breakfast

A Riff on Huevos Rancheros

 

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They might not be traditional, but they are GOOD!

I woke up this morning and had my usual cup of coffee and got to work.  I didn’t make toast, I didn’t have yogurt because I am all charged up and energized about work.  The morning flew by and before I knew it, it was noon and I was HUNGRY.  Like seriously, stomach growling hungry.  I also had a sudden, undeniable craving for Huevos Rancheros, those wonderful fried eggs on top of a deep fried tortilla smothered in salsa.  Oh yeah!

I went to the kitchen and found I didn’t have quite the right ingredients.  Damn!

So, I re-grouped (I’m never without some crazy resource in the kitchen) and raided the fridge for leftovers.  There was some rice, some salsa, eggs, avocados and tortillas.  Okay, I can do this.  My tummy wasn’t taking no for an answer.  I would have my huevos rancheros, but with a twist.

Here’s what I came up with – a tostada shell topped with rice and fried onions that had been drizzled with fresh lemon juice, the fried egg on top of that, salsa on top and some slices of avocado. Not traditional, but way yummy.

 

Kinda-Sorta Huevos Rancheros (For two people)

Two corn tortillas, fried until crispy

one cup of cooked Spanish rice, heated

1/2 an onion, sliced, fried then drizzled with lemon juice

1/4 cup of salsa

avocado slices

2 eggs, over easy

 

To assemble the tostadas:

Scoop the rice onto the fried tortilla in the center

Top that with the fried onions

Add the over easy egg

Garnish with salsa and avocado or whatever you like

I was thinking sour cream would have been good too.

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*tip – fry up an extra tortilla or two to scoop up the yummy fillings that fall off onto the plate.

 

Scrambled Eggs & Nopales

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P7180004 1024x768 Scrambled Eggs & NopalesI hate plain scrambled eggs.  When I was growing up, we never had plain scrambled eggs.  Well, my mother made them on occasion but to me they were just nasty and had no flavor.  They weren’t like the amazing concoctions my grandmother laid on my plate at her house.  Those eggs were full of color, flavor, and smelled absolutely delicious.  They tasted even better than they smelled and my mouth always watered as my grandma was cooking them.  Plain scrambled eggs = blah to me.

At Grandma Lupe’s scrambled eggs were always mixed with things like freshly made chile salsa, nopales, fresh diced chiles, tomatoes, cheese, all kinds of good stuff and served with freshly made, fluffy tortillas, a side of beans and maybe some fruit.  Every bite bursted with flavor and if that wasn’t enough, there was always a bowl full of salsa to scoop onto my plate.

I rarely eat eggs these days because I am always on the go with little time to do more than grab my toast with Nutella and freshly sliced strawberries, a cup of coffee and head right back to my computer to get to work.

This morning I woke up early for me and went out for a walk before the heat of the day made it impossible.  On the way home, I stopped at a market to pick up some coffee creamer and found myself in the produce section.  I picked up a few zucchini, some fresh Roma tomatoes and a few other things while I was at it.  By the time I made it back, I was hungry and fished around in the fridge for something to eat.  I saw some left over nopales and remembered those wonderful mornings eating them in eggs at my grandparent’s house.  Mind made up, I chopped up my veggies, fried them up with the nopales and added my eggs.  Just like my grandmas’.

Scrambled Eggs with Nopales, Calabacitas y Tomates

1 zucchini, finely diced

1 Roma tomato, diced

1/3 c of cooked, sliced nopales (cactus)

1/4 of an onion, diced

3 eggs

1 serrano chile, diced

Oil

Salt and pepper to taste

Heat about a tablespoon of oil in a heavy skillet.  Chop vegetables, setting the tomatoes aside.

Add nopales, zucchini, chiles and onion to the hot pan and fry on medium heat until the zucchini and onion are cooked.  Add the tomatoes and lower the heat a bit.

Scramble the eggs in a bowl and pour into the vegetable mixture.  Add salt and pepper and mix through.  Cook until the eggs are done.

That’s it.

Serve with tortillas, a fresh jalapeno or salsa on the side and you’ve got a Mexican power breakfast.  I didn’t have beans with mine this morning but I probably should have.  They make the eggs taste even better.

Note to  my family:  Yes, I know I added stuff my Grandma Lupe didn’t to her eggs with nopales recipe.  The addition of zucchini was my contribution.  Her’s were made with nopales, onion, eggs and once in a while tomatoes.  No me regañen por favor, for changing up the receta.

Papa’s Papas: My Grandfather’s Potatoes

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Papa's Papas

My grandfather (Papa Chava) was one of my favorite people and biggest influences in my young life. To me he was the strongest man in the world and the kindest. He was a sobador (traditional massage healer) and never took a dime for the help he gave people in the parish. He’d always say, “no cobramos por ayuda” we don’t charge to help. He and my grandmother were old school Latino – they gave to their community, the genuinely cared about everyone and thought it was their duty and their privilege to be able to do for the people in the family and neighborhood.

My grandfather was strong. Like superman strong from a lifetime of hard physical labor. This is a man who a month after 7 major surgeries was out breaking concrete with a sledgehammer no matter what we said to try to stop him. In the end, he was frail, so frail with skin like tissue paper and no appetite. I’d parade food on days I was there, trying to tempt his appetite and rarely succeeded. He’d nibble just to make me happy, but with my grandmother gone and the cancer that was now in his bones, he was drifting away. During that time, we’d talk about food. He loved cooking too, but a different style than my grandmother. He liked big, peasant style meals – odd things like store bought chicharrones soaked in chile verde so bad for you; but oh so good. If he talked about a recipe or told me a story about food, I’d rush to recreate it in the hopes that the strength of memory would urge him to take a bite or two.

Papa Papas Papas: My Grandfathers Potatoes

Papa

He told me about Mexico and living there as a child and young boy. He’d left as a teenager during the Revolution and his life there had been a hard one. He told me stories about working out in the milpas with his father when he was only three years old. He would proudly tell me how he earned a few centavos, bought his mother an olla and gave her the other two centavos. His work ethic was ingrained from the beginning and he passed it on to me, the one who can’t stop even when I’m falling asleep.

Papa would talk about the mineros (miners) that worked in the silver mines. I don’t know if he worked in the mines or family did. I just know that he knew about them. He’d talk about big, manly style one-pot food that often got made by his mother. Pots were expensive, a poor family didn’t have too many. Maybe one or two so often things were made all in one pot. That’s why that olla he bought his mother was so important and made him so proud. They were dirt poor and it was a really hard time in Mexico in Guanajuato, the seat of much unrest. The city of Celaya in particular has some pretty bloody history.

He never talked about hard times much. If I asked, he’d just say that he didn’t like to talk about it, that bad times were better left in the past. It was enough to have me not speak of it again and enough to ignite curiosity and a passion for Mexican history, especially the history of the Revolution and the time just before it. I could see why the family didn’t want to talk to children about those times and why he preferred to talk about Cantinflas, La India Maria, Chucho el Roto and food.

He did talk about food a lot. Papas (potatoes) in chile verde, big pots of potatoes, onions, eggs and chiles all mixed together, the tortillas his dear mother made, enchiladas mineras (a specialty in Guanajuato) and of maguey worms and nopales. One day I tried to recreate one of his miner /peasant one-pot recipes and he loved it so much, I made it several times. I lost my grandfather not too long after but my boys loved the recipe so much that I made it often. Every time I make it, I get a little weepy but I smile too, remembering that most gentle and strong man who taught me some of the best life lessons that have sustained me all my life. We call the recipe Papa’s Papas, a name my youngest son Bobby came up with when he was just about four years old.

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Que rico!

Papa’s Papas/Papa’s Potatoes

10 potatoes, chopped into bite-sized chunks with peel on
2 onions, halved and sliced into half rings
6 eggs
Salt and pepper to taste
Jalapenos en escabeche, sliced
1 lb of bacon, each sliced cut into four equal pieces

In a large dutch oven or skillet fry the bacon until crispy then add the potatoes right into the pan with the bacon and grease.

Add salt and pepper to taste and the onions. Fry on medium heat until the potatoes are nicely browned and the onions well caramelized.

Lower heat and cook until the potatoes are fork tender.

Crack the eggs right on top of the potatoes when they are done, in a circular pattern around the pot, sprinkle them with salt and pepper, add in about a cup of sliced jalapenos en escabeche (Herdez or La Costena brand is what I use) right in the center. Cover and turn off the heat. Let sit for about five minutes, letting the steam poach the eggs. The vinegary escabeche of the jalapenos will mix with the steam and infuse the whole dish.

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Sabroso

Serve with crema Mexicana, refried beans and warm corn tortillas. It makes a super hearty breakfast.
Make sure each person gets a section with a whole egg in it. If you’re serving more than six people, add in another egg per person. The recipe is very flexible.

Omelettes

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Sometimes I make omelettes.  It’s usually very rare that I eat eggs.  Most of the time on those rare occasions that I eat an egg, it’s poached but every once in a blue moon I make omelettes.  When that happens, my house goes nuts because they love, love, love my omelettes.  I never start out knowing what kind of omelette it will be but they always turn out amazingly good.  I just reach for whatever’s in the fridge and it builds itself.

Like this morning…

I stumbled out of bed, aching for coffee and thinking of breakfast.  Opening the fridge, I saw the eggs and knew I’d be making an omelette.  I saw argula, shaved parmesan, potatoes and a half an onion.  I diced the potato thinly along with the onion and sauteed them in butter till brown and crispy, then slid them into a bowl.  Next up, six eggs with a little heavy cream – whisked those, added a little salt and cracked pepper and poured them into the potato pan.  The trick to a good omelette is having the patience to let the bottom set properly.  I use a low flame and slowly spatula the edges letting the runny part slide on down till most of it is cooked.

Once the omelette was set, I flipped it over, filled one side with the potato/onion mixture along with a couple of handfuls of fresh baby arugula and folded it.  I topped it with the nice grated parmesan and some cracked pepper and served it out to the roommate and my son Phillip who said, “Mom, I wish you’d make omelettes every day.”

My Grandma’s Avena (Oatmeal)

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Oatmeal in a Latino home is nothing like oatmeal in other places.  The microwave stuff is just ickygoop nonsense and it just plain grosses me out.  The plain oatmeal I’ve had at restaurants I will never have again because, well it’s just plain boring.  It sits in the bowl all sad kinda looking at you saying, “but I’m healthy.”  Yes it’s healthy and filled with cholesterol reducing fiber.  It’s great for your heart but it’s NOT my grandma’s oatmeal.

That wonderful little house on Goodwin Avenue in Los Angeles was always filled with good smells and flavors.  The flowers, trees and herbs scented the air and the frogs singing in the evenings was magical.  Mornings there were spent under piles of blankets in my Auntie Jessie’s bedroom with the antique oval framed picture of St. Teresa of Avila looking down upon me with sad eyes.  Eventually, the scent of my grandma Lupe cooking would drift in and capture me.  One of the aromas that always got me smiling was the cinnamony goodness of avena or oatmeal.

The oatmeal I grew up with was rich, decadent and almost like a pudding.  My grandmother would pull out her hammered pot with the worn wooden handle, add water and cinnamon (canela) sticks to it and a handful or two of plump, juicy raisins.  The water would boil till it was a deep, dark red and the house was absolutely redolent of cinnamon.  The raisins would plump up huge as they drank in the cinnamon water and start to float up.

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When that happened, my grandmother would add in the oats.  She used old-fashioned rolled oats, or a mixture of grains and oats still with lots of fiber that my uncle would bring her from this grain place.  No quicky five minute oats for her.  No, she used the kind that takes at least 20 minutes.  She’d lower the flame on her oatmeal pot and stir in those yummy oats slowly.  They’d simmer away for 20 minutes absorbing all that cinnamon and raisin liquor.  Then came the decadent part.

Grandma Lupe would take a can of evaporated milk and pour that into her simmering pot of avena.  That thick, creamy, almost yellow milk would imbue the oatmeal with an intensely milky flavor and make the texture velvety.  Slowly the oats would bubble, with my grandma stirring carefully so it wouldn’t stick.  She’d had sugar bit by bit until her practiced eyes would tell it it was just right.  She’d then let it simmer, stirring all the while for another five minutes just to make sure that sugar was well blended and not grainy.

There was nothing better than that avena. She’d serve me in a little bowl with fresh milk poured over it and a pat of butter on top.  The first spoonful was super rich, super creamy and all kinds of delicious.  The raisins would burst in my mouth tasting unbelievably, insanely delicious.  I never forgot those mornings, made her avena for my kids almost every day and now, on a lazy Saturday morning am making it for my grandchildren whom I hope will have the same memories of a kitchen filled with love and cinnamony avena simmering in a pot.

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