the joy of eating "Mexican" food

There is almost nothing I enjoy more than feeding the people I love.

Oh, certainly, there are many joys in life:

driving with a full tank of gas
sniffing dried oregano with that darling nephew
paying the bills on time and having some money left over
walking along the lakeside on a cold clear day with a dear friend
watching the first episode of a television show that will be invading my brain soon
waking up without an alarm clock next to my love’s warm body
tapping my fingers on this keyboard

Ask me to make a list of joys, and we’ll be here for days.

But really, the gorgeous chance to feed people I love? There’s nothing else like it. (Except, perhaps, writing this site.)

The warm smells mingling, the knives chopping a singsong rhythm, the oven heating up in the corner, the sauce bubbling on the stove — these are the senses of love.

Tomatoes slowly squishing between my fingers, chunks of avocado slivering beneath the knife, corn tortillas browning, ground beef sizzling in a hot pan — this is how food becomes a meal.

In the other room? Five eager people, whose noses have awoken to the smells, call out and say, “Hey, when is dinner ready?”

And in this daily sacred and utterly mundane ritual, we sit down to eat together, feeding our bodies and creating more memories.

Besides all that, the food tastes really damned good.

* * *

I really believe that in a former life I must have lived in Mexico.

The thing is? I really just adore Mexican food. Maybe adore isn’t the right word. Crave. On a regular basis. Give me guacamole — a big bowl of it, with a plate of corn chips —and I’m a happy, happy girl. Tender beans cooked in lard. Hot strips of sirloin. Fresh salsa. Queso fresco. Green chiles. And more guacamole, please.

I just can’t get enough.

Of course, I’m well aware that what I’m calling Mexican food should probably be written as “Mexican” food. (Maybe in that former life I worked in the kitchen of a Tex-Mex restaurant.) In most of the US, we eat a watered-down, overly bland version of real Mexican food.

My dear friends Tita and John used to spend every Christmas vacation in Mexico. They shocked me when they talked about fresh produce more delicious than anything they had ever eaten, cheeses so rich and creamy they could still taste them, and locally raised meats that were fork tender and truly tasted of something. Really? You mean it didn’t all come with rice and beans?

I know better now. After eating in authentic Mexican restaurants across the nation, I’ve learned to appreciate a dark chocolate, spicy-sweet mole sauce, pork braised in a chile sauce with twenty-seven ingredients, and salsa that didn’t come out of a jar. Hortensia, the wonderful woman who washes dishes at the Chef’s restaurant (and who is his second skin in that kitchen) once brought us an earthenware jar full of homemade posole for us. Oh, the hominy, the nuance of layers of spices and flavors, the rush of vivid color to the brain. That food tasted nothing like the big combo platters that come splayed on a plate with sliced black olives on top.

Still, as much as I love authentic Mexican food, I still love a quesadilla with melted jack cheese and a dollop of salsa. (And a few days ago, Matthew showed me a new way to make them.) I never grow tired of pork tamales. And when I suggest to the Chef, “Hey, do you want to have nachos for dinner tonight?” his face lights up like a thousand Mexican suns.

I have my limits, of course. I’ve never been much of a fast-food adult. (I did, however, as a child, eat sometimes at Del Taco, which was down the street from the home where I lived the longest as a child. Anyone else remember Del Taco? Because of them, I didn’t know that tacos came in anything other than shattering crispy shells until I was an adult.) “Mexican” fast food is just plain gross. Let’s face it — the refried beans slopped out on that tortilla have the consistency of baby poop. The shreds of lettuce are white iceberg with a hint of rustiness. And who knows how long that spiced chicken has been sitting in that warming tin? Ew.

However, I will say that both Baja Fresh and Chipotle — at least here in the West — are making an attempt to serve fresher food. Chipotle has a commitment to humanely raised meats. And both of them are gluten-free friendly, with ingredients lists and trained staffs. In a pinch, I’d eat at either one.

Maybe that’s why I love Mexican food more now than I ever did before. (And believe me — that was already a lot.) Mexican cuisine — and Central and South American cuisine too — is relatively easy in which to eat gluten-free. Most mole sauces are thickened with a bit of flour, so beware. The better places fry their own chips, and they could be fried in the same oil as floured foods. Be sure to ask about everything. But most of the menu is open to us.

Still, I really think it’s the guacamole.

At the bottom of my apartment building in Manhattan sat Mama Mexico, one of my favorite spots in the city. Mariachi music wafted up to my window every Friday and Saturday night. The place was always packed. Frankly, it was too fricking expensive for me to eat there often. But when I did, I always started with the same experience: guacamole made at the table. The waiter brought over the tray, asked if we wanted chiles or tomatoes, hot sauce or onions. And then he took our choices and ground them up in a giant lava mortar. I couldn’t stop watching the avocadoes becoming this magic elixir.

I told you. I crave it. In fact, I have to stop writing right now, and have some guacamole.

* * *

A few weeks ago, I combined three of my greatest joys: feeding people, Mexican food, and my family.

In honor of my mother and brother’s birthday, everyone gathered at our home. Family parties are nothing but joy now. Elliott keeps us all jumping and happy. And we eat well. In fact, my mother always calls before the party and says, “What is he making? What are we eating?” The Chef loves feeding people, even more than I do.

In fact, I think for the Chef, when he feeds people, he falls in love with them, in a way. That’s why he cooks, to show his love.

And so we all gathered, and told stories, and watched Elliott draw his home with a rainbow above the roof. When it was time for our late lunch, the Chef brought out a big casserole dish of Mexican casserole.

When we were Breckenridge, his sister-in-law, Patty, brought a dish of this out, and his eyes grew wide. His mother made this when he was a child. “So did mine!” I told him, and we traded stories of green chiles in cans. My mother made the most delicious chicken enchiladas, with a white sauce she crafted seemingly out of thin air. Except for the nights when it was breakfast for dinner, that meal was my favorite. But I also loved that casserole with corn tortillas, ground beef, avocadoes, and plenty of cheese.

And so he came out bearing the Pyrex casserole full of cheesy baked goodness. Call it what you want: Mexican or “Mexican.”

We called it joy.


Quick Announcements

• If you live in Seattle, and you would like to have the Chef and I feed you, here’s your opportunity. This Monday, we are beginning a series of cooking classes at the wonderful PCC, called “Cooking for Couples.” Some of the classes are sold out, but there’s space in Monday’s class. Besides talking about how to split kitchen duties and dance together, we will be making lamb meatballs with red wine sauce, winter salad with citrus vinaigrette, roasted winter root vegetable risotto, and chocolate-cardamom tarts. And it’s all gluten-free, of course.

• Hey, good folks of Southern California. I’m going to be in Los Angeles next weekend. Watch this space for more details…..

• I’m honored and quite gobsmacked that this little site I call home has been nominated for a 2008 Bloggie. These web awards are like the Academy Awards of the internet. And since this year’s Oscars promise to be nothing more than a news conference announcing the winners, the Bloggies may be as exciting as they come this year. Should you wish to vote for this site in the Best Food Blog category, please click here.




Mexican Casserole

The joy of this recipe is that you can make it in a dozen different ways. If you want to take the time to make your own homemade corn tortillas, or braise some Rancho Gordo beans in leaf lard, or find some authentic chorizo to spice up the meat mix, you’re going to have an extraordinary meal in your hands.

Or, if you’re pressed for time, as we were that morning, you can also make it fast. Good refried beans out of a can (the kind that squelch when you stick in the spoon). Ground beef from the grocery store. Cheddar cheese and Monterey jack released from plastic wrappers. Even those black olives already sliced, in a can. Fresher is better, of course. But this one still tasted pretty damned good.


20 corn tortillas
1 pound ground beef, sautéed to medium-to-well done
3 cups “Spanish” rice (see recipe below)
1 ½ cup each cheddar and Monterey jack cheese
½ cup black olives
4 avocadoes, cut into chunks
1 cup salsa
1 cup sour cream

Preheat the oven to 450°.

Line the bottom of the casserole dish with corn tortillas. Scoop in 1/3 of the ground beef, Spanish rice, cheese, olives, avocadoes, and salsa. (Reserve ½ cup of each of the cheeses for the top.)

Top that with another layer of corn tortillas. Repeat the step above.

When you have reached the top of the casserole dish, sprinkle the tops of the corn tortillas with the remaining cheese.

Slide the casserole dish into the oven and let the casserole dish bake for 40 minutes, or until golden.

Feeds 8.

Spanish rice

1 poblano chile
1/2 medium onion, chopped
1 teaspoon garlic, chopped
1 teaspoon tomato paste
1 tablespoon chili powder
2 teaspoons ground cumin
½ cup chopped tomatoes (use canned this time of the year)
1 cup white rice (I like Basmati or Jasmine rice)
3 cups chicken stock
1 teaspoon each kosher salt and cracked black pepper

Roasting the poblano. Turn the oven onto 500°. When it has come to heat, throw in the poblano. Turn the chile every once in awhile, until the skin starts to blacken and blister. Remove the chile from the oven and put into a bowl. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and let the chile sit until it cools. Peel the chile, remove the seeds, and dice it.

Making the rice. Sauté the onion and garlic on medium-high heat until they are translucent and soft. Add the tomato paste, chile powder, and cumin until they release their fragrance. Add the tomatoes and the roasted chile. Pour in the rice and stir all the spices into it. Season with salt and pepper. Add the chicken stock. Bring it to a boil, and then reduce the heat to a simmer. Cook for about twenty minutes, or until the rice is soft and fluffy.

Feeds 4.