Who would have dreamed a train from hell could slice through pristine jungle for two days? We’d have gotten off, escaped, even tried to walk out, except for two problems. We didn’t know where we were, and most of the Mexicans spoke Indian languages, not Spanish. The preceding weeks of restful, carefree travel hadn’t prepared us for this passage.

The huge ceiling fan clicked slowly around, keeping the Central American heat from being overwhelming. We left our hotel room in the late afternoon, as we had in mid-morning, only to be greeted by the same spectacle. Hundreds of people, especially children, mixed with a few mounted vaqueros, rushed to the train station as the engine heaved and black soot belched forth. The rails were in Tapachula, Mexico’s main link with the world. Every day, the townspeople welcomed or saw the daily train off.

It was early July 1972, back in what I call my rambling and adventuring days. Married a year, my wife and I bought plane tickets from Tampa, Florida, to Panama, with a stop in San Jose, Costa Rica. We had no intention of going to Panama, but the ticket allowed us to exit in Costa Rica and show the immigration officials we had a paid way out of the country. It was a trick that allowed one-way international travel.

After a thrilling five weeks touring Costa Rica, it was time to return to the United States. The Tico bus ran from San José to Guatemala City. The trip took three days, stopping each night, and rattled through five countries. Entering Guatemala everyone had to exit the bus while workers sprayed clouds of white chemical dust to ensure no pests harmful to animals or crops crossed the border. From Guatemala City, we caught a bus to the border and walked over to Tapachula, Mexico, where we lazed around enjoying the little town before heading north.

It had been a wonderful trip, adventuresome, educational, enlightening and romantic–everything a person could ask for during a carefree youth. We weren’t loaded with money and had to be careful. Surprisingly, my wife, Pam, and I often ordered shrimp. One could get a ten ounce glass of shrimp for about thirty-two cents. The cost in the states would have been five dollars. But shrimp was cheap in Mexico. The dishes I chose turned out to be barely edible to the American palate or had far fewer shrimp in comparison to Pam’s selections. I endured an amazing run of bad luck as we tried different dishes. At Tapachula, it was the worst. I got a few small shrimp over some so-so rice, while she got the twelve largest sautéed shrimp I have ever seen. The largest loomed in excess of twelve inches. They worked their way down to the smallest at about eight inches. Years later, I can recall her shrimp dinner with great envy and the upcoming train ride that counter-balanced all the wonders we’d enjoyed on our journey.

Strolling toward the station, Pam said, “I’ve never ridden a train. Why don’t we see if we can get one to Mexico City or Oaxaca tomorrow?” We’d taken buses, and safely caught rides with people wealthy enough to have automobiles. This was a much different Mexico than exists today, but a train ride seemed like just the right idea.

It was a challenge purchasing train tickets in Spanish for the first time, but we managed. First class tickets for the three-day train trip to Mexico City cost seven dollars each. If I was ever grateful I splurged for first class, it was this time. I don’t know if either of us would have survived riding second or third class.

At nine a.m. the next morning we walked down the dusty dirt street saying adios to a few amigos we made in Tapachula. I wore jeans and an old mustard-colored tee shirt. Pam was the picture of sexy American youth dressed in eggshell white jeans and a crisp white blouse. She anticipated a luxury ride.

Soon, we boarded. The tropical heat and humidity joined the crowd gathering to wave goodbye to the northbound train. The train slowly chugged forward. Passengers hung from the open windows making last second bargains with the vendors running, with bright, unbuttoned shirts, beside the train. It was a three-day and two-night trip to Mexico City. Because Mexico is so mountainous, the train had to cross from the Pacific to Veracruz on the east coast and then back to Mexico City.

In the excitement of watching the town’s people wave goodbye and taking in our fellow passengers, neither of us noticed how dirty the train was. Ten minutes into the trip, Pam leaned over and an eight inch smudge of black showed against her stark white pants. Dirt and filth would be a problem but not the worst: for the train car quickly turned into a sooty, intolerable sauna. The slow moving train never gained speed and jolted along at perhaps, twenty miles per hour, so slow it couldn’t stir a breeze through the open windows.

Dense, rich, vibrant jungle swallowed us. Thick spaghetti-like vines crowded trees. Waxy dry leaves, glinting from the sunlight, were more ominous than anything a Tarzan movie had ever portrayed. The variety of Mexican passengers, all Indians, the new sounds, smells and sights captivated me. Pam, much sharper, was already viewing her train ride with trepidation. Her quickly darkening white jeans and blouse revealed much more to her.

The quaint wooden passenger seats we had enjoyed seeing and talking about when we boarded changed during the first hour. Antique and picturesque disappeared from our vocabulary. Instead they were straight, stiff planks passing for seats. I was thinking my fat behind is a heck of a lot bonier than I’d imagined, but Pam’s chief complaint was, “They’ve been sprayed with coal dust.”

I ignored her early lamentations by running my mouth in limited Spanish or make-do sign language with the always friendly Mexicans. The excitement was still there. I didn’t care that the second and third class passengers had boarded with sheep, goats and chickens.

My only misgiving, as I leaned out the window to look around, would turn out to be the least of our coming troubles: “Damn, I can’t believe it. The railroad spikes are so loose they’re bouncing up and down.”

Sitting on a hard slat for a few hours has a way of taking away from the jungle splendor, the colorful birds, occasional animal life, and glimpses of lone huts or clusters of huts with native life on display. Perspiration soaked our clothes. Evaporation wasn’t a possibility in the humidity. Sweat plopped forth until enough collected that gravity pulled drops downward. Open windows provided only slight relief in the steamy train car, but allowed the billowing acrid smoke to drift in, further choking the car’s already simmering hot air. Still, they couldn’t be closed as there was actually more steam-heat inside of the car than outside. Occasionally, sparks or fire would drift in delivering a quick burn. After many hours, the shy native women realized our rapidly darkening pale-faces weren’t masking fearsome demons from the Northland. They’d bring babies and young children to our forward seat so the kids could escape the worst of the incoming smoke and debris.

Despite her long brown hair being wet, slick, sticky and stringy, I didn’t agree with Pam’s early mumbling, “We’ve entered the Twilight Zone.” She was certain our fellow travelers stared at us as though we were exotic creatures totally out of place on the jungle train. “They have to be wondering what possessed two rich gringos to get on the Mexican train to hell.”

The truth was: any American in those years was a rich gringo to the natives. Our little bit of luggage and the few possessions we carried were worth far more than the wealthiest of our fellow first class passengers. These were poor Indians, but had enough money to spare their families second and third class passage. But what caught our attention then, as it always did in more primitive areas of Mexico and Central America, was these passengers were proud we traveled with them, a part of them. This was a once in a lifetime experience for many of the riders. We were a story. What we did would be related many times in their villages. Surprising me most was the realization the heat and humidity was taking a harsher toll on our fellow passengers than on me. The rolling oven, passing for a train car, was far warmer than the shade in their villages.

The worst reality of hell train hadn’t hit yet. It was waiting, looming just out of sight. When our bladders were full it launched its final horror. I won’t describe the men’s cesspool as I was occasionally able to get off the train and find a tree during a three minute stop. The women weren’t so lucky. The ladies room was a square, bare metal room at the front right portion of our car. It was like a giant metal shower stall with no light beyond what worked its way through a few cracks to reveal a drain hole in the middle of the floor. All waste was deposited directly on the rocks between the tracks. That bathroom remains the most vile, filthy and disgusting room Pam has encountered. You may think trains are a relatively new invention, but this bathroom hadn’t been cleaned since Methuselah’s great-uncle Fritz was in short pants. It explains why she could enter the Guinness Book of World records for going the longest without relieving herself.

By early afternoon I had to agree with Pam’s gloomy assessments. It was apparent there was no escape. It was a monotonous clack-clack-clack except on those rare steep downhill bursts when the occasional clackety-clack filled the air. The reality was an external nightmare. The next thirty-six hours would be a constant torturous rickety ride, while we searched and prayed for a way out. Despite such a realization, hope never completely leaves. The passengers had gotten over the fairness of our skin. Their children enjoyed the few packaged crackers and sweets we had. The question was could all of us survive the grueling ride? Somehow, we had united. Although we withstood the heat better, they had other advantages. None of them would ride the train as far as us and they could drink the water. Even for that relief we were limited to making the small canteen we had last. If we drained the canteen, it would take hours for the purification tablets to work, so we had to just sip. It was the one item we couldn’t share and gratefully water they could safely drink was the one thing they had in plentiful supply.

The train moved slow enough boys walking the track could run along and keep up with it for a hundred yards. Along the way a few villagers here and there would have their belongings along the track and signal. A village wasn’t required as the train would stop in remote jungle and pick up an Indian or two. But the great thrill, the great hope, would arise when the train periodically stopped at a town having in excess of twenty huts. The goats and floppy eared cows ignored the excitement and continued grazing. But isolated humanity is different, and the natives flooded forth from the surrounding jungle and patches of mango and banana trees to see what great mysteries the train might have brought from the city.

We remained a prized and novel experience to these wonderful people, despite our ever darkening appearance. The occasional hand wiping away sweat revealed the wondrous pale skin that drew smiling, “ yi’yi’yi’s” and great admiration from the villagers. It was just too hot and miserable to enjoy our star status. Instead, it was to heck with the wonderful villagers who had never seen a white man. We were interested in the worldly, experienced entrepreneurs in the village. The guys who had moved up the economic ladder to be vendors might have something we’d need. They lugged out huge, American made metal milk pails, which indicated they’d been manufactured in Wisconsin. The dinted pails were filled with the only type of coffee made in Mexico until around the 1980s, with only a few exceptions. They held tepid, overly sweet coffee with plenty of unpasteurized milk to sell along with a few tamales their wives prepared. There was never a sign of a cold drink, or even a canned drink we could have purchased to help with our thirst. Ice was a dream, but something the people had never been seen or even heard of in these settlements. Still, these stops were frequent, and for a moment or two we could jump off and enjoy temperatures twenty degrees cooler than in the car.

Unfortunately, each stop always gave Pam hope a village would have enough population to support a store and perhaps even a road that would lend itself to her escape.

At dusk the second day we arrived in Veracruz, feeling beaten, battered, dehydrated and distraught. Veracruz felt like the next thing to heaven. We were free, ice was rare but a reality, and we didn’t give a damn about people staring at our haggard appearance. We had an hour layover, and after draining all the lemonade and cold drinks we could hold, I felt better. “Let’s hop back on for Mexico City.”

Her stern, wide-eyed stare brought me back to my senses. We found a hotel where we could soak away six months of grime gained in two days and hire someone to burn our clothes.

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Photo Gallery: Mysteries of the Simple Tortilla

You’re at your favorite Mexican restaurant and decide to enjoy a great tortilla with salsa and cheese. You palm the warm disc and spoon chili along the middle bend. That looks great, especially after you sprinkle cheese over the filling. You fold your masterpiece and take a bite. Great, but a second later, your tortilla splits and your creation spills, making a mess. Could a tortilla possibly be more complicated than it appears?

The tastiest tortillas ever?

Among a cluster of thatch huts in a Mayan village, where the Yucatán Peninsula fuses into the mainland, María patted out the tastiest tortillas I ever consumed. In 1972, the scanty maps and broken rock roads were always an adventure. Only Mayan was spoken. Mexico proper, much less the modern world, had yet to touch that village. I’m unsure which Mexican state-or even country-we were in, as British Honduras and Guatemala abutted that region. María, my friend’s wife with a year-old baby on one hip, deftly worked corn tortillas over a sizzling hot three-hundred-year old, coal-black, flat piece of iron. A mango, a half dozen guanábana and banana trees provided shade. A light wind danced through the village providing some relief in the tropics. As if by magic, tortilla after steaming tortilla spilled forth from María’s skillful touch. To this day I have no idea what meats we rolled in those tortillas. I enjoyed the meal and now, many years later, I appreciate how lucky I was to experience that simple isolated banquet.

Tortillas, tacos, tostadas and quesadillas

I never tasted Mexican food, much less a tortilla, until deep inside Mexico during 1971. Since then I’ve spent a month or more in Mexico, virtually every year.  Over time, I’ve found the simple tortilla is a marvel of complexity. Since that first trip I’d learned a bit of Spanish, but got confused in our American restaurants. The word “taco” was used for tortilla, and it took me a while to figure out why I was being served a hard shell. To this day, I rarely hear the word taco used in Mexico as we do, meaning a hard-shelled or tostada. Mexican amigos use the term, although quesadilla actually means what we call taco in the USA., not a cheese-filled tortilla. Quesadilla, from the nahuatl, “Quetzaditzin,” means “bend tortilla” and is properly used with any kind of food in Mexico City and central Mexico. For the rest of the country, it means tortilla with cheese inside.

Corn or wheat?

If I’ve confused you so far, hang on, for Mexico is known for being a puzzle in many ways. Still, let’s keep it simple for a while. We have the corn tortilla, tortilla de maíz, and the wheat flour tortilla, tortilla de harina. The origin of the tortilla is Mexico. The Maya have a saying concerning corn that is very close to the Biblical, “Wheat is the staff of life.” With a history dating back 10,000 years, according to some archeologists, you might reasonably expect there’s something more to that flat little disk called a tortilla.

The first thing you should discover when reaching for your tortilla is a burnt finger or two from tortillas too hot to immediately handle. If this isn’t the case, your restaurant management doesn’t know much about tortillas and perhaps not much about Mexican cuisine. A cold or cool tortilla will crack, spilling your ingredients, but a steam-engine hot one allows you to enjoy your meal properly.  I’m personally satisfied good Mexican restaurants have some sort of nuclear device hidden away that imparts long-lasting heat to cloth-covered tortillas. 

Now that we have the necessary basic tortilla information, we reach a major question. Which surface of the tortilla is the proper side to roll or to throw on a grill over live coals? This, too, influences whether your tortilla cracks. I’d guess the average person has eaten fifty percent of their tortillas incorrectly.

If one watches a tortilla-making machine as they spill forth, the observer will notice the slightest curve as they are stacked and bundled. The hand patted tortilla will possess a curve too, albeit more difficult to see. If we carry forth our meal in true Mexican fashion, we’ll use either a grill or flat metal or even a slightly pan-shaped, drum-like piece of metal over coals, or an open fire for heating. Proper preparation requires the tortilla be turned three times. The concave shape should face up on two of those turns.

Hand-made superior to machine-made

Today, many Mexican restaurants advertise tortillas prepared by hand.  It is a sad state of affairs that mechanization, like it did with bread, reduces the flavor and personal touch that once influenced the tortilla. Modern Mexicans live in a fast-paced world and a properly patted-out tortilla is becoming a thing of the past. Still, most Mexicans recall Mom or Grandma making tortillas, and appreciate the difference in quality and taste. Enterprising restaurateurs have stepped forth to offer hand-made tortillas to their customers.

One mystery of the tortilla is the fact that several women working with masa, the dough, from the exact same batch, produce tortillas that taste differently.  I can’t claim to recognize the variances unless there’s an extreme difference in flavor. However, after a lifetime of enjoying tortillas, Mexicans immediately recognize one as being superior to another. 

A lady in the town of Tecolutla is consistently recognized as making the best tortillas. She jokes: “My tortillas taste better because I don’t wash my hands after changing the baby’s diaper. “

While she’s teasing about making tortillas with a superior flavor, I’ve discussed the question with several Mexicans. The consensus is the odor of the person’s hands: dead skin cells and oil influence the dough in tiny ways that lead to differences in the ultimate flavor. All I know is, that over the years, I have become Mexican enough to much prefer hand-made tortillas to the machine-produced variety. I’m glad Mexico allows a more liberal attitude to restaurant health codes. Mexicans definitely enjoy a richer and more delicious variety of foods than other North Americans, and that smorgasbord of culinary delights is carried on the back of the simple tortilla. Yes, to this day, I still wonder if Maria washed her hands after changing diapers so many years ago.

Related posts

• From Masa To Mesa: The Many Faces Of Tortillas
• Making tortillas
• Tortilla Soup

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Mushrooms proliferate in the mist-covered hills of north central Veracruz, the only place I have ever seen chileatole made with them, in this case with setas or oyster mushrooms. It would probably work with other fresh, wild mushrooms, but for me, the meaty texture of oyster mushrooms is perfect for this soup, which manages to be rustic and elegant at the same time.

Ingredients:

• 2 pounds oyster mushrooms
• 2 large cloves garlic, unpeeled
• 2 1″-inch thick slices white onion
• 2 ancho chiles, seeded and soaked in hot water until softened
• 1 chipotle or morita chile, seeded and soaked in hot water until softened
• ¼ teaspoon each ground cumin and ground allspice
• 2 tablespoons corn oil
• 2 quarts good, homemade chicken stock
• 1 sprig epazote
• salt to taste

Preparation:

Roast the garlic and onion on a hot comal or griddle until soft. Peel the garlic cloves.

Place the garlic, onion and chiles in a blender with enough water (or use the chile soaking water) to move the blender blades. Puree until smooth.

Heat the oil in a large pot, add the puree and cook, stirring, until it bubbles and the bottom of the pot can be seen. Add the stock, mushrooms and epazote and bring to a boil

Lower heat and cook until the mushrooms are tender. Add salt to taste, and serve piping hot. Serves 8.

Link to Source Article

Published or Updated on: May 1, 2006 by Karen Hursh Graber © 2006

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The combination of meat and squash is typically West African, combined here with tomatoes, an indigenous Mexican ingredient, and spices introduced by the Spaniards.

The original recipe, as presented by Raquel Torres and Dora Elena Carriaga in Recetario Afromestizo de Veracruz leaves out the tomatoes and spices, but nowadays most jarocha cooks use them.

Ingredients

• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 3 pounds beef short ribs, cut into serving size pieces
• ¾ pound tomatoes, peeled, seeded and chopped
• 1 medium onion, coarsely chopped
• 2 large cloves garlic, chopped
• 2 teaspoons salt, or to taste
• ½ teaspoon ground black pepper
• ½ teaspoon ground cumin
• ½ teaspoon ground cloves
• beef broth
• 1 pound calabaza squash (West Indian squash) or butternut squash

Preparation

In a Dutch oven or large pot, heat the vegetable oil, add the short ribs and brown on all sides. Remove the short ribs from the pot and pour off all but 1 tablespoon fat.

Add the tomatoes and onion and cook until the tomatoes have rendered their juice and the onion is soft. Add the garlic, cook a couple more minutes; add the salt, pepper and spices and stir to combine.

Return the short ribs to the pot, add beef broth to cover, bring to a boil, cover the pot and lower the flame. Cook until the ribs are tender. (Here in Mexico, many cooks would use a pressure cooker, which cuts down considerably on time and fuel.)

While the meat is cooking, peel the squash, discard the stringy pulp, and cut into 2-inch cubes. Add to the pot with the short ribs and continue cooking until the squash is tender. Serves 4.

Link to Source Article
Immigrant Cooking in Mexico: The Afromestizos of Veracruz

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In most of Mexico, these fried patties are made with white potatoes, whereas in Veracruz they are made with sweet potatoes or yucca. This cheese-filled version is more versatile than most, because it can be served as an hors d’oeuvre as well as a side dish.

Ingredients:

• 2 pounds sweet potatoes
• 1 cup all-purpose flour
• salt to taste
• 1 pound queso fresco, farmer cheese or ricotta (not ricotta salata)
• Corn oil or vegetable oil for frying

Preparation:

Scrub the sweet potatoes, boil in their jackets until tender, cool and peel. Alternatively, prick them with a fork in several places, cook until tender in the microwave, cool and peel.

In a mixing bowl, mash the sweet potatoes, adding salt to taste, with a potato masher or fork to a smooth consistency. Add the flour and combine well. The dough should have a uniform consistency.

Using moist hands, shape into 8 large balls (for side dish servings) or 12 smaller ones (for appetizers or hors d’oeuvres.) Poke a hole into each and stuff it with about 2 teaspoons cheese for the smaller size or 1 tablespoon for the larger. Re-form the dough around the cheese to cover, and gently flatten each ball into a patty.

Fry the patties in about 1 ½” – 2″ hot oil, turning once, until golden brown on both sides. Drain on paper towels. Makes 12 as an appetizer, hors d’oeuvre or buffet item.

Link to Source Article

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Shellfish such as river shrimp and crawfish are found in abundance in the many rivers that run through the vanilla growing region of eastern Mexico. Called xanath in the Totonac language, shrimp are particularly delicious when combined with the flavor of vanilla. This recipe calls for vanilla extract, a product prepared by forcing alcohol through liquified vanilla pods. Artificially flavored vanilla extract is extremely inferior to the natural product, and would be a poor substitute for the real thing in this recipe.

Here in Mexico, the best vanilla extract is labeled Ligitamo de Papantla, to indicate its origin in the finest vanilla-producing area.

• 1 1/2 to 2 pounds medium shrimp, shelled and deveined
• 1 medium white onion, peeled and finely chopped
• 1 small carrot, peeled and finely chopped
• 1 small stalk celery, finely chopped
• 3 cloves garlic, finely minced
• 3 teaspoons pure vanilla extract
• 2 teaspoons freshly-ground black pepper
• salt to taste
• 1/2 cup unsalted butter
• 1/2 cup olive oil
• 1 cup dry white wine
• 1 1/2 cups chicken broth

Marinate the shrimp in a mixture of the onion, carrot, celery, garlic, vanilla, salt and pepper in a non-reactive container for 1 1/2-2 hours, refrigerated.

Melt the butter in a large skillet with the olive oil and saute the shrimp mixture, turning frequently, until the shrimp are just pink.

At this point, more vanilla extract may be added to taste.

Transfer the shrimp to a dish and add the wine and chicken broth to the skillet, cooking until the wine has reduced and the sauce thickened.

Place the shrimp in the skillet with the sauce and cook quickly until just heated through.

Overcooking shrimp results in a significant loss of flavor.

This dish is nicely accompanied by white rice, a simple, lightly-dressed green salad and French rolls or bolillos.

Serves 8.

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Some of our favorite ways to eat seafood in Veracruz are the cold salads and cocktails featuring shrimp, crab and other local seafood. This recipe for cuaresmeños – large jalapeños – stuffed with crab meat can be made a day ahead and kept in the refrigerator, then served either cold or at room temperature as hors d’ouevres, appetizers or a light lunch dish. Try using tuna or baby shrimp in place of the crabmeat.

Ingredients:

For the chiles:

• 24 cuaresmeño – large jalapeño – chiles
• 2 quarts water
• 1/2 cup white vinegar
• 2 tablespoons salt
• 2 piloncillo cones or 2 cups firmly packed dark brown sugar

For the filling:

• 3 1/2 cups picked-over cooked crabmeat, shredded
• 2 tablespoons finely chopped green onions
• 2 roma tomatoes, seeded and finely chopped
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• juice of 1/2 lime
• salt and pepper to taste
  

Place the chiles in a large saucepan, cover with water, add vinegar and salt and bring to a boil. Immediately remove pan from heat and rinse chiles under cold water.

Return chiles to saucepan, add water to cover and 1 of the piloncillo cones or 1 cup of the sugar. Bring to a boil lower heat and simmer 5 minutes. Drain and repeat procedure using the remaining piloncillo cone or sugar. Drain and rinse chiles and allow to cool. Make a lengthwise slit up one side of each chile and remove seeds.

While chiles are cooling, combine all filling ingredients, mixing well. Divide filling evenly among chiles and serve either chilled or at room temperature.

Makes 24 hors d’ouevres.

Link to Source Article

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This sauce originated in Huatusco, in north central Veracruz. Comapeños are very small, dried red chiles abundant in this region. You can substitute chiles de arbol for the comapeños, but I recommend using less, since I find the arbol chiles to be hotter. If you do any traveling around Mexico, look for comapeño chiles in the markets of Orizaba and Cordoba, Veracruz.

This recipe is adapted from Larousse de la Cocina Mexicana by Alicia Gironella de’ Angeli and Giorgio de’ Angeli. It is also good made with pork.

Ingredients

For the chicken:

• • • 2 pounds of chicken leg and thigh pieces
    • 2 quarts water
    • 2 large cloves garlic, peeled
    • ½ medium onion, peeled
    • salt to taste

For the tlatonile:

• • 15 comapeño chiles, seeded
  • 1 ancho chile, seeded and deveined
  • 1 cup sesame seeds
  • 1 cup pumpkin seeds
  • 4 tablespoons corn oil
  • 1-2 sprigs epazote

Cook the chicken in the water with garlic, onion and salt until cooked through, about 40 minutes. Strain and reserve the broth.

In a dry pan, roast the chiles, sesame seeds and pumpkin seeds until the chiles are just fragrant, turning them once. Make sure not to cook them for too long, since scorching them imparts a bitter flavor. Grind the chiles and seeds with a little broth in a blender or molcajeteto form a paste.

Heat the oil in a large pot or cazuela, add the chile paste and cook, stirring constantly, for15 minutes. Add 1 ½ cups of the reserved broth, the cooked chicken pieces and the epazote. Let the tlatonile cook for another 10 minutes over low heat, adding more broth if necessary. It should have the consistency of heavy cream.

Serve with white rice. Serves 6.

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This variation on traditional machuca uses crispy chicharrones (pork cracklings), which give a good texture to the dish and impart the taste of pork without having to use the traditional lard.

A cousin of the West African fufu, machuca is best made with barely ripe plantains, those that are still mostly yellow. (They can have some black spots but not have turned mostly black.)

Garlic lovers can feel free to use more roasted garlic to taste. Mexican cooks usually roast unpeeled garlic on a comal, but use the oven method if you prefer.

Ingredients

• 3 large yellow plantains
• 2 heads roasted garlic, peeled and squeezed to extract pulp
• 1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
• ½ pound chicharrones (crisp pork rinds)

Cut the unpeeled plantains in half crosswise and place in a saucepan with water to cover. Bring to a boil, cover saucepan and reduce heat. Cook until the plantains are tender, about 20 minutes. A knife should easily pierce through the skin and flesh.

Drain and peel the plantains, place in a bowl and mash with a potato or bean masher. Add the garlic pulp and salt, incorporating thoroughly.

Break up the chicharrones into small pieces and mix them into the machuca. Serve immediately, before the chicharrones become soggy. If preparing the machuca in advance, do not add the chicharrones until just before serving. Alternatively, serve this as an appetizer, using the pieces of chicharrones as “chips” for scooping the machuca. Serves 6.

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This recipe is adapted from Alquímias y Atmósferas del Sabor, by Doña Carmen Titita Ramírez, proprietress of Mexico City’s famed El Bajío restaurant. The plantains should be cooked a day in advance, to give them time to “set” and make the mashed plantains easier to roll, since they are the only ingredient in the empanada “dough.” Mexican plantain empanadas are delicious filled with picadillo, but can also be filled with cheese.

Ingredients

• 3 fully ripe (mostly black) plantains
• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
• 2 roma tomatoes, finely chopped
• 2 medium white onions, finely chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• ½ pound pork butt, cooked and shredded
• ½ pound beef flank or skirt, cooked and shredded
• 2 ounces blanched, slivered almonds
• 2 ounces green olives, coarsely chopped
• 2 ounces capers
• 2 ounces raisins
• salt to taste
• vegetable oil for frying

Cut the plantains in half crosswise and place them in a saucepan with water to cover. Bring to a boil, cover saucepan and lower heat. Cook about 20 minutes, or until the plantains can be pierced with a knife through the skin and flesh. Very ripe plantains have a shorter cooking time, so check for tenderness after 15 minutes. Drain and peel the plantains. Cover and refrigerate.

The following day, prepare the filling. Heat the vegetable oil, add the tomatoes and onions and sauté until the tomatoes render their juice and the onions are soft. Add the garlic and continue cooking for a couple of minutes. Add the meats, almonds, olives, capers, raisins and salt to taste. If the mixture is very dry, add a little broth. (Mexican cooks never discard the broth left from cooking meat.) Continue cooking the filling over very low heat for 15-20 minutes. Allow mixture to cool.

In a bowl, mash the plantains with a potato or bean masher. Wet your hands or coat them with a bit of vegetable oil and roll the mashed plantains into 12 balls. Place each ball between two pieces of plastic wrap and flatten them with a rolling pin, or use a plastic-lined tortilla press.

Fill each circle of dough with picadillo, pinch the edges to seal them, and fry the empanadas in hot oil, turning once, until golden brown on both sides. Drain on paper towels and serve. Makes 12 empanadas.

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