Posts from the ‘Americas’ Category

Las Quince Letras

I almost forgot about my first meal in Oaxaca. It was short and sweet and I had no idea what I was doing or where anything was yet. The city is incredibly easy to navigate, though. I don’t think I’ve ever traveled anywhere before that is so compact and tidy, by which I mean grid-like right angles and well labeled street names not clean and sterile—it seemed like every street was under construction, riddled with ditches and trenches, dust in the air. Combined with the cobblestones, I don’t see how women could possibly wear heels without twisting their ankles or getting caked in dirt.

Las Quince Letras was listed on a handout at my first hotel and seemed relatively nearby. I was enticed by the description of an open-air back patio, though I soon discovered that amenity was hardly uncommon in Oaxaca where inner courtyards abound.

The salsa and butter twosome that always comes with a bread basket. Do you eat the two together, choose one or alternate? I opted for the more is more approach and dabbed the spicy sauce on top of a thin layer of butter, which was creamier and more tongue-coating than any American or European types I’ve had. It was practically like cream cheese in texture..

I first asked about tasjao, which was new to me. It’s a salted dried beef like a plumper jerky that is very popular in Oaxaca. The thing is, we have that here too but we call it cecina. Even more topsy-turvy is that the word cecina is also used in Oaxaca but to describe pork.

I went a different direction and agreed to the enchiladas Oaxaquenas, suggested when I asked for something not too huge (I hate wasting food and leftovers seem impractical on vacation). Chicken and black mole. I’m not sure if I was starving or what (I did eat a much inferior enchilada on the plane) but the flavors were amped up. I feared cottony white meat chicken, but this meat had substance, the sweetish sauce was rich without being heavy and the crumbles of salty cheese and raw rings of onion kept things from becoming too one note. There would be no way I could let these enchiladas fall victim to the (ridiculous to me) three-bite rule. I’m still trying to figure out who possibly has the willpower to eat three bites, supposedly the amount that registers in the mind as exciting, then stops. Dietary quirks have no place in Oaxaca.

Las Quince Letras * 300 Abasolo, Oaxaca, Mexico

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Los Danzantes

1/2 Los Danzantes was by far the prettiest, chicest restaurant I dined at in Oaxaca. Dramatic at night, the open-air courtyard strewn with foliage, fountains and surrounded by towering bottom-lit stone walls, actually made me feel more alone than relaxed. The space and elegant take on local cuisine (they’re adherents the Slow Food movement) scream date restaurant. While my meal was impressive, I did start having second thoughts about visiting higher end Casa Oaxaca later in the week. I would’ve felt even more solo, I think.

I was surrounded by couples, exclusively tourists or expats it seemed. I couldn’t ignore a nearby large table that appeared to be occupied by a Spanish-speaking man with grown children and a ruddy, boomer American woman, who I could’ve determined was American without hearing her speak, those drawstring cuffed cropped cargo pants did all the talking. She was loud, animated, self-possessed, not a New Yorker, earthy, well-off, a Whole Foods shopper. I really only took notice about half-way through my quiet meal when her college-aged son showed up and she went hysterical and emotional and if I heard correctly (I had no choice; despite the tables’ generous spacing, sound carried) she hadn’t seen him since August. It was only November. Clearly, I have no understanding of close-knit families as I can go years without seeing my mom in person.

Demomstrative was all I could think. Posing and photo snapping began, flashes. When I caught the son glancing at his watch as if he had someplace more pressing to be, I felt slightly relieved.

Maybe Los Danzantes is made for family reunions. Via Twitter I noticed that Top Chef Master, himself, Rick Bayless was there this week for an annual Christmas with family. He exudes Midwestern wholesomeness and he’s chatty as heck on Twitter; I wouldn’t be surprised if Rick was the demomstrative member of his family.

I started with a cocktail that I can’t remember clearly now, though I’m fairly certain it was a margarita with a smoky element. I do love how the bread baskets are a mish mash of both said bread and tortillas, salsas and butter as accompaniments.

Flor de Calabaza Rellena de Queso y Hoja de Aguacate con Sopa Ligera de Chayote y Chapulines/Cheese-Stuffed Squash Blossom and Avocado Leaf with Light Soup of Chayote and Grasshoppers 

Clearly they meant light in flavor not texture. I was only given a fork with this (possibly an oversight—my service was a little wonky, as scrawled in my notebook, “Slow Food but oddly harried atmosphere.” The black-clad waiters with ponytails, facial hair and Converse moved faster than anyone I’d seen in leisurely Oaxaca. I had to slow down my walking pace 70% to not mow down pedestrians on narrow sidewalks) but the soup was thick enough to eat in that manner. The focus was definitely on the squash blossoms filled with mild cheese. Small, dried bugs do not scare me (the thought of sago worms, on the other hand, makes my stomach seize up) so I felt compelled to order the starter involving chaupulines. I did end up nibbling them straight up, the more traditional way, later in the week. It’s hard to describe the flavor because it’s the chewiness that is more prominent. They really don’t have a distinctive taste beyond a slight tangy saltiness.

Escalopas de Pato al Chichilo con Verduras, Papas y Pepitas/Duck Breast in Mole Chichilo with Vegetables, Potatoes and Pumpkin Seeds

Chichilo is one of the so-called seven moles of Oaxaca and incorporates local chiles like chilhuacle negro and is less rich and sweet than the popular mole negro. This is definitely nuevo and I got caught up in the duck, which I’m often drawn to. But the protein, vegetable, potato convention is a bit continental for my taste. Hotel-like. The carrots and zucchini weren’t terribly exciting but the duck was perfectly medium-rare.

Los Danzantes showcases a large number of artisanal mezcals and have their own distillery. I sampled the joven (and later bought a bottle to take home at their retail shop, a block from my hotel) because that was what was suggested to me but they also have a golden reposado and darker anejo. I am still kicking myself for not picking up any sal de gusano, the traditional ground worm, chile-laced accompaniment for mezcal. It’s savory, salty, spicy, a little umami, and impossible to find in NYC. I can’t even find it for sale online.

The she-jaguar in the women’s bathroom stall is a bit jarring. Maybe more so after a few cocktails.

Los Danzantes * Macedonio Alcalá 403-4, Oaxaca, Mexico

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Oaxacan Market Fare: Quesadillas, Chile Rellenos, Pancita & Paletas

It might seem like I only ate fancy restaurant fare  in Oaxaca (wanting to take advantage of a favorable exchange rate and a desire for regular everyday food has always been a balancing act when traveling in Latin America and Asia) but that’s not really the case.

On my first full day I ventured a bit east of the city center to the smaller, for-locals Mercado de la Merced. I might have held off if I had known that my cooking class at Casa de los Sabores later in the week was going to provide a detailed tour of this market. But that was for learning and buying ingredients, not for eating.

Just inside of the indoor section is a small courtyard with female-run fondas occupying three sides of the square, each bearing the name of the proprietor. The fourth wall contains a shrine. I was initially struck by how hawker center-like this set up was, except hawker centers are much easier to navigate. At least in Singapore there is always a menu posted with prices and each stall is known for a particular specialty. English is no problem whether the owner is Chinese, Malay or Indian.

I randomly picked Comedor Lupita. But as mentioned above, you kind of have to know what you want though you can get an idea by seeing what’s on display and what others at counter stools or communal wooden tables are eating. A long list of items was rattled off when I asked what they had. I only understood maybe half of what I was being told and after asking for something not too big (I was hoping to try more food at another stand but then I worried if you offend the first place you eat at by going to another) a quesadilla was suggested. Perfect, you can’t go wrong with cheese and tortillas. This is a very basic example filled with Oaxacan cheese, which is a more artisanal American string cheese.

Simple, crackly-edged and flavorful, what really makes these quesadillas so special are the freshly made and grilled tortillas. A very rare breed in NYC. Make sure to get the deep crimson pureed salsa—I was about to ask when they remembered to bring it over. A glass of jamaica (I’m still not clear why hibiscus is jamaica in Spanish—more confusing is that it’s called sorrel in Jamaica) is always refreshing when it’s hot. And it was much hotter than I had expected in late November.

After walking around a bit and surveying all the produce for sale (not all local, mind you, there were apples from Washington state) and regretting that I didn’t really have the time or facilities for cooking, I decided to have another snack. This time I settled on Fonda Meche (or Teresita, I have both written in my notes) and asked about a golden puffy fried blob sitting in the glass case (I didn’t ask about the giant glass jars of eggs sitting on everyone’s counters. Were they hardboiled for eating out of hand? They didn’t look pickled like you’ll find in non-NYC convenience stores) Oh, it was a chile relleno. It didn’t resemble the ones we have here, and to be frank, I’m not crazy about them even though I haven’t eaten one in over a decade. But once I show interest in something, I feel compelled to go with it.

You don’t get the stale example; they cook one on the spot for you. I would’ve been fine with just the chile but after being suggested sides I caved and got black beans too. A big inky pool of legumes. The chile relleno was a bit oily but not unappetizingly so. In fact, it was kind of amazing in its lacy-crisp lightness and was filled with rich shredded beef. The difference might be that in the US we typically use poblanos while in Oaxaca they use dried pasilla oaxaquena chiles, which are smoky like chipotles. As with most meals in Oaxaca, you are also offered corn tortillas or bolillos and butter. I always went for the tortillas but based on casual observation the bread basket was more popular with other diners.

More of my Mercado de la Merced photos, if you are so inclined.

On my last full day, Thanksgiving, I wandered around town doing all the touristy things I hadn’t done yet like visiting museums and hitting all the popular markets. I eventually got sucked into the rows of casual eateries inside the Benito Juárez market. Tacos? Tortas? Smoky grilled meat? It was a bit overwhelming. And then I noticed a pancita stand with booths and one open seat at the counter. I love menudo, or pancita as they were calling it. Menudo isn’t much of a thing in NYC, and it’s not not a big deal in Oaxaca either, which is kind of why I wanted to try it.

I thought my language skills had improved after a week, but I was seriously getting stumped by much of what I was being told and asked. I managed to get a small bowl with cilantro and onion (despite being warned against eating both fresh ingredients in markets—I didn’t want to get into it above because I don’t like playing into stereotypical hand-wringing over eating foreign street food, but serious gastrointestinal distress set in after day one at the Mercado de la Merced. By this point, though, I figured all damage had been done why not go wild with raw vegetables). There was an issue over my choice of club soda when asked if I wanted anything to drink because they’d have to go elsewhere to get it and didn’t seem to mind but that seemed crazy to me and I got to use my favorite phrase I learned and that was fitting in so many Oaxacan situations, “no vale la pena.” It’s not worth it. I had a bottle of water from the hotel in my bag.

The soup was spicy with a substantial amount of thick chewy pieces of tripe (when they noticed I’d eaten most of the offal out of my bowl, I was offered more—I declined). But the most interesting part was that instead of hominy they used garbanzo beans. A Oaxacan touch.

Afterward, I picked up a cajeta popsicle at a storefront Popeye (they also have roving street carts), supposedly one of the better paleta purveyors in town once you get over the association of Popeye with fried chicken. They had quite a number of flavors available, but in typical Oaxacan fashion none were listed anywhere. You have to ask or know what you want. Fruit is probably more popular but I liked the goat’s milk caramel.

Mercado de la Merced * Corner of Insurgentes and Murguía, Oaxaca, Mexico

Paletas Popeye * Calzada Porfirio Diaz 239, Oaxaca, Mexico

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