The Mija Chronicles

Mexican food and culture, on both sides of the border

Travel

Rio de Janeiro – A photoset

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The beach in Leblon, where we stayed

They sell bags of these on the beaches -- they're fluffy, donut-shaped snacks that come in salty and sweet flavors.

Sunset overlooking Leblon beach

One of the views from the Christ the Redeemer mountain

A samba band boarded the little tram that took us up the mountain.

Jack fruit dangled from the trees, outside the windows of the tram near Christ the Redeemer.

Rio has agaves too! These are outside one of the subway stations.

The Escadaria Selarón, a famous set of mosaic steps in Rio's Lapa neighborhood

Cruising the markets of São Paulo, Brazil

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The cajú fruit, pictured at São Paulo's Municipal Market.

On my second day in town I booked a tour with Around SP, a small company in São Paulo that offers tours of the city’s cultural sites. I told my guide, Luis, that I wanted a culinary tour, so we zoomed off in his car one morning with plans to hit some of the city’s markets, bakeries and dessert shops.

The Food Tour Begins

One of our first stops was a feira, or outdoor neighborhood market. It looked just like the tianguis: vendors had set up under plastic tarps, selling fruits and vegetables arranged into attractive piles. They called out to customers passing by. (This was no doubt the Portuguese equivalent of “We have papaya! 10 pesos a kilo!”)

The feira had things I’d never seen before: bulbous, thick squash shaped like a barbell; short spiky cucumbers; wild Brazilian cabbage known as couve, shredded and wrapped in plastic. Thick bulbs of garlic hung from ropes. Mounds of spices sat in large bowls — whole cumin seeds, peppercorns, dried chilies.

A big meat and seafood section lay beyond all the fruit, with the items displayed in neat rows inside plastic display cases. There were fresh sardines, calamari, and whole, fresh fish that I didn’t recognize. I was kind of in awe about how orderly this section was. In Mexico all the meat sits out in the open and kind of piled on top of each other.

The sardines, which I would've bought if I had a kitchen.

Whole cumin seeds at the São Paulo feira

Chiles at a Brazilian feira


They sell cinnamon just like in Mexico!

Couve at the Sao Paulo outdoor market

This is the couve. It's a garnish for feijoada, a typical Brazilian dish.

Dried herbs in Sao Paulo

Dried herbs are sold bundled with red chiles.

The market prices are displayed on a clothesline.

The spiky cucumber (it has a tail, too) is known as maxixe.

Moving on: São Paulo’s Mercado Municipão

Toward the end of the day we stopped at São Paulo’s Municipal Market, a huge indoor place filled with fish, produce, sausages, nuts, dried fruits, spices, thick blocks of guava ate, and even cacahuates japoneses. (In Portuguese they’re called amendoim, and they come in barbecue flavor!)

It was pretty much a gourmet-food lover’s paradise. Bacalao, several varities, lay stacked maybe two feet high, next to linguica and soft cheeses, hard cheeses, olives. We tasted soft, spreadable catupiry cheese on crackers, and I looked at an oyster bar longingly, where people sat slurping and drinking beer. The market’s second floor has a food court, where you can supposedly find the best mortadella sandwiches in the city.

A view of São Paulo's Municipal Market from the second floor

I still wasn’t very hungry, so we walked around the fruit area. I tasted jabuticaba (pronounced jah-boo-chee-KA-bah), an oversize grape kind of like a capulín. And, best of all, I tasted cajú, the cashew fruit.

Didn’t know cashew came from a fruit, you say? I didn’t either. The weird thing is that the cashew lies outside the fruit itself, like a little hat. You have to open the shell and fish out the cashew. The flesh itself, on the main part of the fruit, was the strangest thing I’d ever tasted — rubbery, fibrous and juicy like a ripe peach. I think I laughed while I was eating it, because I didn’t know what else to do.

Here is a picture of the cajú, again:

The cajú fruit, pictured at São Paulo's Municipal Market.

And the jabuticaba, which is fantastic in a caiparinha. And it apparently grows on trees, literally on the bark itself.

Pão de queijo: The perfect end to a great day

We finished our tour with a piece of pão de queijo, a stretchy, dense cheese bun made with tapioca flour. As a sidenote, I think I had pão de queijo every single day in Brazil. I think it might be the world’s most perfect food.

Rio de Janeiro photos coming next!

A few thoughts on São Paulo

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I didn’t know anything about São Paulo when I arrived there last week.

Crayton had told me it was big, but I didn’t expect how big: skyscrapers and high-rise apartment towers, a solid chain of them, squeezed together end-to-end on the horizon like a mountain range. Multi-story buildings loomed against the highways. More people technically lived in Mexico City, but São Paulo felt like Gotham from the Batman movies. I was dwarfed — slapped — by its grit and bustle almost immediately. (Where were the charming four-story art deco buildings that I know and love?)

I liked the place right away. São Paulo is the fastest-growing economy in Latin America. There’s a sense of urgency and order there that doesn’t exist in Mexico City. People have places to go, money to make. I ended up on Avenida Paulista my first day in town — it’s a wide avenue lined with skyscrapers, and the center of the city’s financial district. People in suits rushed by, talking on cell phones and texting. They crossed at the stoplights en masse and then disappeared into the subway stations. It felt just like New York.

São Paulo is super expensive, but since I was on vacation, I did a lot of upscale Paulista things that I wouldn’t have been able to do if I lived there. I wandered around the Jardim Paulista — a high-end Polanco-like neighborhood — and bought a lacy scarf and yummy-smelling hand soap from a boutique. (“Is this a gift?” the soap lady asked me. “Oh no, it’s for me,” I said, kind of embarrassed.) I booked a day tour with Around SP and visited some really cool São Paulo markets.

And we braved the traffic. Every Paulista has a car, so it takes at least 30 minutes — repeat, at least — to get anywhere. Crayton and I debated over whose traffic was worse, DF or SP. We were split down the middle.

Overall, I was only there for two days, but I left feeling intrigued and kind of mystified. São Paulo didn’t seem like an easy place to live, but it hinted that it rewarded the people who stuck it out.

On another note, I apologize for the lack of posting lately. I was traveling most of November, then sick, and now I’m finally feeling better. I promise things will be busier around here in the next few months. More photos from São Paulo and Rio to come!

The view from our hotel in the São Paulo Hilton

São Paulo office tower

A São Paulo office tower, near the Centro

A small São Paulo apartment building

The food of San Pedro Atocpan and Milpa Alta, in southern Mexico City

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I’m friendly with the guy who sells me chiles and mole paste at Mercado Medellín. Over the years we’ve talked about me visting him in San Pedro Atocpan, the village where he lives, about 90 minutes southeast of the city center.

San Pedro is part of the delegación de Milpa Alta, which, along with Tlalapan, makes up the southernmost area of the Distrito Federal. (Think about that. You can ride a bus for 90 minutes in this city and you’re still within the city limits.)

A few weeks ago I finally had a weekend free, and so Crayton and I and our friend Chris rode the pesero out to San Pedro early one Sunday morning. The bus took us through Xochimilco, and then on a windy, two-lane road lined with cactus and corn. San Pedro is known for its mole, so I figured we’d check out a few markets and then have mole for lunch. I didn’t count on being completely hypnotized by the food.

The Milpa Alta Market

Once arriving in San Pedro, we took another pesero to Milpa Alta, a slightly larger city nestled in the hills. The produce there was even more gorgeous than in Xochimilco.

At a tianguis in front of the market, vendors sold local bluish-red corn, rabbits, herbs I’d never seen, quelites, and piles of wild mushrooms.

Check out the mushrooms for sale, on the sidewalk outside the market. Aren't they gorgeous?

Chile nuevo, sold outside the market in Milpa Alta. It's not very spicy.

This was just on the sidewalk. Erik, my friend, ushered us inside the market and vendors were selling wild mushroom tamales. I’ve never seen or heard of a wild mushroom tamale in three years of living in Mexico City. It was divine — picture meaty bits of mushroom, soaked in a green chile sauce.

A home-cooked meal in San Pedro Atocpan

I was happy just having gone to the tianguis in Milpa Alta. But Erik and his family had prepared a big spread for us at his house, with several local foods: mixiotes, esquites, fava bean salad, three types of mole. Everything tasted just as good as it looked.

Doña Belia, preparing tortillas at Erik's house in San Pedro Atocpan

Mixiotes

Those are the mixtiotes -- it's slow-cooked, spicy meat, cooked in maguey leaves like little purses. These were made with mutton.

Fava bean salad, one of my faves. It has onion, cilantro and queso fresco.

Blue corn esquites

Blue corn esquites! I'd never tried esquites with blue corn in Mexico. These were phenomenal.

Cecina and locally made chorizo.

Carrots, corn and squash

A basket of goodies.

When in San Pedro Atocpan… try the chicharrón

There was a bowl of chicharrón on the table at Erik’s house, and I’m telling you, it was the best chicharrón I’ve had, ever. It was this deep-brown caramel color, and thick and crunchy, not like the wimpy beige stuff I usually see in the markets where I live.

I asked Erik why it was so good and he said: “It’s homemade.”

I thought all chicharrón in Mexico was homemade? If anyone out there knows the difference between the two chicharrónes — the beige, more mainstream variety and the rustic dark-brown stuff — I’d love to hear about it.

Homemade chicharrón

The best chicharrón I've ever had in my life, hands-down.

I’m planning another visit out there hopefully in the next few months. If you’re interested in visiting yourself, San Pedro Atocpan is hosting a mole festival through the end of October.

Parisians are nice, and three other things I learned in Paris

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Two things I didn't know about Parisians: they love creamy potatoes, and a gamey, intense pork sausage called andouillette. That's it above, from a restaurant called Gallopin.

I meant to do a lot of research on Paris before we traveled. What was the history of the city? What is it like now? What were the top things to do and places to see? Alas, my schedule blew up and the only research I did involved a dinner with Parisian friends who now live in Mexico City. (Thank you, Luis and Elodie.)

Several things struck me about the city — first off, how clean it was. I was staying in the 7th arrondissement, which is near the Eiffel Tower and apparently Paris’s equivalent of Polanco. The buildings practically sparkled. How could it be that they were built in the 17th and 18th centuries? Even when we traveled away from the Eiffel Tower, things never looked extremely gritty. Maybe I didn’t find those neighborhoods.

The gorgeous -- and clean! -- Pont Alexander III, one of Paris's prettiest bridges

A few other things that stuck out:

1. Parisians are nice. Crayton and I had steeled ourselves to expect the worst. We’d read all the horror stories about snooty Parisians. But the people we encountered were friendly. It might’ve helped that we tried to speak French as much as possible — we said “bon jour” or “bon soir” every time we entered a restaurant or shop, and “Merci au revoir” upon leaving. (Several times I also confidently asked for the check:”Si’l vous plait, l’addicion!” Loved doing that.)

We found an extremely friendly wine guy at a shop on Rue Cler, and nice waiters at the bar-tabacs where we’d stop for beer or fries or paté or whatever. Whenever possible, I tried to smile and look charming and say merci a lot.

When I told Erik and Jesica, our American-French-Mexican friends living in Paris, that we were treated very well, Erik said, “You should blog about that.” They also said Parisians were working on being nicer to tourists. So, Parisians: merci. It’s working.

2. Parisian women are as stylish as you’d think they’d be.
 I don’t know why I thought, pre-Paris trip, that Parisian women wouldn’t be all that fabulous. Maybe this had to do with me not drinking the Paris Kool-Aid. Once I actually arrived in Paris, though, I realized the stereotype was true. Most Parisian women I saw were slim and chic. They walked around in cropped jackets and fitted jeans, and scarves knotted around their necks. Some women — a small, devastating group — wore five-inch heels and dresses that accentuated all the right parts.

Not a day went by that I didn’t gape at some Parisian woman walking down the street. And then my eyes would drift to my own sneakers and jeans, and I’d tell myself that I had to wear sneakers, because there was no other way to burn off the French pastries.

Seriously: even the toddlers look good here.

3. The city is entirely, charmingly French.

So much of the Western world has embraced and copied the French style, especially in architecture and food, that for some reason I thought that the Parisians would’ve eschewed the tradition by now in favor of something more modern and unique. This isn’t the case. Paris looks exactly like it does in the movies: There are cafés on every corner, and they all have the rattan-and-cane bistro chairs that face the street. Narrow streets are lined with boutiques, bistros, butchers, bakeries, cheese shops, patisseries, small, maze-like supermarkets, and stores that sell the most stylish baby clothes ever.

Parisians really do say “Oh la la!” when they’re delighted by something. And they say “Oh la la la la la la” when they mean, “Oh boy.” I realize, by the way, that eschewing the traditional for something modern and different is an American sensibility, but that fact didn’t hit me until after I got there.

4. Paris, for a city of two million people, is actually quite… tranquil. Maybe it was the pesero driver who recently hit Crayton and drove off (he’s fine, by the way), or the cars that cut me off when I’ve had the light, missing my body by inches; or the cracked, uneven sidewalks, or the motorcyclists who ride on the sidewalks in front of the police — but I’m reminded on a daily basis that rules don’t really exist in Mexico City. Sure, there are tranquil pockets. But the city, at its heart, is chaos. Most of the time I love the chaos. Other weeks, it makes me want to bang my head against the wall.

Paris, somehow, is exciting and orderly. There is no snarling, horn-blaring, parking-lot traffic. Or if there is, I didn’t see it. Cars go only one direction inside a roundabout, not two. Jesica told us that the police once stopped her for running a red light on her bicycle, something that gave me a pang, because that would never, ever happen here.

Crayton and I talked a lot about how Mexico City could eventually be like Paris. That’s in another post.

A few more photos:

Outside the Louvre, late afternoon

Les escargots -- one of our last meals in Paris

Tuileries Garden

A sunny day at the Luxembourg Gardens. Parisians are fanatical about picnicking.

Another view of the Luxembourg Garden

And yet more Luxembourg Garden...

The Louvre at sunset (taken from inside the Louvre)

Drunk on Paris’s charm

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When I told friends I was traveling to Paris for a week, they’d always ask: Is it your first time? I’d say yes, and then the person would get this faraway look in his eyes.”Oh, Paris. You’re going to love it.”

I didn’t doubt that I would like it. But I secretly thought: Is everyone drinking the same Paris Kool-Aid? It can’t be that great. They probably mean it’s nice if you have money and can stay at some big fancy hotel. Or it’s nice if you speak French well. Crayton and I have traveled to several big cities and I’d never felt wholly charmed by any of them. Excited and intrigued, yes. But enamorado? Eh. Mexico City didn’t so much seduce me as physically grab me — somehow I knew I belonged here.

Paris, on the other hand, hit me like a crush. I was infatuated immediately. The buildings were so clean! The monuments so well-kempt! The narrow streets, the bakeries, patisseries, boucheries, the-old timey streelights — they looked like they’d come from a storybook.

And then there was the food. It really was as good as people said. I put a small ice-cream-scoop of salted butter on my baguette every morning, and I even buttered (horrors for my cholesterol) my croissant, just because I felt heady and in love. For lunch at almost every meal, I ordered a slab of paté as an appetizer and dug into the ceramic crocks of cornichons. Then came the french fries dipped in mustard.

It was easy to get around, because there are bus and Metro stops everywhere. Most of the time we walked and took some time to gaze out at the water.

Sometimes I’d walk down the street and just stop and stare. I kept taking pictures of the buildings, until Crayton said, “Wow, you’ve got a lot of pictures of buildings, don’t you?”

I took photos of the food too, of course.

My first pastry in Paris: a chocolate eclair.

A fig tart -- one of my mid-afternoon snacks.

A regular croissant, a swiss croissant with chocolate, and an almond croissant -- known in the French cannon as "Viennoiserie." This was breakfast one morning.

A pear tart with chocolate chips.

By the end of my first day in town I thought: No wonder Porfirio Diaz loved this place.

More pictures tomorrow.

Au revoir — I’m off to Paris

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Crayton and I are escaping for a week to Paris! We scored a great deal on miles back in March. It’ll be our first time there. We’re visiting our good friends Erik and Jesica, who moved to Paris a year ago.

My plan for the week is to walk around a lot, see a few museums and eat as much as I can. I’ve even worked out extra-hard over the past month, so you know I’m going to be hitting up the salted butter and the chocolate croissants.

We return to Mexico City on Sept. 18.

Hasta pronto!

Photos of Xico’s Fiesta de la Magdalena

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We arrived in Xico just in time for the Fiesta de la Magdalena. Mary Magdalene is the town’s patron saint and she’s celebrated yearly in July.

I wish I would’ve known more about the festival, but unfortunately all we could do was watch without really knowing what was going on. After lunch, we saw a group of young people carry a costumed statue of Mary Magdalene on their shoulders, singing hymns as they walked toward the other side of town.

Once arriving in the main square, the site of Xico’s largest church, a crowd of children danced in brightly colored costumes.

Here’s a few more of the photos I took, both of the processional and the children dancing.

Another processional, this time leaving Xico's main church

If anyone out there knows a little bit more about the festival, and the significance behind the processional and the costumes, I’d love to hear it!

Mole xiqueño — it’s worth the trip to Xico, Veracruz

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Mole xiqueño at El Campanario in Xico, Veracruz

The first time I had mole xiqueño — mole that’s made in the style of Xico, a town in the state of Veracruz — was at El Bajío in Polanco. I didn’t know much about it, so I had expected something heavy and sweet, like a mole poblano. The dish ended up being more complex: delicately sweet like a slice of fruit, and slightly bitter, with hints of smoke and ash.

When Crayton and I decided to take a trip to Xalapa, I told him we had to go to Xico. I really wanted to try this mole at the source.

Roy drove us from Xalapa. Coffee plants and banana trees lined the road. We pulled over at a little factory that advertised homemade mole, and they gave us a scoop of paste stuck to the end of a tortilla chip. It was delicious — a mix of chiles, spice and dried fruit.

One of the jars I bought to take home.

We entered Xico proper a few minutes later. We’d happened to arrive during the Fiesta de la Magdalena, Xico’s biggest yearly festival that celebrates the town’s patron saint. Strands of papel picado hung between the streets. The town looked like it ran directly up into the mountains — behind all the buildings, you could see them there in the background, covered in thick clouds.

Before we could get to lunch at El Campanario, the restaurant I’d painstakingly chosen as my primary mole xiqueño experience,
a woman on a side street waved us over. She was selling toritos, a milky drink full of a boozy, rum-tasting liquor. She gave us little shots through the passenger-side window: piña colada, strawberry, peanut, coconut. At this point I was loving Xico.

Then, finally, we arrived at El Campanario for lunch. While we mulled over the menu, the waitress dropped off a plate of fresh corn tortillas, drizzled with melted lard and a scoop of chunky tomato sauce.

We ordered a few of the house specialities: sopa xonequi, made with a wild green that grows in Xico, and of course the mole.

Then the food came…

An airy Veracruz-style gordita.

Sopa xonequi

Enchiladas de nata, filled with pork, apples, plantain, almonds, raisins and tomato.

A shrimp molcajete

The mole wasn’t like anything I’ve ever tasted. It was much fruitier than the mole I’d tried at El Bajío, with these lingering hits of apple and banana and blackberry-ish chile ancho. And it had texture: you could feel the spices under your teeth. The last thing I got before swallowing was a sense of balance — it was tangy, toasty, sweet, charred. I wanted to keep eating more, just to see what else I could detect.

Thinking about it now, I should’ve tried to interview some of the restaurant staff to find out how they make it. Instead we left the restaurant happy, and off to wander Xico. We caught part of a procession as we were walking.

There are several restaurants that specialize in mole xiqueño — the ones that were on my list, but I didn’t try, were El Xicoteco and El Mesón Xiqueño. If you’re planning a trip and you want to eat well, I also found Karen Hursh Graber’s MexConnect article on Xalapa, Xico and Naolinco super helpful.

I’ll post the rest of my Xico pictures in the next post!