It’s not raining today, but I can feel it coming. We’re supposed to have a rainy weekend here in Los Angeles, so I’m preparing early. The ingredients for caldo de pollo have been bought and ready to take to Eagle Rock, where I will be spending a long weekend with the grandkids. We’ll make the soup, bake some cookies and make champurrado.

Here, at home I’ve already got a pot on the stove. There’s nothing like it for chasing the cold away. Think hot, cinnamon-flavored chocolate that is thick and creamy, with a slight undertone taste of corn. Yes, corn as in the masa we use to make tortillas or tamales. We use it to thicken our champurrado until it is almost porridge-like. The result is creamy, chocolatey goodness that both fills and warms your belly. It keeps you WARM.

When I was a kid, as soon as it got to be a little cold my grandmother would whip out her atole/champurrado pot; a battered and heavy old metal thing with a wooden handle. Nothing said comfort like seeing that familiar pot on the stove. She’d start by boiling water with cinnamon sticks in it. Soon the house would be redolent with the spicy scent and that was comforting as well. The water would turn a deep, dark red – almost black and the cinnamon smell would overpower any other scent in the house. Even the heavy-scented roses climbing up the kitchen window would bow down to the spiciness of that water.

Once the water was dark enough, she’d fish out the cinnamon sticks and start her base for the champurrado. She’d use either flour or Maseca depending on her mood or what was handy. The Maseca went into a cup or bowl with hot water and she whisked it briskly so that it would be smooth. Whisk in hand, she’d stand over the pot and slowly pour in the slurry of Maseca and water, while whisking super fast. The dark red water would swirl and turn almost pink with the addition of the masa. I’d watch, peering over my chair and it seemed magical. I think I fell in love with cooking at moments like that.

When the masa cooked into the water and thickened it, she’d add scoops of dark chocolate powder and whisk that in too. Now the mixture was dark again and the smell of chocolate married the cinnamon; producing something decadent and rich. Once the chocolate was fully mixed in and no stay lumps appeared, she’d pour in a couple of cans of evaporated milk, then regular milk – about half and half (I make mine with just evaporated milk – it’s creamier).

Finally, she’d add the sugar. She never measured except with a new recipe, and with her champurrado, she knew that pot so well that it was almost automatic the amount she poured in from the cup I handed her. By then, my anticipation was almost frenzied. I was dying for that first cup. She’d taste the champurrado, stir it a few more times, then ladle out cups for my grandfather first, then me and Aunt Jessie, then herself. She always served herself last, but she was first in all our hearts.

I always burned my tongue. I couldn’t wait until it was cooled enough to drink. Matter of fact, I still do that.

One of the things I love most about the cold weather celebrations in Mexican households is the traditional ponche (hot fruit punch). There is nothing like it. The smell is incredible, it’s packed with stewed fruit and has an unbelievable flavor. You can add a dash of tequila for someone who wants an extra kick to hit, but I love it just as it is. It’s one of my favorite things and I look forward to it every year. I knew I just had to make some for my guests at the tamalada.

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In ponche, there are some hard-to-find ingredients but they are absolutely necessary or it just won’t be the same. Fortunately, the ingredients are getting easier to find here in L.A. One of the main ingredients, tejocotes, used to be virtually impossible to get unless you went to Mexico and brought them over canned since you can’t bring fresh fruit across the border.

The tejocote is what gives the ponche it’s unusually delicious flavor and without it, it’s just so-so. I’ve been lucky in the past few years being able to find them (at somewhat high prices) frozen. This year, I hit the tejocote lottery and found them fresh! I paid a high price per pound, but the ponche was amazing and it was worth it.

I’m using my grandmother Lupe’s recipe, originally written in Spanish so the measurements may be a little off. I never measure and I never could translate grams and litres into cups and teaspoons.

Some of my guests came in cold from the weather and a hot cup of ponche was just the thing to warm hands and tummies.

Ponche (Mexican Hot Fruit Punch)

1 ½ pounds Tejocotes
1 ½ pounds Guayabas (guavas), not very ripe
1 pound of apples (I used Gala) sliced into rings so that the star in the middle shows
1 pound of Caña (sugar cane) – you can get it frozen in Mexican specialty stores if you can’t find it fresh. If fresh, chop into 2-inch sections and peel. If frozen you can add it right in, it’s already sectioned and peeled.
10 prunes
1 piece of piloncillo (Mexican brown sugar cone)
1 handful of flor de Jamaica (hibiscus flowers, dried)
1 cup of pineapple chunks or rings (optional)
1 dried piece of tamarindo (tamarind), peeled (optional)
Tequila or rum (optional)

Wash all the fruit, peel the sugar cane and slice the apples.
Soak the hibiscus flowers in cold water for about five minutes and strain.
Put a big pot on the stove half filled with cold water and add the tejocotes and cinnamon sticks. Let come to a boil, then add all the fruit and piloncillo. Make sure that the water covers all the fruit. Cook on a medium heat, covered till all the fruit is soft.

Serve hot with some of the cooked fruit in the cup. Add a dash of tequila or rum if desired.