Posted 15 April 2007 - 12:03 AM
ĄEntonces, hola, chicas!
So here I am in Morelia, and frankly, returning to school turns out to be harder than I expected. Part of my problema is that I have a teacher that seriously thinks Iīm paying him to teach me something. You know, like real school. ŋWhatever made me think this was a good idea? I could have been sitting over in Cafe Europa under the Portales Hildalgo where my wretched Spanish was perfectly good enough to order some cafe con leche, or tequila con sangrito, and where, for what Iīm paying to employ this annoying taskmaster, I could have sat for literally weeks watching the world pass by.
Mi profesor and I got off to something of a mildly shaky start, although all seems to be well now. You see, my real name is Christopher. So how many times do you think Iīve heard, "Did your parents want a boy?"
So my teacher says whatīs your name and I say Christopher and he says did your parents want a boy?
I chuckle politely and then he says, "My name is Ramses," so I say, "Did your parents want a pharaoh?"
It was something of a nadir in our relationship.
But, speaking of cafe con leche....
Itīs my favorite morning drink in Mexico. Itīs usually served in a tall glass with a cute little (that seems to be the only kind available here) paper napkin tied around it in the manner of a Starbucks sleeve, or in a tall "copa" or goblet or tall footed glass mug. Itīs not available everywhere in Mexico and even where it is, they seem reluctant to serve it to me, as they are accustomed to Americanos prefering "cafe Americano." So if Iīm not specific when I order "cafe con leche," what I get is cafe Americano in a cup with a small pitcher of milk alongside. And thatīs decidedly not what I want. What I want is the Mexican-style cafe con leche which is some sort of very strong coffee, perhaps even espresso, in the bottom of a tall glass that then is filled with hot milk.
I have a point to this story and itīs that my family also likes cafe con leche. And the way they make it is, if not so wonderful as the cafes, at least very interesting.
Chila heats milk to scalding in a metal pitcher on the stove. Then she pours it into the copa and sets it in front of you, along with a jar of Nescafe from which she has helpfully removed the lid. The idea is that you stir instant coffee to taste into your hot milk. I have to admit that itīs probably not something Iīll replicate once Iīm home, but it ainīt bad. To me anyway, itīs better than just instant coffee in hot water, and I think that would be my only other choice as these people donīt seem to own a coffee pot and I donīt think they ever brew coffee.
But now, on to something that truly is wonderful.
Sopa Tarasca
(Before we get into this, I have to tell you that I just watched Chila make it and took notes. I havenīt done it myself and havenīt worked out any of the proportions and Chila doesnīt measure, so basically, Iīm just guessing. Also I should add that in another thread, Rancho mentioned "two schools of thought regarding beans." Chila is a Purépecha Indian woman and I am certain has not traveled far, nor read a lot of cookbooks, if any. She does make this soup with beans and I asked her if she knew of anyone that made it without beans. She said she didnīt and that everyone in her village makes it basically this way. Obviously other folks do make it without beans, so her recipe is clearly just one version and not some sort of definitive method.)
I had told my profesor that Chila was going to teach me to make Sopa Tarasca and he told me to have her write a list of things sheīd need and for our lesson on Friday, weīd go to the market and buy everything. Which we did. At an absolutely wonderful market called San Jose. The recipe calls for chiles negros. These are dried black chiles. I guess Iīm now in the group that Iīve called "chile ponderers" - folks that discuss this chile and that and try to figure out the different names that theyīre called in different parts of the world. Iīve asked several times if there is another name for these chiles before theyīre dried, but everybody just says that theyīre chiles negros and I have no clue if Iīm ever going to be able to find them in the US. Also, we bought "laurel" which I figured was bay leaves and they obviously are related, but these seem smaller and softer.
Back to the soup: First, she cooked up a big pot of Flor de Mayo beans. She did it in a fairly common way - picked them over for stones, etc., then washed them, then cooked them, covered in a pressure cooker. She added no salt or anything else. I told her I might not be able to find Flor de Mayo beans in the US and she said you could use any beans you like and that a lot of her friends just use pintos.
When they were done, she took a ladle and scooped out Iīd say about two cups worth, more or less, drained and set them aside. They just about filled what my family calls a cereal or soup bowl. Then she put about 3 T of oil in a skillet and sliced about half of a med-sized white onion. She took one of the chiles, removed the stem and seeds, and tore it into some small pieces. She fried the onion and chile pieces on pretty high heat until the onion was beginning to brown. Then she dumped the drained bowl of beans into a blender and added the fried onion and chile. She looked at me and said, "and all the oil" and smiled as if to say, "we donīt need no stinking diet." She added what Iīd guess was 1-2 cups of water. She explained to me that she used to use a good chicken broth and still does if she has it, but didnīt have it, so we would add "Suiza" later. I had no clue what she was talking about. Suiza means Swiss, of course, but exactly what Swiss thing we were going to be putting in was a mystery until she pulled out a great big jar of Knorr's (isnīt it? - donīt want to look it up) powdered chicken bouillon. So, after adding the water, the whole thing came to about 2/3rd up the side of the blender. She processed it all until it was smooth. Then she poured it into an average-sized skillet and turned up the heat to let it boil.
She obviously used the skillet to measure, because it was close to full but not quite. So she added a few ladles of the broth from the bean pot (carefully straining it, telling me that it was important that the texture of the soup be smooth) until the liquid in the skillet was close to overflowing. Then she put in a small handful of cilantro, and at least six or seven laurel leaves, and the powdered "Swiss" chicken bouillon to taste. She told me not to add salt, but instead to add the bouillon "a gusto" - to taste.
While the soup was simmering, she took about 8 or 9 corn tortillas (that she had bought this morning from the tortillera on the corner) and cut them into small squares, about 3/4 inch each. She put a lot of oil into a skillet and fried them up to a nice golden color and then, after draining them on paper towels, put them into a small bowl and set them on the table. (She told me she had made more than we needed because weīre having chilaquiles for breakfast tomorrow morning.) She calls them "tostadaditas." At her direction, I bought some Queso Oaxaca at the market and she shredded it and set it aside. She took four or five of the chiles negros (and I doubt Iīm spelling that correctly) and removed the stems and then rolled each chile between her hands to soften them before putting them on the comal to toast. After they were toasted, she crumbled them into small bits and put them into a small bowl that also went on the table.
So, it was time to eat.
Into each individual soup bowl she put a handful of the shredded cheese, and then ladled the hot soup over. The bowls with the tostaditas were passed, and we each put some into the soup, and then came the bowl with the crumbled bits of toasted chile negro, which we sprinkled onto our soup. And then, a bowl of sour cream, which we drizzled over all.
I hope Iīve gotten this all correct, as this soup was so very, very good, I want to do it justice. After I get home, Iīll make it a time or two to double-check the measurements, but until then, hope those of you that are interested can get started giving it a go!
Ever notice that "what the hell" is always the right decision?
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Hootie McBoobins -
