The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

Lesley Tellez

Mexico vs. California Earthquakes

by

We had an earthquake last night. It happened in the middle of the night — I was sleeping when suddenly I heard the house creak, and some rustling sounds. Then our apartment started to gently sway, like a swing being pushed by the wind.

At first I thought: should I get under the desk in my office?

Then I thought: hey. This is actually kind of nice, as far as earthquakes go.

I know it’s a ridiculous thing to say, because a much stronger earthquake here in 1985 destroyed much of the city and caused thousands of casualties. I’m not being cavalier here and saying that earthquakes don’t matter. I’m aware of what nature is capable of.

But a Mexico City earthquake, up to this point in my life, has been much easier to handle than a Southern California earthquake. The latter starts out with a sharp rattle. It immediately wakes you up — or at least, it woke me up as a kid — and then, before you can even get out of bed, the shaking gets harder, faster. It’s like being a spider stuck in a jar, owned by a giant child. At any minute he’s going to toss you to the other side of the house.

Mexico City earthquakes, on the other hand, ripple and undulate. You’re not sure immediately if it’s you that’s moving or the house.

In fact, the first time I experienced an earthquake here, shortly after swine flu, I thought I had come down with a bout of dizziness. Took me a good five seconds to realize: wait. I don’t have dizziness-induced swine flu. Crap, this is an earthquake. Then I ran out the door, my heart pounding. (Note: not a good idea.)

Of course, the worst thing about any earthquake, gentle shakes or no, is that we really don’t know how bad it’s going to get. Will it be a 5.5? An 8.5? Will our apartment building be structurally sound enough to handle it? I’ve heard that after the 1985 quake, new apartment buildings were built with extra earthquake protection measures. But you really just never know.

In any case, I’d much rather experience that terror while swaying and undulating, rather than erratic rattling and shaking. Give me Patrick Swayze over Joan Crawford any day.

*Photo above is of damage from an unknown quake, not last night’s minor quake in Mexico. Swiped it from a website about Bible prophecies.

Quintessentially American goodies from New York

by

I’m not proud of this behavior, but Crayton and I have become addicted to Combos. They’re these absolutely fake, cheese-filled pretzel or cracker nuggets that happen to taste really good with beer. We bought some at the airport yesterday and spent our first evening back in Mexico City throwing back Combos and watching old movies.

On a more healthier, more substantive note — well, not exactly healthier, but definitely substantive — I wanted to share some pictures of a few more only-in-America goodies I ate in New York last week.

First up was a soft serve cone from Captain Softee, which was my saving grace on those long, humid walks back to the subway. (And surprisingly, it’s not the same thing as Mister Softee — they’re two competing companies.)

This turkey burger game from David Burke, the cafe inside Bloomingdale’s.

Do you see the decadence? Do you see?

…

Read More

Hot pot, tea eggs and other Chinese delicacies in Flushing, Queens

by

I’m visiting New York this week, and more specifically, Queens, which is the land of fabulous ethnic food. A few days ago, my friend Joy and her friends Dora and Gene took me out for Chinese hot pot. (I’d been begging for anything Asian.) We went to Flushing.

You know how people visit large ethnic neighborhoods, and they can’t believe how many signs are in a different language, and they say, “It’s like little [insert country here]”? I never really identified with those sayings, because obviously the neighborhood wasn’t really like China/Mexico/whatever, it was built in America. No matter what the area has an inherent Americanness, because this is what America is all about — different languages and cultures, mishmashed together with our own.

That said, my mind felt totally blown in Flushing. The closest I’ve come to Asian culture in Mexico was the time I walked those two blocks near Parque Alameda that are lined with Chinese food restaurants. And then there was one time we had Chinese food for Alice’s birthday.

But this…

this….

Wow.

I did feel like I was in China. Like, seriously transported.

…

Read More

Homemade veggie enchiladas with quintoniles, corn, rajas and onion

by

Just so you know what caliber of dish we’re dealing with here, I served these to Alice as leftovers last week. She took a few bites and said: “Lesley. I think this is the best thing you’ve ever made in Mexico.”

I’m sure it was the quintoniles. And the homemade tomato-based enchilada sauce.

I didn’t explain this very well in the other post, but quintoniles really like a lighter version of spinach. You don’t get any of the bitterness. None of the squeaky texture across your teeth. Just mild, mellow flavor. They’re like the Dazed and Confused green, just wanting everyone to relax and enjoy themselves.

This veggie combination came about somewhat randomly. Somehow, all the stars aligned and everything I hoped to happen, did: The enchiladas were hearty and light at the same time; sweet and salty; toothsome from the corn, and lightly fried tortillas.

Not to get all weird-bohemian-girl on you, but I felt a sense of time passing as I ate them. Like, suddenly it became very clear that the pre- and post-Mexico me had morphed into two different people.

This is because I have a little bit of a history with enchiladas. In my 20s, when I lived in Texas, enchiladas were one of my “go-to” dishes. I’d dip the tortillas in canned sauce, blanket them with cheese and bake them. Sometimes I’d wear an embroidered Mexican blouse as I cooked, just to let people know, you know, that I was Mexican-American.

People would ooh and ahh when the dish came out of the oven. I’d think: I am so proud of myself for serving real Mexican food from scratch.

And here I am today. The two things I’d always wanted — to live in Mexico, and speak Spanish — have happened. I know more about Mexican food than I ever thought I would, and most of what I truly enjoy is nothing like the cheese concoction I used to make. (My favorite Mexican dishes don’t have any cheese at all.)

I still wear my Mexican blouse, but just because I like how it looks, not because I want to express any overt cultural connection.

Really, I’m just more confident in myself. And my cooking.

Funny how one bite of food can stir up all that, no?

Here’s the recipe.
…

Read More

How to make homemade enchilada sauce in three easy steps

by

Whenever I ate enchiladas growing up — which means whenever my mom decided to make them, around once a year — we used canned sauce.

It was completely fine. I had no problems.

When it finally occurred to me as an adult that one could make homemade sauce (and that it would perhaps be better to make one’s own sauce if you were living in Mexico), I had no desire to. That would take like two days of roasting and grinding and stewing, right?

Wrong.

I had an epiphany a few days ago that changed my whole enchilada outlook: it’s possible to make a really good sauce — eons above of the canned stuff — in about 30 minutes.

…

Read More

Sorry spinach, you’ve been booted for wild quintoniles

by

Last Sunday I stopped by my old neighborhood tianguis, where I found man and a woman with a particularly fresh batch of produce for sale.

Everyone else’s curly-leaf lettuce looked wilted that day, but theirs was bright green and perky. They had fresh huitlacoche and spinach. And, in one big basket, a mess of dark-green, heart-shaped leaves. Some had purple splotches. I’m a sucker for greens, so I went over and stared. Crayton stood nearby, probably thinking, “Can we go now?”

“Epazote?” I asked the vendor.

“Quintoniles,” he told me. He pronounced them keen-toh-NEE-less.

My heart leapt a little bit. Mind you, I didn’t entirely know what they were, but they sounded like quelites, a wild Mexican green with a spinachy flavor.
…

Read More

A quick guide to Mexican beans

by

Amid all the recent talk of beans, guess what I found yesterday? An entire page devoted to Mexican bean varietals, on the June page of my 2010 Mexican gastronomy calendar. (Yes, I’m a food nerd.) I had the calendar turned to March for some reason, so I’d been staring at a dozen varieties of ollas. When I finally updated it — boom. Beans. There they were.

The page was too big to scan the descriptions, so here’s the key, starting from the upper left corner and moving from left to right. Now maybe you’ll realize why I’ve been so confused about their names. There are so many bean varieties here, it’s hard to keep up.

…

Read More

You think I would’ve learned about World Cup fever by now…

by

On Thursday, I called the moving company to arrange a pick-up for our moving boxes. It’s a useful service — we pay a deposit for the boxes, and get our money back if we return them within 30 days. The man on the phone said a truck could pick up the boxes the next day, between 10 a.m. and 2 p.m.

I was so excited at the thought of our boxes disappearing (they’re currently stacked up behind the couch) that I said yes immediately.

Only later on Thursday night did I realize: Wait. Friday morning is the World Cup. Mexico is playing South Africa.

Oh, crap.

What could I do? I could’ve called the moving company early Friday morning and said forget it, cancel the appointment. But part of me thought they really might show up. They’re a highly recommended moving service, a professional company that helped move our stuff from the States into Mexico. And I wanted those boxes gone.

So I waited, and waited. I watched the Mexico-South Africa game on TV and g-chatted with Jesica, who said, “You really didn’t think they were going to show up at 10, did you?”

Noon came and went, and then 1. Then it was 1:45.

I called the moving company and got voicemail.

Left a polite message, but inside I was angry. Not at them, but at me. How did I get sucked into believing that my time is more valuable than the first World Cup game? Lesley, you live in Mexico. It’s just the way things work here.

I’m going to consult my Panini album for the game schedule, and call back again on Monday. Hopefully I can arrange a pick up when the World Game isn’t on — or at the very least, when Mexico isn’t playing.