The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

Recipes

Samosa-inspired croquettes with peas and potatoes

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Alice had a crazy idea after I got back from India: the two of us should get together and make an entire Indian meal from scratch.

The subject line of her email was “dal experiments.” It had a mysterious ring to it, which pretty much signifies the way I felt about Indian food before I went to India — that it was just too hard to master (or even attempt to master) if you didn’t grow up eating it. The flavors were too complex.

Now, armed with my spices that I bought in Bombay, I’m a lot more comfortable than I used to be. I’ve been currying a lot lately — mostly garbanzos with some mustard seed, ginger, green chiles, chile powder and cumin. The thought of coming up with an entire Indian menu seemed like the next logical step, especially since I had a cookbook I’d picked up in Kodaikanal filled with recipes for sambars, idlis, pulaus, rasams.

So one day over a curry lunch, Alice and I came up with a relatively simple menu: dosas and sambar for the main dishes, because they’re typical of South India and famous throughout the country. For dessert, mango rice pudding, because mangoes overfloweth from Mexico right now. And for the appetizer, potato-and-pea croquettes.

The idea behind the croquettes was to mimic the flavors you’d get in a samosa, without creating something super fritanga. (Fritanga is a word I just learned in Spanish. It means “fried things.”) We’d pan fry the croquettes instead of deep-fry. (I voted for deep frying, but Alice convinced me otherwise. Calories, Lesley, calories.)

I’ll write about the rice pudding, dosas and sambar in another post. This post is all about the croquettes, because they deserve their own spotlight.
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Homemade black bean burgers with cilantro-chipotle mayo, and ginger-carrot slaw

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My local grocery store doesn’t sell frozen veggie burgers. So if I want one, I have to make them from scratch. (Insert groan here.)

Really, I hadn’t craved them until recently. Who wants a veggie burger when you can have a warm carnitas taco? But then my pants starting getting a wee bit too tight. And I thought, well, maybe it’d be nice to have some more veggies in my life. (This from the girl who used to eat salads every day in the U.S., and whip up a frozen veggie burger at least twice a week. Sometimes I don’t know who I am anymore.)

I’d made homemade veggie burgers once before when I lived in Dallas, and I remember it being an intensive process, and one I didn’t necessarily want to repeat again. Then, a few months ago, I was flipping through a copy of Cooking Light that my mom had sent me in the mail, and I saw a recipe for a quick black bean burger. It called for mixing beans with onions, spices, some egg and breadcrumbs. Sounded easy enough.

A few days ago, I whipped some up for dinner, adding my own Mexican-ish tweaks — bolillo roll for the breadcrumbs, a serrano pepper for spiciness, and a good slather of cilantro-chipotle mayo on top. (Cilantro-chipotle mayo tastes good on just about anything.) Paired the burgers with a gujarati grated-carrot salad, a warm, gingery, toasty side dish that comes together in a snap.

Found the carrot recipe in a charming cookbook called Cooking Com Bigode, which my friend Jesica gave me a while back. The book, whose name is Brazilian Portuguese for “Cooking With Moustache,” doesn’t so much offer specific measurements as loose instructions designed to empower the home cook. It was written by Jesica’s bohemian friend Ankur, an Indian guy who camped out in Brazil for awhile.

If you don’t have carrots, you can pair the burgers with any other salad you want. I think something mild might be best, as to not overpower the gooeyness of the cilantro/chipotle mayo and spicy black beans. Maybe tomatoes with queso fresco and black pepper. Or even jicama with a spot of lime juice.

A quick note: These burgers don’t have a typical “burger” consistency. They’re soft and kind of creamy, but crunchy on the outside from a nice sizzle in the frying pan. Ergo, I wouldn’t pair them with a traditional bun. I didn’t use any bread at all and didn’t miss it (I was too busy wow-ing over the mayo), but if you’re dying for bread, I would try a thinly sliced, toasted white or wheat bread.

Crayton, who loves a good carnitas taco, really liked these. Although he was a little alarmed by the mound of carrot salad I put on his plate. He said, “That’s too much,” and so I took some off. (I thought: How can one have too much carrots? They’re carrots!)

I know he’s very excited for all the other vegetarian recipes I have planned in the future.

Recipe below.
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Spicy oatmeal with peanuts, cilantro and ginger

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One of the things I learned at the ashram was that I eat way too much sugar for breakfast.

If I’m not making mamey muffins while Crayton is rolling out of bed, I’m dreaming about making them, or flagging down the bicycle-riding pandulce guy. The problem with this — besides calorically speaking — is that I’m usually hungry again a few hours later. And sometimes kind of shaky from the careening dip in my blood sugar.

This issue could be solved by eating more protein-rich breakfasts, but the healthy ones, such as egg whites, don’t taste as good. (I know I sound like a six-year-old, but I don’t care.)

We ate savory breakfasts almost every day at the ashram. I loved all of them, because they were packed with spices, and they made my nose run. Most involved some combination of grains or starches (wheat, rice, noodles) tossed with fried mustard seeds, chile powder, sauteed chilies, ginger and onion. Usually I had two servings and I wasn’t hungry again until lunchtime.

My favorite of all was upma, a spicy porridge of semolina grains, spices and vegetables. To make it, you fry the spices and veggies, toast the grains, and then let the whole thing steam in the veg’s spicy-oily goodness. It’s served with coconut chutney.

In pictures on various food blogs, upma looks very prim, scooped into a little mound. This is not how we ate it at the ashram. Our upma was messy, and scattered around our plate in various lumps and valleys. We’d pick up a piece with our hand, swirl it in some chutney, and pop it in our mouths. The taste lay somewhere between Mexican rice and couscous, but with ginger and mouth-warming heat from the chili powder.

One day, the ashram’s cool chef/philosophy teacher told me that upma can also be made with oatmeal. A little thrill surged through my heart. Semolina isn’t easy to find in Mexico, so that meant that I could make upma when I got home!

A few days ago, I did. I used the the mustard seeds I’d bought in India, one of the items that the overzealous Mexican customs lady didn’t take. Added some dried curry leaves gifted by Alice; tomatoes, because they were plentiful at the local market, and cilantro, because I have two bunches of it in my fridge. Chopped a little onion and some ginger, and half of a serrano chile.

Traditional upma calls for frying a spoonful or two of lentils, but I used peanuts instead, because I had a bunch on hand.

The result was a hearty, spicy bowl of cooked grains, bright from the addition of the tomatoes, and nutty from the fried mustard seeds and the peanuts. Even Crayton liked it. He took a bite and said, “Hmmm…. gingery.”

I served this with a few spoonfuls of sliced bananas, dates and honey. Hey, the point isn’t giving up sugar entirely — it’s knowing that I can still be creative in the mornings without it.

Recipe below.
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Lentils, and I’m still alive

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I’ve been a little overwhelmed lately.

In the past week, I have: Worked nearly 7 hours a day on an intense writing project; attempted to clean and grocery shop and see my husband; tried to prepare for our upcoming trip to India, and failed, and begged Crayton to plan the whole thing by himself; attempted to plan our visit from my in-laws, who arrive tomorrow, and lastly, thought deeply about whether we want to stay in our apartment for another year.

I am kind of going insane. Today, just for fun (because I had two minutes allotted for “fun”), I thought about what feast I’d prepare to calm myself down, if I had all the money and time in the world. I looked through my photos of tacos and tostadas and salads, and a picture of these absolutely kick-ass esquites we ordered recently at La Capital in Condesa. I was planning to write a post on my Top 5 Most Relaxing Foods. But do you know what I remembered? Lentils with bacon. Made in a clay bean pot.

I whipped up a batch last Friday in a kind of half-frenzy, because I was working on this writing project, and Crayton and his friend Nick were coming over to watch the basketball game. They didn’t ask me to make anything, because they knew how busy I was. They were going to order pizza. But I couldn’t let them do that. A little voice in my head told me I had to prepare these lentils. These are the internal issues I hope to resolve while I’m meditating in an ashram in two weeks.

Anyway: The lentils turned out fabulous — kind of soupy, kind of not. I served them with crusty bread I’d warmed in the oven. Crayton and I have been eating the leftovers, happily, for almost a week. Today I had a bowl while sitting next to my space heater.

They’re so comforting and sloppy, and smoky from the bacon. Wish I could just keep eating them every few hours, to give me the peaceful zen I need to finish all my tasks.

How to handle stress is another thing I’m hoping to work on in the ashram.

Lentils with Bacon
Adapted from The Joy of Cooking
Serves a LOT

Note: I originally planned to make this with the lentils I had in my pantry, but when I unearthed the bag, I discovered they’d expired in 2008. EXPIRED in 2008, not even purchased then. Whoops. So I ordered some more from Superama online. Also, you can use deli-sliced ham or any variety of bacon, but I like using thick chunks of bacon that have been cut into smaller pieces. It’s so nice to stumble on a chunk of bacon when you’re eating this. It’s like stumbling on a peanut in the Cracker Jack box.

Ingredients

1 large onion (I used 1 medium sized onion, and a leek, because that’s what I had on hand)
3 garlic cloves, minced or pressed through garlic press
3 carrots, chopped
3 pieces of celery, chopped
1 to 2 thick slices bacon, chopped into bite-sized pieces
1 bag of lentils (about 2 heaping cups)
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 bay leaf
water

Heat a few glugs of olive oil over medium heat in a large skillet, or, if you wish, a 3 1/2- to 4-quart dutch oven. Add the onion and cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Stir in garlic and cook until aromatic, about 30 seconds to a minute. Add celery, carrots and bacon and cook until just tender, about 15 minutes. Gently pour this mixture into your clay bean pot, or keep everything where it is, if you’re already cooking in a dutch oven. Turn the heat to medium, and add lentils and water — about 8 cups, or as much as you think is necessary — and the thyme and bay leaf. Bring to a boil, then lower the heat to simmer and cook until lentils are tender. (This took me about 90 minutes to two hours.) Add more water if the lentils look too dry.

Serve with crusty bread and a cold beer.

From the mamey files: licuado de mamey

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Two Sundays ago, one of the tianguis vendors suckered me into buying three mameys. I only wanted one. But he looked at me with these hangdog eyes and said, “Take two amiga. Por favor.”

Buying two was only five pesos more. It was like buying popcorn and a soda at the movies — supersize your combo for just a quarter extra. So I said fine: I’ll take two. He threw in a third for the same price.

A few days ago, I realized that I ever ate the darn things. I unearthed them from the refrigerator, and two had gone bad. But the other one was edible. I had been working at my computer since the morning and was in desperate need a pick-me-up, so I decided to make a licuado. Hard to believe I’ve never had a mamey licuado before, but it’s true. I hadn’t.

It ended up being the best mid-afternoon snack I’ve had in weeks. Thick and sweet like a milkshake, but without any ice cream at all. Just fruit and milk. The recipe is below. (If you want to call it that.)

I have to get back to work, but now my mind’s humming with all the other mamey possibilities. Mamey pudding… dairy-free mamey pudding… mamey mousse…

Mamey Licuado
Makes 1 serving

4.5 ounces of mamey, or about 1/2 cup
1 cup milk

Blend together until sufficiently pureed. Pour into a glass and serve.

More Mexican Christmas dinner tales: bacalao

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Bacalao is the Spanish word for a slab of boneless, skinless dried salt cod. The filets — long, snowy looking things — pop up in all the Mexico City grocery stores and markets during Christmastime.

I had eaten fried bacalao a few times in Spain, but I’d never tried it the Mexican way, which combines tomatoes, onions, green olives, chiles and garlic to make a kind of fishy stew.

The idea of cooking with salted fish intrigued me, in a Laura Ingalls Wilder kind of way. (Remember how her family used to eat salt pork?) So I picked out a rather large, one-and-a-half pound piece at Mercado de la Merced a few weeks ago, and asked the vendor for cooking instructions.

She gave me a detailed list, which I wrote down in my moleskine. You can see them below, at the bottom of the page.

To check the recipe’s veracity, I flipped through Diana Kennedy and Rick Bayless, who currently comprise the bulk of my Mexican cooking library. Luckily, “Rick Bayless’s Mexican Kitchen” had a recipe that mirrored the vendor’s instructions almost exactly. I decided I’d whip up a mixture of his dish and the market vendor’s.

Unfortunately, amid attending a friend’s posada and throwing my own tamalada, I didn’t plan very well. Bacalao must be de-salted before cooking, which means it has to sit in a dish of water for several hours. Once mine was sufficiently salt-free, I was up to my ears in cornhusks. I wasn’t ready to cook it, so I stuck it in the freezer for a few days and prayed.

Surprisingly, it turned out great. The fish was hearty and toothsome, but not tough. And the tomato-onion mixture was the perfect foil — light, spicy, and with a kick of saltiness from the olives. I added small red potatoes, too, although you can also serve it with rice. The dish looks complicated, but really, it’s not difficult at all. We’ve been eating the leftovers over the past few days and it only gets better with time.

I think this might be another new Christmas tradition, along with figgy pudding.

Recipe below.
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Sweet potato salad with rajas, onions and oregano dressing

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I’m addicted to this salad. Seriously. I’ve made it maybe four times in the past two months, and each time, I’m scraping the bowl with my spoon and hoping that I have leftovers for the next day.

It’s a cinch to prepare. (Well, “cinch” meaning it takes about an hour with the chopping, but there’s no major cooking involved.) It comes from Rick Bayless’ Mexican Everyday, one of my go-to cookbooks since I’ve moved to Mexico. In the original version, he uses regular potatoes and flaked tuna. I’ve prepared it that way, but also with sweet potatoes, chicken instead of tuna, and no meat at all. They’re all fabulous.

My favorite version is with camote blanco. It’s a purple-skinned sweet potato with white flesh, and it’s not as sweet as the orange sweet potato. It balances perfectly with the tangy herbed vinaigrette. I wanted to take a picture of this salad, but Crayton had the camera, so you’ll have to settle for an iPhone shot.

Here’s the recipe. It pairs really well with a glass of white wine.
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Hearty corn and oatmeal pancakes

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Last Friday morning, still snuggled in my bed, I suddenly had an intense desire for pancakes. But then I realized I had no flour. My rolling pantry (really a bunch of Elfa drawers from The Container Store) can only fit small packages of flour, and I’d used mine up to make these chocolate and ginger tarts. Whole wheat flour would’ve worked okay. But whole-wheat oatmeal pancakes… ugh, that sounded too dense. (Are you seeing what a picky person I am to live with?)

So I brainstormed alternative pancake flours. Garbanzo… no… semolina… no…. Maseca… hmmm. Yeah. Maseca is a corn flour that most people in Mexico use as a shortcut to make tortillas. I’d bought Maseca to make nicuatole, and it seemed like it was light enough to work in a pancake. To quote Crayton: What’s the worst that could happen?

Oatmeal and corn don’t sound like they go together, and I was expecting them to taste a little strange. But the pancakes actually turned out really well. They didn’t taste overwhelmingly of oatmeal, or of corn, instead rounding out into this generally hearty, grainy taste. I used a combination of plain yogurt and milk, which made them moist. And they were fluffy, too. I couldn’t have asked for anything more. Except maybe a mimosa.

Maple syrup seemed odd in this case, so I slathered them with butter and drizzled on honey. If you have any Maseca in your pantry that you’ve been wondering what to do with, this is a perfect recipe. I made them over the weekend for Crayton — okay, technically he made them, since I was on the phone with my mom — and they got his seal of approval.

Recipe below.
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Sunday night football snacks, Mexican style

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The Bears game was on TV on Sunday night, meaning Crayton would spend the evening wearing his Bears jersey and glued to the screen.

I’d told him I’d watch with him, but when it came down to it, I found myself too busy. The kitchen needed cleaning. We planned to grill vegetables for dinner, so I needed to slice the eggplant and squash. How long did it take to grill eggplant, anyway? I needed to consult Google. Oh, and I needed to read up on yoga ashrams in India, since we decided last week that we’re traveling to India in January. (Which is completely insane, amazing news.)

Plus, since this was game day, we needed game-time snacks. I put on a frilly white apron — very appropriate for the game-day hostess persona I had suddenly created for myself — and unearthed a package of pre-sliced jicama from the fridge. Drizzled it with lime juice and chili powder.

Opened a package of nopal tortillas, cut them into triangles with kitchen shears and baked them. I adore nopal tortillas, made from a mix of cactus and corn, because they’re bright green and slightly healthier than regular tortillas. (Meaning: less calories and a tad more nutrients from the cactus.) You can find them at pretty much any grocery store here, and they’ve got kind of a light, vegetal taste. Unfortunately they tend to fall apart if you use them for tacos. But as psuedo-tortilla chips, they’re perfect.

While my chips baked, I made a quick, creamy tofu dip with cilantro and chipotle peppers.

Placed everything on a platter and took it into hubby, who was yelling about the defense, or a fumble, or something. He didn’t look up when I sat down. I munched on some jicama and thought: Wow, jicama with chili and lime might be the new chicken wings. It’s really that good.

“Isn’t this good?” I asked Crayton. I was still wearing my white apron.

“Yeah, it’s great,” he said. He took his eyes from the screen only to dip his chip in the dip cup.

The Bears ended up losing. I considered the day a win, though. Found and emailed an interesting ashram in India. And we had lots of jicama and dip leftover. Crayton, sweet man that he is, finished the dishes after I’d gone to bed.

Baked nopal tortilla chips with creamy cilantro tofu dip
Serves 4 to 6 as an appetizer

Note: This dip has a really strong cilantro taste, and as a cilantro-lover, I find you can’t use too much. Canned chipotle peppers in adobo freeze really well, so don’t worry about using such a small portion in this dip. If you can’t find nopal tortillas, corn work fine too. The dip can be refrigerated in an airtight container for about two days.

Ingredients

6 nopal tortillas
1 349g box silken tofu (about 12 ounces)
1/2 c. cilantro leaves, loosely packed
1 teaspoon diced chipotle pepper in adobo
1 to 2 tablespoons olive oil
Salt to taste

Preheat oven to 375F or 200C. Using kitchen shears, cut nopal tortillas in half, and then cut each half into five triangles. Place on baking sheet and cook about 5 to 10 minutes, until golden brown.

While the chips are baking, add silken tofu, cilantro leaves and chipotle pepper to food processor. With the motor running, add olive oil in a slow stream. The dip should be spoonable but not runny. Taste and see if it needs more cilantro, or more chipotle pepper. When you’re satisfied, scoop with a spatula into a serving bowl and add salt to taste. Drink with cold beer.