A Proper Torta

The Mexican torta, which as my readers know is Mexico's gift to mankind, is one of the greatest sandwiches in the world, if not the very best. I contend it is greater than the hamburger because the torta is a versatile vessel. Like the taco, another food of genius, the torta can contain pretty much anything you want inside, as long as it's coherent with Mexican food flavors. You can't have a torta de sushi but you can have a torta de tamal.

Notice the thin layers in the torta de milanesa on the right.

However, you have to know how to build it. It's not a free for all.  But this is where gringos miss the point about Mexican food. It's not a mountain of beans and shredded lettuce. There is a method to our culinary genius and you just don't get it.
Recently, I had an offensive torta experience at Pinche Taquería in New York City. There are many reasons to complain about the way this place sells their tortas:

1. Tortas are flexible and versatile. So the customer should be able to order a torta of ham with cheese or with egg or with whatever we damn well please, as long as it is coherent. These people won't do that for you. You can only choose from their meats. They will not make a ham and egg torta for you. This runs against the philosophy of Mexican food.
2. If every ingredient explodes out of the torta when you bite into it, the thing has not been properly assembled. A torta is a layered affair, not a hodgepodge of anything you can find in your fridge. And someone should declare a moratorium on shredded lettuce or shredded cabbage in Mexican food in the US. I don't know where you got that from. If I order a roast chicken torta and I can barely find the chicken among the shrubbery, this is not good. By the way, that chicken was unrecognizable and cut in little chunks.
3. I find it appalling that instead of tomato slices, these people use tomato chunks.
4. I like queso Oaxaca as much as anybody, but it has no place in cubes inside a torta de pollo asado.
Even with these awful mistakes, this torta was a thousand times better than any regular deli sandwich. Because it had good beans, and mild jalapeños and avocado.
Now, there are different torta assembling techniques, but what you have to know is that you layer the ingredients, which should be kind of flat or thin. That's why cubes of things don't work. See exhibit A above.
You can make hot tortas and room temperature tortas.
Imagine that you want a ham and cheese torta. You get bolillo o telera bread (Portuguese rolls are perfect). You slice the bread in 2 halves and heat it in on a grill.

At fabulous Tortas Don Polo (there's a branch in the Mexico City airport, you lucky travelers), they heat everything in the grill; the ham, they melt the cheese, etc.

Tortas Don Polo. Since 1956. Now at the airport.

You may spread some butter and/or mayo on the bread. 
Then spread refried beans on both halves, not arctic cold from your fridge, and not whole beans like in the offending torta above.  It should be at least room temperature.
Layer some avocado slices, the ham with melted cheese, thin tomato slices, jalapeños or chipotles according to your tolerance for spice. Lettuce is optional, but if you are going for it, it better be minimal. It's only there for crunch, so no arugula (like they do at Café Habana in Soho). I've never seen a torta with shredded cabbage in my life. Some people add onion.
The cheese can actually be American cheese or Oaxaca cheese. I like American.
The key is not to put a pound of meat inside. A few thin slices will do. The idea is small layers of many flavors, as opposed to one overpowering flavor surrounded by ineffectual decoration. A good torta should be a manageable affair and an explosion of flavors and textures in your mouth, not on your shirt.

Half eaten Don Polo torta de jamón con queso.

Since I arrived in 1992, my dream is to open a tortería in New York City.
Any venture capitalists out there?

By the way, yesterday I caught a couple of minutes of that aberration on TV, America's Next Best Restaurant.  Most of the food presented was disgusting chazerai. Absolute cluelessness and horrible concepts. This program is a crime.

Juay de Churro?

I am positively flummoxed. My post on Churros is now the most popular post of all time in the history of this blog (six years this very month!).
My pageviews have skyrocketed to the triple digits! It's like the Charlie Sheen of my posts.
From every corner of the world people want to know about churros. But juay? Juay now? Did they run across a churro on the street? Did they see the word in a headline on their local newspaper? Are we being invaded by churros from outer space? What the hell is going on?
Dear readers, I humbly beg you, if you know the answer, please tell me. There is a comment section here that nobody ever seems to use. Make yourselves useful.
Now I feel compelled to tell you everything I know about the churro. Here goes:
• Here is the Wikipedia entry on churros. I find it rather dry and uninspiring. How can you say that the main ingredient in a churro is flour? It's true, but it's like saying that the main ingredient in a cake is flour. It doesn't help anybody.
Churros are fried dough. And fried dough is happiness.
• You must know that in Mexican slang a churro is a word for "turd". It is also used to describe a bad movie. "Un churro Hollywoodense." A Hollywood turd.
• I suspect that some churros that I bought on the platform of the L train a couple of weeks ago was to blame for a sudden and devastating attack of the runs I had in the middle of Williamsburg.
• In Mexico City, the famous Churrería el Moro, which has been there since I believe the 1940's, used to serve only churros with hot chocolate (now I think they serve tortas too).
They had a sign that said:

1 churro 1 peso
2 churros 2 pesos
3 churros 3 pesos
4 churros 4 pesos

Almost ad infinitum.

• Churros are delicious, but they are no good if they are cold. They get chewy.

Enigma of The Week: Churros

 

I wake up today to find that my recent post on fried dough delicacies aka as churros broke all records for queries in one day, getting hundreds of queries yesterday, and threatening to unseat the number one post of all time, which still is Mexican Japanese peanuts (followed by What Makes You Sick in Mexico and Shocking Nazi Photos).
Am I missing something? Why this sudden global interest in the magnificent, greasy churro? Is this a secret code for revolution?
For the queries come from every corner of the planet: from Arlington, Texas, to Campagnia, Puglia and Lazio in Italy, Munich, Germany; Charleston, West Virginia; Oxford, England; Pune, India; Saint Petersburg, Russia; Colombo, Sri Lanka; Auckland, New Zealand and various cities in Canada.
Juay de Churro? Juay?
For all those enquiring minds, I must humbly confess that the lovely churro is not a Mexican but a Spanish invention. By the way, the best churros I've ever eaten are  porras con chocolate at Casa Aranda, Málaga, Spain. Absolute heaven.

The Magnificent Michelada

I am reposting this recipe from the dusty archives of this blog, so that those of you who have not been acquainted with this Mexican thirst-quenching marvel may attempt it at home. Unlike Mexican Japanese Peanuts, you can make a Michelada in your kitchen without fearing for the safety of the planet.
The Michelada is not only extremely refreshing, it also allows you to drink without keeling over too fast. I spent four months in Mexico a few years ago and basically subsisted on Micheladas to keep up with the bunch of professional alcoholics I called my friends.

Limes
Ice
Salt
Mexican beer

• Squeeze limes into lime juice. Get plump, juicy, sweet limes from Mexico, not the shriveled, puny, bitter limes they serve at most bars in NY.

• Rim the edge of a beer mug or highball glass with salt. You do this by moistening the rim with a lime cut in half. If you are adventurous and love a spicy kick, rim the glass with Tajin chili powder (it has lime and salt). This is how they do it at La Esquina.

• Put ice in the salt-rimmed glass. Add fresh squeezed lime juice to taste, about up to one third of the glass according to your tolerance for puckering up.

• Add Mexican beer. The blond beers like Corona, Sol, Pacifico, or Modelo Especial work great. I love it with Negra Modelo.

Enjoy!

Food for Thought

Mexican or Thai food? When I went to China I decided that Mexicans came from the Chinese. Many similarities. But after being in Thailand I am convinced that Thais and Mexicans are almost one and the same.  Sweet, generous people, with an ingrained resistance to saying no, an almost masochistic penchant for extremely spicy food and many similar tastes. I bought a bag of delicious tamarind balls rolled in salt, sugar and chili, just like the tamarindos we eat in Mexico. I saw women selling quince with chili and salt. What more evidence do you want.  You give up? The picture above is of cochinita pibil, the best I've had so far, at restaurant Azul y Oro at the campus of the National University in Mexico City.

Fried goodness. These little balls are crunchy outside and gummy inside and a little sweet.

Oodles of noodles. Siem Reap market, Cambodia.

Classic Chiang Mai curried noodles. The broth has turmeric and the noodles are both soft and crunchy. Like in Pozole, you can add your condiments: coconut milk, squeeze of lime, fiery chili, banana, shallots, fish sauce and pickled something. Delicious, although I ordered everything not too spicy. Which brings me to the problem of total lack of nuance when a foreigner asks for not too spicy, which a Thai interprets as no spice whatsoever. I could never communicate that I can tolerate a little spice. It was all or nothing.

More fried goodness. I could subsist on spring rolls.

In the market in Siem Reap you could see this gorgeous freshness...

...or fried tarantulas. To this day, I choose to think they are only for show. We also saw humongous fried cicadas, silkworms, and barbecued snake on a skewer, no doubt seasoned to perfection.

At the excellent La Noria in Siem Reap (the town next to Angkor Wat), we had a tasting menu of Cambodian food. The first course was green papaya salad, much milder than the Thai version, summer rolls and banana flower salad. Who knew bananas had flowers and you could eat them? A very delicate taste. By the way, the best bananas I ever had, I had in Cambodia. Incredibly flavorful, sweet and a little tart.

Second course was the two most famous national dishes, Amok, the subtle and elegant fish green curry, steamed in banana leaf, and a delicious beef stew. The third dish was a pedestrian chicken with cashews.

Dessert was passion fruit sorbet, warm coconut, coconut jelly and some other green jelly made of an exotic plant. They like gelatinous deserts. This meal, together with two fresh fruit juices, set us back $15 each.  Super expensive for Cambodia.

I don't know what is worse. This, or this:

 Though the name is genius. Either a blend between a pizza and a quesadilla, or a pesadilla, which is Spanish for nightmare.

La Gran Tenochtitlán II

Best roast chicken in town they claim, at Gili Pollos. 

The famous strawberries and cream birthday cake from La Gran Vía.

They sell tomato pulque in there!

Candied fruit at lovely Dulcería de Celaya 

An anafre, perfect for cooking marvels on the street. 

Piloncillo: packed brown sugar for traditional sweets, café de olla and more. 

Traditional ice cream vendor. These are new. 

A new invention: jícama on a stick with chili or sprinkles

Conchas: best pan dulce for breakfast.

Mexican Feeding Frenzy

Tuna Sashimi Tostadas at Contramar

Crepas de Flor de Calabaza at Casa de las Sirenas

Mezcal Variety at La Botica

Apple with Tamarind and Chili. Best Chazerai ever. 

 

 

 

 

Orange with chili, fava beans with lime and chili to go with the michelada and the mezcalito

.

 

The best tacos de carnitas ever, only Saturdays and Sundays at the Mercado de Medellín

El Cardenal and their huevos. Best Mexican breakfast in the world.

I ordered poached eggs in black bean broth with queso fresco. Divine.

Huevos Hacienda de Puebla. Yum, whatever that means.

Pilgrimage to the Pozole at the small food market in Coyoacán. Best Pozole in the Universe.

The classic Margarita from 1945 at swanky San Angel Inn.

Salsas and limes for the tacos

 

 

Amazing tacos al pastor at El Califa de León

The tacos al pastor at El Huequito. Some say best in town. Different and delish.

Quesadillas de queso Oaxaca y flor de calabaza at El Cardenal.

Someone should write an illustrated encyclopedia of Mexican food. It would have to be like 500 tomes. In the interest of science, I volunteer to sample every dish.

Halloween Vs. Day of Dead

Spooky holiday deathmatch!
And the uncontested winner still is the Mexican Day of the Dead! Both holidays, I assume, arise from the same Christian holiday of All Hallows Eve, or Día de Todos los Santos, in Spanish. I'm a Jew, so don't think for a second that I am about to give you the historical context for this asseveration. I'm talking out of my ass. But I can still tell you why Day of Dead kicks Halloween's ass. If this starts the next Mexican-American war, so be it.

Basically, there is a very simple reason: Day of the Dead, which I assume, also out of my ass, has been going on in this continent longer than Halloween, has not yet reached a stage of commercial apotheosis in which its original meaning is totally lost under the maniacal ringing of the cash register. Yes, you can buy pan de muerto, Day of the Day bread, or sugar or chocolate skulls with your name or that of your loved ones inscribed on them, but most of the money spent on Day of the Dead celebrations goes towards buying bunches of cempazúchitl, the orange flower that decorates the altars to your beloved dead, and the stuff that goes in said altars, which is the stuff the dead used to love when they were alive (mostly involving tequila, mezcal, cigarettes, Japanese Mexican peanuts and other sundry pleasures and vices). No need to be gouged on a green itchy wig and a cheap Tinkerbell costume at Ricky's.

Moreover, the Mexican Day of the Dead tradition is a fascinating combo of the indigenous cult of the dead of the Precolumbian cultures with the Christian tradition that was shoved down their throats later on. Whereas Halloween has long ago lost its connection to its original intent, whatever that was, Day of the Dead insists on getting emotionally and spiritually close to the actual dead, not just look like them.  Besides, in Mexico, people are natural artists. They make things with flowers and paper and cardboard, not just plastic made in Taiwan.

Unfortunately, Halloween has made enormous inroads all over Mexico. I spent Day of the Dead in Oaxaca several years ago and kids were dressed as mummies or ghouls and trick or treating for cash, as opposed to candy, which comes in handy when you actually have issues getting enough food to eat. But the beautiful, deeply personal, deeply heartfelt tradition of Day of the Dead prevails.

That's my hero, Benito Juarez in the left bottom corner.

Yes, there were some obnoxious rich Mexican juniors after midnight in the cemetery who hired a band of Mariachis and were disturbing everyone with their drunken hollering (and, of course, if the humble people honoring their dead were as annoyed as I was, they did not show it). But to walk into a cemetery late at night and see the graves lit by candles surrounded by these gorgeous flowers, and see the families sitting at the graves, bringing their dead their atole (sweet corn porridge), and communing with them, that certainly beats the hordes of drunken idiots tottering about the Village in New York City. I'm no party pooper. I used to hate Halloween when I was a child, but I like it in New York because the grown ups get dressed up. I think it's lots of fun. But it has become pointless. And isn't it richer when celebrations actually have a point?

Halloween masks in Oaxaca

"I'm just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round..."

Grave at the cemetery. 

 

The entrance to Oaxaca's cemetery at night

 

 

 

American plastic ghosts decorate a grave with Mexican panache

"You are dust and to dust you shall return"

 

 

A humble cemetery during the day.