DC Culinarian

May Mexican -- Abuelita's Arroz Con Leche

I was incredibly excited when the DC Culinarian made his proclamation that May was to be Mexican month. After all, people, this is my soul food. I spent nearly every summer in Mexico as a child and my Abuelita would often come and stay with my family for a few months out of every year. She would spend hours in the kitchen preparing our favorite foods and, when in DC, would scour the city for hard-to-come-by Mexican ingredients, which were few and far between in the 70s and 80s (did I just date myself? MOVING ON).

I was always intimidated to try out Abuelita’s recipes. After all, they were never ever written down, never measured. Whenever we would ask how she made something, she would pretend not to know. “A little of this and a little of that." I think she was guarding her role as the Awesome Abuelita, Producer of All Things Delicious. 

Side Note: There is a concept, cultural perhaps, but certainly propagated by grannies worldwide, that silent suffering is noble but laying on a guilt trip is more satisfying. You know, I worked SO HARD. It took me FOREVER. But I did it for you…because I love you. And she did do it because she loved me. No doubt about it.

Sadly, the years of feasting at Abuelita’s table have come to an end as Alzheimer's has robbed her ability to do many things, including cooking. Even worse, because recipes were not written, but prepared by memory, they are locked in the vault of her mind and no one has the key.  

Now that I have thoroughly depressed you, please know that this story has a happy ending. Imagine my delight and glee when about 2 years ago, my mother came across a folded piece of paper, tucked in a letter from the late 1970s where Abuelita had written down a recipe for her daughter, thousands of miles away, and homesick like crazy. Not only that, but the recipe is one of my all-time favorites – Arroz con Leche, or rice pudding. Victory!!!

Imagine, also, my great surprise to find out that there is nothing difficult at all about preparing Arroz con Leche. So much for all that "suffering". Abuelita, the gig is up. I am about to break all of her rules and share her recipe on the Internet. But it is worth it. Super easy, ultimate comfort food, commonly served in Mexico. It’ll do your soul some good.

*note: I eliminated the raisins, which the DC Culinarian hates. HAAAATES. With a hot fiery passion not unsimilar to the burning heat of a thousand suns. HAAAAAATES. But for all of you normal people, you can add them in.

Additional photo and recipe below the jump.

Culinarian Abroad -- Oaxacan Weekend

It was late Friday night, and The-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Culinarian and I were wheels-down in Oaxaca, Mexico after enduring a long day of traveling and some of the worst barbecue Houston International Airport's Terminal B has to offer. Food was on our minds, and after a hurried buenas noches with Sra. Conchita, the incomparable dueña of Casa De Mis Recuerdos, we struck out for Casa Oaxaca.

The restaurant, which sits just across the street from the splendiferous Templo de Santo Domingo in downtown Oaxaca, has been a sort of culinary yardstick for us ever since we first visited last year and had one of the best meals of our lives. It was one of the (many) reasons we fell in love with the city and chose it as the site for our wedding.

So back we went, and we were not disappointed. As hinted at in my previous post, Oaxaca is all about mole, and Casa Oaxaca does mole right. The suckling pig you see here was surrounded by a lightly tart mole verde that had a mild, fruity heat and light notes of anise. TSTBMC went for the mole almendrado, which had a building heat and powerful tomato flavor that slowly melted into almondy sweetness. To accompany our mole feast we had crisped blue-corn tortillas served with fiery hot pickled chile de agua and a salsa roja prepared tableside in a molcajete.

That our visit started on such a resoundingly high culinary note was a good thing, as the majority of the next two days were consumed by wedding planning (15 separate vendors on Saturday alone). But that doesn't mean we didn't eat well. Far from it, in fact.

Part of the planning agenda was an elaborate tasting put together by the Camino Real hotel, where TSTBMC and I will have our wedding reception. We had always been of the opinion that the food at a wedding really isn't all that important -- if the music was good and the flow of booze unrestricted, then people would enjoy themselves regardless of what was on their plates. "Forgettably good" was the standard we thought was appropriate. Camino Real has disabused of us that notion. And they did it with soup.

Pictured here are three of the soups we sampled -- sopa Maria Sabina, a traditional Oaxacan soup with wild mushrooms; crema pasilla, cream of pasilla chiles; and sopa campesina, or country soup. The crema pasilla was remarkable: devilishly hot with chunks of sweet fried plantain lurking at the bottom. And then there was that sopa campesina with its copious quantities of huitlacoche -- a savory corn mushroom that looks like death but tastes like heaven. 

The planning madness carried over into Sunday, though at a much less hectic pace, allowing a little time to do some restaurant exploration. That led us to Los Danzantes, which specializes in putting moden twists on classic Oaxacan recipes. Their shrimp tlayuda (pronounced, unfortunately, exactly as it's spelled) was crispy, savory, and wonderful, but it paled in comparison to the hierba santa leaf stuffed with quesillo, seen here. The almost medicinal flavor of the leaf paired beautifully with the mild tartness of the cheese and salsa verde.

And lastly, a word on nieves. I'm almost to the point where I can't properly express my love for these smooth-yet-crystalline balls of frozen fruit and milk. As part of our menu tasting at Camino Real we partook of three different varieties: lime, tuna (the fruit of the prickly pear cactus, not the fish), and leche quemada (literally, "burnt milk"). They disintegrate the moment they touch your tongue and leave behind an intense, fresh, clean flavor. They're just... I can't even...

Anyway, that's really just a cross-section what a very busy 48 hours in Oaxaca can get you. We also sipped on mezcal cocktails, devoured unhealthy amounts of queso fresco, ate more mole than should be legal, and chowed down on worms (they're great on huevos rancheros). It's a city where you're guaranteed to eat well, because it really doesn't give you any other choice.

May Mexican -- Mole Rojo Ixtepecano

At this moment, The-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Culinarian and I are on our way to sunny Oaxaca, Mexico for our one and only opportunity to do some on-site wedding planning. While there, we plan to sneak away from our wedding planner for at least a little while to photograph and eat the local cuisine (hopefully in that order).

We decided that the best way to mark this excursion was with a bona fide Oaxacan specialty dish, so today's recipe is mole rojo from the isthmus of Tehuantepec.

Mole -- literally, "sauce" -- comes in a wide array of flavors and colors and can lay claim to being the iconic dish of Mexico, though it's not particularly well-known in the United States. Each mole has a character all its own, and while they tend to have almost comically high numbers of ingredients (some go as high as 40), each one is defined by the types of chiles it contains.

This particular mole is made from three chiles: anchos, guajillos, and chipotles. Anchos -- the name given to dried poblano peppers -- and guajillos don't lend much on the heat side of things, but they do impart a fruity flavor and a strong, brick-red color. Most of the heat comes from the chipotles, which also give the mole a smoky finish.

The surprise star of the dish, however, was the chocolate. The morning before I prepared the mole, I stopped by Chinatown Coffee Co. and noticed, to my delight, that they sold individual disks of Taza Mexican drinking chocolate. Incorporated into the mole, the chocolate balanced the spiciness and imparted to the dish that deep, almost-but-not-quite bitter cocoa flavor.

More photos and the recipe below the jump. And stay tuned for dispatches from the culinary capital of Mexico.

May Mexican -- Puerco Pibil

Up to this point, my recipes have come from traditional sources -- established chefs, critically acclaimed cookbooks, and food websites that bear the heft (some might say the stink) of foodie respectability. 

This time around, however, I went off the reservation.

Today's recipe for puerco pibil -- a spiced, slow-cooked pork from the Yucatan peninsula -- comes from Robert Rodriguez, the Mexican-American film director whose movies celebrate Mexican culture with over-the-top stylized violence. And, as it turns out, he makes a mean puerco pibil.

The traditional method of preparation involves marinating the pork with bitter orange juice, wrapping it in banana leaves, burying it in a hole with some hot coals, and leaving it to cook for a few hours. Obviously, some modifications had to be made -- orange juice, lime juice, and vinegar were used instead of bitter orange, and a 325-degree oven instead of a hot hole in the ground. But the key ingredients were there, including the hard, red achiote seeds, which impart a subtle flavor and distinct color to the pork.

The acids of the juices and the vinegar break down the pork as it slowly cooks, leaving you with tender morsels of meat that fall apart with just the slightest pressure.

I served the puerco with tortillas, a decently spicy salsa de chile de arbol, and crema mexicana, though it would be just as good served over rice or on its own.

Photos after the jump, as well as the recipe, which contains adult language and graphic violence. Seriously. So view at your own discretion.

Recipes Revisited: Buzara-Style Shrimp and Gnocchi

I love shrimp.

No, that's not right. "Love" doesn't quite capture the rapacity with which I devour shrimp. I demolish shrimp cocktail. When I eat shrimp skewers there's a real danger of impalement. I will peel-and-eat until my fingers bleed.

It verges on inappropriate.

That's why this recipe from the northern part of Italy, where Slovenia and Croatia converge, was right in my wheelhouse. Shrimp cooked in their shells have a deeper savoriness to them, and marrying that flavor with white wine, garlic, shallots, and tomato paste is, for me, as just about as close as you can get to perfection.

Bit of a confession: I did cheat on the gnocchi, in that I didn't make them myself. BUT, that doesn't detract from the fact that those store-bought gnocchi, boiled and tossed with brown butter and sage, were completely delicious and an ideal partner for the shrimp.

Picture and recipe below the jump.

El Centro DF: Tacos, Tequila, and Tongue

I have never reviewed a restaurant. To be honest, the whole idea of it seems to me a little off, given that my food writing career has only just wrapped up its first lunar cycle. So I'm going to instead call this a restaurant "profile" and hope that I can convince myself through semantics that I'm not a pretentious dolt.

Anyway, it seemed fitting that a new restaurant would be the subject of my first "profile," and since I'm currently ensconced in Mexican month, El Centro DF, the new taquería and tequilería from Richard Sandoval, was the perfect candidate.

Walking into El Centro you get the sense that you're in a converted woodworking studio. The decor is a sort of industrial chic, featuring plenty of reclaimed wood and a cement bartop. The kitchen is open, in full view of the diners, and you have your choice of sitting at a table in the back or on a wooden stool at the window bar up front. There's a roofdeck bar where you can sit and sip the restaurant's signature cocktail, the Tequila Smash, a refreshing tequila-ginger-basil concoction featuring fresh berries and plenty of kick.

But let's talk taco. The quality of a taco depends a great deal on the quality of the tortilla, much in the same way that a good sandwich is all about the bread. And the tortillas that wrap El Centro's tacos are some of the best I've ever had. Soft, chewy, redolent of corn flour -- they are how tortillas should be.

Tucked inside the tortillas were tender, delicious chunks of beef tongue with chopped onion and cilantro, served with a salsa de chile de arbol. The-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Culinarian went for tacos al pastor, browned bits of pork belly with grilled pineapple, topped with a tart salsa verde. The pineapple makes these tacos: an inspired addition. 

If I had one quibble, it was that the salsa de chile de arbol that came with the tongue tacos didn't have much in the way of the famous chile de arbol heat. But that problem was quickly rectified with a tiny bowl of habanero salsa that matched searing heat with a wonderfully fresh, fruity flavor.

To accompany our tacos we ordered up a huarache -- grilled skirt steak over a fried ellipse of masa topped with refried beans -- and two shots of Herradura tequila. (For those familiar only with the lick, slurp, suck method of tequila consumption, actually taking the time to sip a shot full of fine tequila is a revealing experience.)

All told, El Centro DF delivers. The atmosphere is inviting, and the options varied. If you want to sit down to eat, grab take-out, our just enjoy a drink outside, they got you covered. And how can you not love Mexican comfort food? When it's done right, it's damn-near unbeatable, and El Centro DF gets it right, blending authenticity with inventive playfulness. As you'd expect, it's a little pricier than your everyday hole-in-the-wall taquería, but you definitely get what you pay for.

May Mexican -- Chiles en Nogada

If there's one area in which Mexico historically has not had much success, it's empires.

The first Empire of Mexico lasted for about ten months from 1822 to 1823, when the emperor was forced to abdicate and went into exile. Shortly after he attempted his triumphant return, only to be arrested and promptly shot. The second empire didn't fare much better, lasting all of three years and coming to an end when the emperor -- an Austrian noble with no legitimate claim to authority -- was arrested, marched to the top of a hill, and shot. Death by firing squad is something of a tradition among Mexican emperors.

However, in spite of all the political turmoil, Mexico's first emperor, Augustín, can take credit for having inspired two lasting cultural achievements: the design of the modern Mexican flag, and chiles en nogada.

According to the popular history, chiles en nogada was devised by an order of nuns in Puebla who wanted to create a dish in honor of Augustín for when the emperor came to visit. So they roasted and stuffed some green poblano peppers, covered them with a white walnut sauce (nogada), and dressed them with red pomegranate seeds. Red, white, and green -- the tricolor of the Mexican flag.

The dish has since become a symbol of the state of Puebla and of Mexico as a whole. The version I've reproduced here doesn't quite match the authentic original, which is prepared seasonally to coincide with the late-summer walnut harvest, but is nonetheless fantastic. There are few things better than the smell of roasting poblano peppers, and the spiced pork and fruit picadillo is a wonderous flavor combination.

Recipe and addition photos below the jump.

May Mexican -- Chalupas de Pescado con Pipián

I love the word antojito, the Mexican term for snack or appetizer. It's the diminutive form of the word antojo, which means "craving" in Spanish, so literally translated it means "little craving."

And foods like chalupas are aimed squarely at satisfying those little cravings. A chalupa -- meaning "small boat" -- is a fried disk of corn dough shaped into a saucer and topped with... whatever. In this case, seared fish and pipián.

Pipián is a sauce made from pumpkin seeds called pepitas -- lots of vocabulary today, I apologize -- which are toasted and ground together with chiles, onion, and cilantro. It is, in a word, good. In three words, really damn good.

When paired with some nice local striped bass and piled on top of a chalupa... well, you'll just have to try it yourself. It should suffice to say that The-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Culinarian and I resolved that chalupas de pescado con pipián have earned a spot on the appetizer menu for our next dinner party.

Recipe and more photos after the jump.

Cinco de Mayo

Feliz Cinco de Mayo! 

Before today's blogging begins in earnest, a mariachi interlude. And since Cinco de Mayo is, for all intents and purposes, an excuse for immoderate boozing, we'll go with the official unofficial Mexican drinking song.

So while you're sipping a margarita, pounding a michelada, or sucking down that last ill-advised tequila shot, think of this angry, vindictive drunk who, despite having nothing at all, is still "el rey."

May Mexican -- Carnitas with Salsa Verde

 

Half of The-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Culinarian's family is Mexican. They hail from the state of Puebla, and she spent most of her summers in Mexico. This is a wonderful thing. Mostly.

Now that we're in the throes of May Mexican, her deep knowledge of Mexican culture -- and cuisine -- has the potential to be something of a double-edged sword. On the one hand, she knows what makes for authentic Mexican food, so she's an invaluable resource for recipes and information. On the other hand, she knows what makes for authentic Mexican food, so if I screw something up, there's no hiding it.

Not that I would hide it, but... OK, I would hide it.

Thankfully, the carnitas -- literally, "small meats" -- I made last night passed the authenticity test. The slightly-too-big morsels of pork were slow-cooked in orange and lime juice with orange zest and a whole bunch of garlic, then sauteed until crisp. We folded them up in some good corn tortillas (more on that later) with cilantro and a cooked salsa verde that was both tart from the tomatillos and spicy from the jalapeños.

After her first bite, The-Soon-To-Be-Mrs. Culinarian said "that's how they're supposed to taste." *high five*

More photos and recipes after the jump.