Day 81: Worth the Wait

2/29/12

I flew home from Guanajuato, Mexico on the 24^th, and then spent the past 5 days in a Thera-Flu funk. I don’t know what I caught, but I felt it coming on a day or two before I left. It’s a lot more than a common cold, maybe even pneumonia. I’m giving it one more day before I head to the Doc’s for antibiotics.

But for now, I have another healing elixir in mind – Beer. I bottled my first batch of beer before leaving for Mexico. The idea is to let the beer sit for a couple of weeks before drinking. This would have been difficult to do had I not been out of the country. I’m impatient. I’m the kid who peeks in cupboards and digs through closets for Christmas gifts.

I popped the first top and heard no fizz. I panicked a little, grabbed a glass and poured. Flat. Ugh. I grabbed another and popped. Lots of fizz. I’m hoping the first bottle’s failure to seal was just a fluke, and that I don’t end up with half a batch or more of flat beer. I won’t waste flat beer. It will make for some fantastic pancakes, biscuits, or Irish soda bread.  The dark caramel color and toasty flavor adds hearty elements to routine recipes.

Beer may not be the medicinal cure that I need tonight, but it’s what I have available, 48 pints. I’m about halfway through the first bottle, and I think I’m feeling better already.  If I pop a second top, I may not feel any better, but I sure won’t care.

Day 74: A Lap Full of Ash Wednesday

2/22

I travelled from San Miguel de Allende to the city of Guanajuato today. I’ve done this before, but this time was different, way cheaper. I usually hire a driver, Rafael of Raffa Tours. It’s great to rely on the same guys to pick you up when you land and leave Mexico and handle all major travelling in between. I believe it is the safest way, but with safety comes expense. A one way trip from San Miguel to Guanajuato by private car is $65. That’s not a lot to pay for safety, but if I’m going to do this world travelling thing, I’ve got to try a little harder, spend a lot less, and get a whole lot braver. So, today I took the bus. It wasn’t an ordinary bus. Primera Plus is a deluxe, 1^st class kind of ride and at 90 pesos, or less than $8, it was a total steal.

I struggled to communicate when buying my ticket, and I admit to being a little intimidated, but I did it. Once aboard, I enjoyed a comfy seat with way more room than any airline. I watched the beautiful Mexican countryside from my high perch. I spotted a farmer tending a field with a horse drawn plow, and a family splashing in a narrow ravine that disappeared into a jagged hillside. Towns with taco stands, beer signs, and children too close to the road flew by my window. And then the bright pinks and blues of Guanajuato signaled me that my stop was near.

With the money saved, I upgraded to a sweet suite at Hotel Luna in the main square. Mariachi music pipes through my balcony window in deep timbers and falsetto yips. It’s really quite lovely. I’m pretty sure I’ll still like it at 2am, as warned by the hotel desk clerk. Guanajuato feels more Mexican than San Miguel, if that makes any sense. Of course both cities are Mexican, but one caters to rich, white expats and the other to rich Mexicans on vacation from the big city. I am neither.

 I took the bus to save money, but splurged on an elegant hotel with marble goddess statues and crystal chandelliers. I guess I’m not quite getting the hang of this thrifty-travel business. To counteract, I decided to forgo restaurants and eat on the street. I couldn’t have been luckier with the decision. I stumbled on a church fundraiser and celebration dinner for Ash Wednesday.

The site of the women preparing food to feed their community made me homesick, but not for my Seabeck home. I felt homesick for my childhood home, and homesick for the kitchen women of Clarkes Methodist Church. I can almost see the ladies with pie laden spatulas and spoons full of green jello-salad with mini marshmallows and pineapple tidbits. Pie and jello salad, that’s what I remember of church.

But in Guanajuato, the church mamas fry up tacos and gorditas. They hold ladles of hot pasole, and heap red rice on a plate to nest a chili relleno or an enchilada. There is no pie, but there are ladies with spatulas loaded with cake and squares of wiggly flan. This must be Methodist heaven, or at least my Methodist heaven.

 The church steps and square were packed with families scrunched together and eating from laps. I didn’t see anyone like me, meaning another Gringa. I might fit in if I never opened mouth, and if I wasn’t taller than most. But I figured my money was welcome as was my soul, at least temporarily. I purchased 100 pesos worth of script to trade for food.

You wouldn't imagine 100 pesos or $7.76 would buy much of a dinner, but some three hours later, I'm still stuffed like the litttle piglet Mexico seems to make me.

 I hit the chili relleno table first. I sat next to a group of ladies and tried my best not to make those grunting sounds that slip out when something tastes so crazy good. Perhaps it is an exaggeration, but I am sure that I have never eaten a relleno so fresh and delicious and probably never will again. The pepper was cooked al a dente. I wrapped it in a handmade tortilla to pick up and eat, because my plastic fork just wouldn’t do the trick.

The chili and rice made more than a meal, but I braved on. A plate of three tacos filled with bean and potato, topped with cabbage shreds, dolloped with crème, sprinkled with fresh cheese, and sauced in salsa verde made an exquisite second course. I was full. But then I found shrimp cocktail looking nothing like I know shrimp cocktail to look. For a moment, I entertained the trace-ability of the shrimp. Were these shrimp wild or farm raised? Were mangrove forests cut down to build aquacultures somewhere in Indonesia? I didn't know how to ask, and the mama serving probably didn't have the answer. I justified. I was eating for Jesus, a fundraiser to keep the church strong. Humans are rational beings entertaining irrational arguements. We often spin in our favor. I put it out of my head and dove in. A zesty tomato broth hosted hunks of avocado, diced onion, sprigs of cilantro, minced chili, and pink shrimp as chubby as my thumbs.

A table of ladies giggled and pointed my way as I slurped the last drip of broth from my plastic cup. My cheeks reddened a little, but they just smiled and waved. It was a welcome of sorts, warm and accepting like the church ladies from home. A come-as-you-are, little piglet noises and all, I waved back and waddled in line for cake.

Day 73: Truffles & Wine

2/21

I’m leaving San Miguel de Allende in the morning for two days in Guanajuato before flying home. Just writing this line makes my heart dip. At the risk of sounding overly sentimental, I find magic and inspiration in this city. Colors warm and excite. Crumbling foundations of history entice me to imagine. Romance perks from the city gardens, religion pours from church doors, and bells clang hourly to remind you to keep faith.

I spent the afternoon and packing and polishing off the wine and chocolate. You can’t take it with you, right? And I’ve never been one to waste. I missed Valentines’ Day with Jim this year. It has happened many times. One of us is always traveling, usually him, but this year it was me. He’s not into Valentines’ Day in the way that I am. I am into Valentines’ Day a little too much. But he thoughtfully packed a Valentines’ package to go– Red Velvet by Cupcake winery and dark chocolate truffles by Godiva. Twelve truffles, one for each day that I am away from home, pretty romantic don’t you think?

After too many dinners and desserts out, I fell behind. Today was a good day to catch up on chocolate and think about home. Since I was on a roll, I went for chocolate-overload with a visit to San Augustine’s for Española Chocolate and churros. Yikes. No amount of hill climbing is going to walk this day off.

Day 72: The Hunt for Sopa de Azteca

2/20

Food is stunning in San Miguel. Hunting has never been easier, especially when my hunt has been for the best Sopa de Azteca. Aztec soup is made with a rich and zesty tomato broth. Strips of crisp tortillas swim in the bowl with cubes of avocado, crumbles of queso fresco, diced onion, cilantro, and smoky dried chilies. Everybody makes it a little different, but those are the basic elements. And its dirt cheap for a huge bowl, anywhere from 30 to 60 pesos depending on how fancy the kitchen.

 Pesos are nearly 13 to 1 right now. It’s amazing to eat dinner out for under $5. I spend more than that at home on fuel to drive down to the squid dock or to my oyster beach and back. I’m going to be so damn lazy and spoiled when it is time to go back to beaches to fend for myself again.

For breakfast this morning my hostess made chilliquies rojo with frijoles (beans). There are beans every morning, no matter what. Chillliquies are a special treat. Crips triangles of fried corn tortillas swimming in a tomato or tomatillo salsa, topped with queso fresco and crema. It has been easy to avoid meat during this trip, but it’s difficult to avoid dairy products. I admit that I haven’t tried very hard. Foregoing Elvia’s cooking is a punishment I can’t endure.

Day 71: Carnival!

2/19

The San Miguel Writers Conference has been a little more intense than expected. I’ve had time to ponder food choices and eat consciously, but not much time to blog. Posting blogs has been challenging as internet is hit or miss at my casa. It’s more miss than hit, but at $35 per day for a studio apartment in a clean and safe casa, I can’t complain.

I pulled away from the conference early this afternoon to catch some sun and visit the Jardin. The park in front of the big pink church is always buzzing with family on Saturdays and Sundays, but today was unreal. Today was the start of Carnival. I heard the roaring laughter and screams two blocks away. As I approached, I noticed the park was pinked with confetti. The sidewalks were pinker than the church. Children, teenagers, and a few “grown-ups” chased each other in what looked like a game of tag. Folks selling hollowed out Easter eggs, egg-headed puppets, and bright paper flowers lined the perimeter.

I bought a bag of eggs for 5 pesos. Money exchanged hands just before I was accosted by a band of egg brandishing boys. Three eggs filled with confetti crashed on my head.  I didn’t think twice. I ran after them, and amazingly I caught up and crushed an egg on the slowest boy’s head. And then I was attacked from behind and took off running in a different direction. I loved the inclusion, loved the chase. I breathed a sigh of relief after each crack and cascade of paper. I feared being taken for a bad egg and receiving a hit full of flour, mayo, or worse, raw egg.

 I went through several bags of confetti eggs and never received any of the nasty sorts. I crushed my fair share for an hour or so, but got the biggest kick out of handing side-lined children their own bags of eggs. It was like I had given the best gift ever, the chance to play. 5 pesos buys a lot of happiness for a kid without enough money for such simple indulgences.

I decided to bring a little happiness back to the conference. My first victim was potential agent, Andy Ross. He’s interested in my manuscript, and while I’m sure egg-smashing breaks professional writerly-code, I let him have it. He liked it so much he asked for another, another egg that is.

Poet, cook-book author, and San Miguel resident, Judyth Hill was my next victim, but only because she requested my services. She was having a tough day and told me that it had been a long time since someone crushed an egg on her head. The ritual cheered her so much, that she too asked for another.

 

I had three eggs left. Two were designated for a mentor/mentee double-crush between Krista Iverson and me. It is way more fun to give than receive, and I wanted Krista to have the opportunity for both.

The final egg was for potential agent, Kathleen Anderson, of Anderson Literary in New York. She was the first agent I pitched to. I was so nervous that I totally choked, and almost cried. She was kind enough to distract me with questions and small-talk until I got myself back together and finished the pitch. She was amazing, amazing enough to ask to see my manuscript and amazing enough to earn an egg.

Krista, Andy, Kathleen, and I went out to dinner after, as we had one evening before. I’ve learned that agents are people too. Some are much more fun than others. While I may not sign with either, I have conquered the fear of talking about my work. I learned a new tradition to bring home to my grandkids, and I made myself and lots of other kids in the Jardin happy. These are good accomplishments for any new writer. Be true to yourself, and you’ll always have at least have one friend.  

Day 68: Market Meal

2/16

I love San Miguel’s artist and farmers’ market. If you want to get close to your food, this is the place to do it. Today’s pickings were handmade gorditas filled with black beans, fresh sheep’s cheese from the woman that actually owns the sheep, an avocado and a bunch of cilantro, cactus flower buds, and homemade chili sauce. I brought my gatherings back to the casa to construct a terrific lunch.

The cactus buds are new to me and grown totally wild. They taste a little like unripe kiwi fruit or a strawberry eaten way too soon, tart along the edges, but sweeter toward the pink center. In the summer the buds turn red and are sweet all the way through.

The trick to eating fresh produce from the market and not getting Montezuma’s revenge or a host of other gastro-nasty ailments is to wash all fruits and veggies in Microdyn. Microdyn comes in a 15m dropper bottle and is an antimicrobial disinfecting wash. The magic potion can be purchased at any pharmacy  or at a stand in the market. Just 8 drops in a gallon of water and a fifteen minute soak kills the things that can kill you.

So, how can organically-grown fruits and veggies be dangerous? Organic fertilizers are often poop-based. The poop can come from any living being, even untreated people poop. It’s not uncommon for treated human wastes to be pumped on fields in the US, but we are not talking about treated poop here. We are talking poop-in-the-raw, Poop Fresca.

As a chicken hobbiest, using poop on my garden beds is a no-brainer. I mean, why would I waste such a nitrogen-rich source? But I can’t imagine using people product or even dog doo. I just can’t. I’m not that thrifty. But it begs the question, why not? Poop is poop, and all poop carries potentially infectious and deadly bacteria.  Poop snobs must consider the sources of mad-cow and salmonella.

Okay, well I suppose that is enough about poop. Time to clear the mind and enjoy my market creation, Gordita a la Christina. Yum.

Day 67: Eggs & Dairy, Stepping Down from the Soapbox

2/15

My Spanish is poor, so I blame myself. I communicated with Elvia’s kitchen staff that I would not be eating meat, eggs, or dairy products during my stay. Breakfast is included in my room, but my food-issues are making me a huge pain-in-the-ass. These ladies work long hours to make La Casa de Elvia a comfortable place. I don’t want to be the bitchy gringa that makes their lives more difficult.

Yesterday I was served scrambled eggs with bits of cactus, and topped with cheese. When I attempted to explain the food issues again, my cook patted my shoulder and reassured, “no carne, no carne.” And when I didn’t eat the delicious looking plate of eggs, she looked distressed, insulted even. She went back into the kitchen and made me a large parfait of fruit and yogurt topped with granola. I felt like an ass, so I ate it.

Today I stayed in my room, ate a vegan energy bar, and sulked as I listened to other patrons dining on the terrace outside my window. When it was almost too much to bear, there was a knock on my patio door, and a lovely girl presented a breakfast tray complete with coffee, juice, toritllas, beans, and eggs in ranchero sauce.

I had planned to avoid eggs and dairy, but I’m finding it impossible. Impossible is probably not the right word. Everything is possible, but the restrictions are huge. I cannot even eat a cookie or a slice of cake without one or the other. Mexicans love eggs. Did you know that Mexico is the largest consumer of eggs per capita? Eggs are a big damn deal. One egg per person is eaten every day in Mexico. Now I’m sure some folks eat two while others eat none, but Mexican eggs are an inexpensive source of protein.

My decision to eat eggs and dairy is not totally altruistic. I do care about making my hostesses lives easier, and I don’t want to be rude, but I also really love what folks do with eggs around here. Eggs are never just eggs. No. Eggs are sauced in red and green, sweetened and baked into flan, rolled up into tortillas, combined with cactus or potatoes or peppers, sprinkled with cheese, dolloped with crème, and used to encase my favorite Poblano or Ancho chilies bulging with cheese.

Giving up dairy and eggs was wishful thinking. I’ll straighten my act up when I get back home. But for now, in the case of these items, I’m stepping down from the soapbox.