chile

Jan

09

In Praise of Menudo

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What is it about menudo?

If you’re a Chicano or Mexican, chances are you think its the cure-all for la cruda (hangover).  I’ve read that this is a folktale with no substantiated proof of its validity as a cure for the common hangover.  Still, millions of Mexicans would beg to differ and Juanita’s still sells cans and cans of the stuff.

I can see why it would work.  Dehydration is key in a hangover.  Your body is dried out from the alcohol and it makes your head pound and you’re feeling nauseous and ill.  Ok, so bring in the menudo which is essentially, a soup aka water. The water content alone would help you to start feeling better as did that shower you probably took before leaving the house in search of menudo.

But what about the rest?

There’s chili in menudo – not just the chili you cook into it, but also the red pepper flakes you shake liberally onto it and the salsa you scoop into it from the bowl on the table.  Vitamin C is in chili.  That’s gotta help.  What about the onions and garlic that went into it?  Or the freshly chopped raw onion you put on top?  The oregano which is high in antioxidants.  Hippocrates used it as an antiseptic and Mexican abuelas have used it for upset stomachs.  What about that lemon or lime you’re squeezing all over your bowl? More Vitamin C and more liquid.  No wonder you feel better.

Then there’s the fat.  That cow’s stomach that is so chewy, soft and delicious is coating your insides and settling your tummy.  So while I’m no scientist, I say menudo works.  If you don’t have a pot of menudo at home, the simple act of going out for it gives you exercise and gets your blood pumping, chasing that hangover away.

Me, I just love it for its complexity of tastes and textures.  That bitterness of the oregano, sharp bite of the raw onion, the rolled up corn tortilla I dip into it with its taste of char, the bite of the nixtamal or hominy, the chewiness of the panza, the slow burn of the chili and the citrusy freshness of the lemon all combine to make me a very happy girl.  My Uncle Adam would spend every New Year’s Eve perfecting his menudo and I was always a happy taste tester.

What Latino kid doesn’t like menudo?  We grow up picking out the stomach and asking our mothers and grandmothers to only put in the corn; nixtamal soaked over night until it blossoms then cooked into the menudo.  Little by little, the panza or stomach makes its way down our throats and we start putting more of it into our bowl, delighting in the chewiness mixed with the melty soft parts.  As kids, we might sneer and get grossed out by the pata, a pig’s foot neatly quartered by the carnicero (butcher) but menudo isn’t menudo without the pata.  We grow up demanding a piece of the previously despised pata in our bowls, sticking up proudly in a mountain of nixtamal.

At the table, you see the men sucking the bones clean with gusto.  The women are more dainty about it but all the same, they want that fatty, piggy feet goodness.  Everyone seasons their menudo differently.  Tio Nacho over there likes a LOT of oregano, Tia Fulana likes more onion than most, me; sitting on the end over there has a pile of squeezed lemons on the napkin next to me because  I like it sour.

Menudo, that peasant dish made of castoff cow and pig parts is truly el rey (the king) on Sundays in Latino houses and restaurants.  What’s your favorite part of a bowl of menudo?

*The FDA requires that I disclose that this is NOT a cure.  I am NOT prescribing menudo as a cure for a hangover. I’m just pondering…that’s all.  Menudo is food, not medicine.  Sabes? 

Mar

11

Huevos con Chile

stories  Posted by / 0 comments

It’s morning and I’ve finally woken at a decent time, though I still can’t sleep at night for the silence.  I miss that L.A. lullaby of police sirens, music, traffic, voices, dogs barking and the Santa Anas ratting my window panes on a windy night.  I’m sitting on my bed still a little sleepy, wondering what to wear and thinking of those cold mornings in Atwater Village where the creaking of ancient hardwood floors would wake me and the smells of breakfast drifting from the kitchen would lure me out of my cocoon of blankets.

One of my favorite things my grandmother would cook was huevos con chile, scrambled eggs with salsa.  She’d wake up early, about 5am and throw open all the windows and doors to let the fresh air in.  She’d then go outside and water all her flowers and plants while my grandfather irrigated his garden.  From my bed, I would hear the water, feel the dewy morning chill and snuggle in to sleep a little more.  Safe, comforting sounds.  I’d wake again to the creaking of the floorboards, the rattling of pots and then the smells.

Sometimes I’d jump out of bed and run to help in the kitchen.  I’d see the comal going with tomatoes and chiles on it and know she was making salsa.  My grandfather would be there in the kitchen with his rolling pin dusted in flour, rolling out those massive flour tortillas he loved to make.  He worked powerfully and fast.  A quick three turns of the pin and he would have this huge tortilla that barely fit the comal.  I never failed to be amazed by how giant they were and he never tired of showing off for me.

My grandmother would put the molcajete in front of me and the peeled chiles, tomatoes and a few other things like roasted garlic cloves, translucent quarters of onion.  She’d start grinding the chile mixture while i stripped cilantro stems of their leaves and flowers.  She then would take about half of the freshly made salsa over to the stove where she’d scramble eggs and then pour in the salsa which sent off this luscious, spicy steam that made my mouth water.  Before I knew it, there’d be a plate in front of me with eggs colored red and green from the salsa, a scoop of beans with cheese, maybe fresh slices of avocado,  cantaloupe or papaya with lime and one of my Papa’s mega tortillas.

The first bite always tickled my tongue and put a smile on my face.  The eggs were always perfect, the tortillas fluffy and warm, and the best part was my grandmother finally sat down and I could jabber at her, my Aunt Jessie and my Papa while we ate.  What did we talk about?  Why food of course, recipes we wanted to try, how the chiles were growing in the garden and how many rows of cilantro there were.

What are your favorite memories of breakfasts?