and crumbled into salsas to add a complex smokey flavor). And one of the biggest surprises was that the acidity in their cooking doesn't always come from limes.

Limes and Mexican food seem inseparable, but the reality is that a lime tree can be a luxury, and most families didn't traditionally have more than one. Yet every dish needed that crucial acidity. So what did they do? They made fruit vinegar.

At the start of our class chef brought in a huge plastic bucket full of homemade pineapple vinegar, and we have used it for many of the dishes as a seasoning. The process of making it is simple: you simply combine the peels of a pineapple with water and brown sugar (actually, the tradition is to use a Mexican sugar called piloncillo, but brown sugar works just as welll) and allow it to become vinegar over the course of a couple weeks. Once you have the "mother," which is the good culture that has hence developed, it can be used to transform more water/sugar into yet more vinegar. It becomes an ever-replenishable well of acidity to be used without much worry of cost.

My own homemade back of vinegar has just finished, and I just bottled it up. Here's a documentation of the very simple process...which is basically to dump everything in a container and wait around.

Homemade Pineapple Vinegar

• Peels from 1 pineapple
• 6 ounces brown sugar
• 1 gallon distilled water

Note: I halved the recipe to fit in my smaller vessel

In a 1 gallon food-safe container, combine the peels, sugar, and water.  Cover with plastic wrap or a lid and set in a cool, dark place.  Allow to ferment for 2-4 weeks.  The vinegar will get murky and brown, then slowly begin to clarify.  Once you can see a white "skin" at the bottom, known as the "mother," the vinegar is ready.  The "mother" can be used to create more vinegar as desired.

Our weekly roundup of what the two of us have written over on Serious Eats.

"Dinner Tonight" Column

QUICK MEALS TO YOUR TABLE FIVE DAYS A WEEK.

Maple Black Pepper Pork Chops
Though the maple syrup might seem sweet, these thick-cut glazed pork chops are balanced with pepper and cider vinegar.

Grilled Steak with Sauce Gribiche
Gribiche, a spin on mayonnaise made with hard-boiled eggs, is a decadent topping for sliced steak.

Tarragon Crab Salad
This elegant little crab salad makes a nice topping for juicy slices of summer tomato.

Crema De Chile Poblano (Roasted Chile Poblano Soup)
Roasted poblanos add heat and "a gorgeous smokiness" to every bite of this soup.

Pasta with Bacon and Corn 'Pesto'
Like Pasta Carbonara, this dish is "creamy, bacony, and satisfying—yet it's also a lot lighter and more fitting for summer."

Spiaggia isn’t the sort of restaurant you waltz into on a whim--you have to wear a jacket to eat there, its gorgeous dining room has floor-to-ceiling windows, they have a cheese cave, and, oh, it’s really, really expensive. But the secret is that Spiaggia also has a cafe. It’s casual, intimate, and the food is superb. The attention to detail that is expected of a high-end restaurant like Spiaggia filters down to its more casual cousin, but the prices don't follow.

I was lucky enough to be invited to an unveiling recently of Cafe Spiaggia's redesigned menu and decor, and I was totally impressed with the food (oh, and the decor is nice, too). And it’s no easy feat to create truly impressive Italian food--its so common and done everywhere. Lots of people can make a decent wood-burning oven pizza, put out some good olives, have a local farmer friend with great heirloom tomatoes. Though I think cooking chops are a big part of it, what takes the food to the next level is the quality of the ingredients.

Tony Mantuano, Spiaggia’s chef, was at the event keeping a watchful eye on the food, and it shows. The room was abuzz with prosecco when I walked in, platters of housemade foccaccia, various crostini, wood-fired pizza, and silvery, bright sardines ferrying by on platters. And a great block of ice filled with creamy gelato.

Above all I was excited about one particular dish they were serving: house-cured sardines. I’ve already publicly declared my love of sardines on the site, so it’s no secret. But these were easily the best I’ve ever eaten: they ship them in every couple days from Portugal (or the West coast if they’re lucky and the season is right) then cure them in-house in salt, sugar, white wine vinegar, and herbs. They are like fish candy, if you can imagine that being a good thing: they have an clean, oceanic sweetness with less, but just enough, of the funk. They were the best sardines I’ve ever eaten in my life.

A restaurant like Spiaggia succeeds not just on the prowess of the cooks, but also on the fact that they can source ingredients unavailable to the average schmo. You will not be having your own sardines shipped in from Portugal anytime soon, and neither will I. And that’s why we will go to Cafe Spiaggia, and that’s what makes paying for food like this worth it.

More pictures after the jump.

Spiaggia’s menu is now designed around small plates, to make sharing easy. It would make a perfect summer meal: a plate of these sardines with a cold glass of verdicchio or some other Italian white from their list; a bowl of their cured cerignola olives (these are also incredible), maybe a pasta or a pizza. First-rate eating like this doesn’t come along affordably too often, with ingredients that you really wouldn’t be able to procure yourself.

Though it’s no huge secret--Cafe Spiaggia has been around for 26 years--I think that it’s worth saying: if you want to eat stellar Italian food with first-rate ingredients, at the quality of a restaurant like Spiaggia, but the real restaurant is out of your budget, look no further than Cafe Spiaggia.

• Cafe Spiaggia
• 980 North Michigan Avenue at the corner of Oak Street.
• (312) 280-2750

Kale chips feature on the new menu

Spiaggia also has its own aged Balsamic vinegar

A cook was still finishing this pizza with burrata cheese, zucchini, and dried chilies while people were grabbing

Pistachio and Raspberry gelato, and Passion Fruit sorbet

Our weekly roundup of what the two of us have written over on Serious Eats.

"Dinner Tonight" Column

QUICK MEALS TO YOUR TABLE FIVE DAYS A WEEK.

Hong Kong Salt Shrimp
Dropped into bubbling oil and coated with spices, these shrimp pack a punch--but strangest of all, you can eat the shell, too.

Pasta with Corn, Prosciutto, and Burrata
Though burrata cheese is a luxurious touch--it's an even creamier version of mozzarella--the interplay between corn and chiles is most intriguing in this dish.

Angrezi Bhutta (Corn and Tomato Curry)
Armed with a handful of tomatoes, Nick looks beyond the obvious Italian inspiration and heads to India.

Farfalle with Summer Squash
An abundance of squash and an old collection of LA Times recipes leads to this dead-simple dinner.

Tlacoyo Masa Pockets
Working with store-bought masa is incredibly simple--as are these riffs on pupusas, stuffed with a simple bean-and-cheese filling.

Our weekly roundup of what the two of us have written over on Serious Eats.

"Dinner Tonight" Column

QUICK MEALS TO YOUR TABLE FIVE DAYS A WEEK.

Calabazas Horneadas (Baked Squash, Chiles, and Corn Tacos)
Corn and squash act as the backbone of this classic Oaxacan dish.

Cayenne-Rubbed Ribeyes with Lime Butter
Cayenne kicks up this simple rub for steak.

Open-Face Prosciutto, Fresh Ricotta, and Red-Onion Marmalade Sandwiches
Caramelized red onions help add a sweetness to this sandwich.

Chiles en Nogada
This alternative to chiles rellanos uses a creamy walnut sauce.

Chorizo Hash Browns
Spanish chorizo helps lend a meatiness to this standard dish.