Eater - All

---

• I Made the Master Chief Chili and It Made Me Sad
• Avocados Will Get More Expensive, But the Costs for Growers in Mexico Are Much Higher
• How NYC Finance Bros Gamed the System for Hot Reservations
• Over Meal Prep? Try Batch Cooking Instead.
• The 32 Essential Restaurants in Oaxaca
• The Eater Guide to Oaxaca
• Mole Is a Dish That’s Never Truly Done
• No Matter Your Craving, Oaxaca Has a Drink for That
• Savoring the Long Road From the City to the Coast
• Unwrapping Oaxaca’s Must-Try Tamales

I Made the Master Chief Chili and It Made Me Sad Posted: 15 Feb 2022 12:01 PM PST https://www.theverge.com/22923104/master-chief-chili-recipe-tested-steve-downes

Avocados Will Get More Expensive, But the Costs for Growers in Mexico Are Much Higher Posted: 15 Feb 2022 08:47 AM PST Justin Sullivan/Getty Images The USDA's avocado import suspension could mean financial ruin for farmers in Michoacán On Sunday, as millions of Americans scooped globs of guacamole onto tortilla chips while watching the Rams best the Bengals in Super Bowl LVI, the United States Department of Agriculture announced a sudden halt to the importation of avocados from Mexico after it said one of the agency's agricultural health inspectors in the state of Michoacán received an anonymous threat of violence via telephone. Of course, the avocados for everyone's Super Bowl dip weren't impacted — those were already in the country — but the move comes amid growing tensions and escalating violence in the avocado trade between the United States and Mexico. According to Zhengfei Guan, associate professor of food and resource economics at the University of Florida Institute of Food and Agricultural Sciences, Americans have a voracious appetite for avocados. Our consumption of avocados has more than quadrupled over the past two decades, and avocados are the single largest fruit import for the United States, with more than 2.2 billion pounds of avocados imported in 2020. Guan says 91 percent of those avocados came from Mexico, which exports the vast majority of its avocado crop — 80 percent — to the United States. That all adds up to an avocado market that's worth more than $2.5 billion each year, making the industry an attractive target for organized crime groups. Those groups have seen renewed power in the past couple of years following the inauguration of Mexican president Andrés Manuel López Obrador, who took office in December 2018. Tony Payan, the director of the Center for the United States and Mexico at Rice University's Baker Institute for Public Policy, tells Eater that López Obrador has taken a much softer stance on organized crime than his two predecessors, which has resulted in what essentially amounts to "carte blanche" for cartels and other criminals to expand their operations. The way that avocados are grown and supplied makes the industry an easy target for criminals, according to Payan. "This is a multibillion-dollar industry. There's a lot of money to be made, and organized crime knows where the avocados are — you can't hide a big avocado grove," he says. "They know who the farmers are, they know where the facilities for processing and transporting the avocados are, and they come in and threaten the farmers and the workers." Michoacán is home to much of Mexico's avocado crop, as its volcanic soil and frequent rainfall provide a good environment for growing the fruit, making it ground zero for conflicts. In 2019, in the town of Ziracuaretiro, a gang robbed a truck full of USDA inspectors at gunpoint. At that time, the USDA did not implement a suspension on imports, but did issue a warning on escalating violence in the region. "For [the avocado industry], it's worth it to pay even millions of dollars to criminals," Payan says. "And everybody, including the Mexican government, kind of looks the other way." In 2021, the violence against avocado farmers was so widespread that a group of farmers took up arms against the gangs that were extorting them. Calling themselves Pueblos Unidos, the group installed armed "vigilantes" to patrol the areas surrounding avocado farms to prevent "kidnapping, extortion and theft of avocados," according to France 24. López Obrador opposes the vigilante groups, and implemented a strategy dubbed "abrazos, no balazos," or "hugs not bullets," in an effort to minimize cartel violence. The program focused on poverty alleviation strategies in regions with significant cartel activity, not dismantling the cartels. Even if the suspension of avocado imports in the United States only lasts for a short time, the impact in Michoacán will be substantial. While it might have short-term benefits for consumers across Mexico — avocados could flood the market, leading to a dramatic drop in prices — avocado farmers face financial ruin. "They're going to have hundreds of tons of avocados that will rot, and the farmers will literally lose billions of dollars," Payan says. "If this goes on, workers in Michoacán will be laid off, and it will be devastating to the avocado industry." In the United States, consumers can expect avocado prices to skyrocket. According to Guan, the monthly average price of an avocado has risen about 40 percent since January 2021. In January 2021, an avocado cost about $1.05. Now, consumers can expect to pay about $1.36 per avocado, a price that will only rise if the stoppage of Mexican imports continues. "The USDA's decision will have a huge impact on the market supply of avocados, and the price is expected to further spike," Guan says. Outside of Mexico, the United States produces its own Hass avocados (the variety grown in Mexico and the one most commonly found in grocery stores) in California and imports some from Peru. But those avocados are most abundant during their growing season, which starts in the spring and runs through early fall. "We have avocados year-round in U.S. supermarkets because we can source avocados from other areas of the Americas during the off-season," says Trent Blare, an assistant professor at the University of Florida's Tropical Research and Education Center. "Although there are alternative sources to Mexican avocados, the big challenge that grocery stores and restaurants will have is sourcing avocados over the next few months if this suspension continues." Farmers in Florida and the Dominican Republic also grow avocados, but they're a different variety from the Hass avocado. The tropical avocado is larger and boasts a different flavor than the Hass, and is viewed as less desirable for American consumers. And getting them to, say, Chicago from the Dominican Republic poses serious logistical challenges. "Mexico's proximity to the West and Midwest makes it a cost-effective source for avocados in these regions," Blare says. "With all the other supply chain issues the United States is facing with a shortage of trucks and overflowing ports, getting avocados from the Dominican Republic would likely be a headache." Payan is, however, optimistic that the import stoppage will be resolved quickly, largely because the industry is so important to Mexico, and because American consumers are obsessed with their avocados. His expectation is that the Mexican government will negotiate some sort of "modus vivendi," or a peaceful truce, in order to keep the industry from collapsing entirely. A similar peace was negotiated after the team of American produce inspectors was threatened in 2019. But ultimately, those are just stopgap measures, and it's likely that the violence surrounding avocado production will continue in Michoacán. "My guess is that [the Mexican government] will refuse to implement an aggressive strategy against organized crime. The more likely outcome is that they will send an envoy to say, 'look, we know what you're doing, but you can't put an entire industry at risk,'" Payan says. "Essentially, they'll be told to stay clear of U.S. inspectors, and we'll go back to the status quo."

How NYC Finance Bros Gamed the System for Hot Reservations Posted: 15 Feb 2022 08:36 AM PST AFP via Getty Images https://ny.eater.com/2022/2/15/22910632/free-rezy-reservation-booking-telegram-group-manhattan-restaurants-nyc

Over Meal Prep? Try Batch Cooking Instead. Posted: 15 Feb 2022 07:00 AM PST The face of batch cooking. | Getty Images There's a big, beautiful world beyond neatly arranged, preportioned Tupperware containers As a planner, there's nothing more appealing to me than the idea of meal prep — getting ahead, saving time and effort, and not having to cook for the rest of the week. But like so many things in life, the reality of it never quite lived up to the hype. I mean, how often do you get to Thursday and still have a hankering for the roasted vegetables and salmon you made on Sunday afternoon? On top of that, the concept of meal prep at some point became a more functional and utilitarian practice than a creative or enjoyable one, where "shoulds" trumped "wants." This was in part due to its increasingly health-focused bent, which made me often feel guilty and undisciplined for not wanting to spend the last bit of my weekend preparing food that I wasn't even thrilled about eating today, let alone two lunches from now. After several failed good-faith attempts to make meal prep a sustainable part of my life, I realized that semantics may have been more to blame than my willpower. And so, as a big believer in both food as joy and time as currency, I've dropped the term "meal prep" in favor of something I like to call "batch cooking" — and that simple tweak has worked wonders on my motivation. To me, batch cooking means making a dish that 1) naturally comes in large quantities, 2) keeps or freezes well, and 3) most importantly, actually brings me enjoyment, preferably over the course of a few days. If this sounds suspiciously similar to meal prep, that's precisely the point. But the difference is that instead of "what should I make this week?", batch cooking begins by asking, "what do I want to eat? Is there a food I've been craving recently?" From there, it's about finding the overlap between that dish (or something similar) and those other two factors. Once I internalized this mindset, I discovered an entire world beyond neatly arranged, pre-portioned Tupperware containers. A cheesy, vegetable-laden lasagna, half of which I can freeze for future use? Check. A creamy potato leek soup that tastes just as good on Day Three as it did the day I made it? Yes, please. Slow-simmered, basil-spiked tomato sauce that I can store in quart containers and warm up to order when I cook pasta? Don't see why not. My personal favorite: Japanese curry made from store-bought curry blocks, which is not only easy and cheap to whip up but also surprisingly versatile, as it can incorporate a variety of proteins and vegetables and is delicious eaten over rice or noodles. Above all, it's a dish I can feasibly, and quite happily, eat for days. Some might say I'm splitting hairs here, but words really can make (and have made) a difference for me. In my experience, batch cooking offers the same rewards as meal prep (re: time, effort, and sanity) without the rigidity or monotony, which means planning food for the coming days can be an achievable, sustainable, and even exciting part of my weekly routine. I'm no longer guilty of scrapping my thoughtfully prepped-and-portioned food for last-minute takeout halfway through the week in hopes of feeling something again — because the curry I made on Sunday (or Tuesday, or Friday) does the job for me. If that's not the best metric of success, I don't know what is. Joy Cho is a freelance writer, recipe developer, and pastry chef based in New York City.

The 32 Essential Restaurants in Oaxaca Posted: 15 Feb 2022 06:01 AM PST Juan de Dios Garza Vela Where to find crisp memelas, magnificent moles, and smoky grilled meats in the Oaxacan capital Just a 45-minute flight from Mexico City, the quaint, historic metropolis of Oaxaca has long been a popular landing pad for expats and bohemians attracted to its colonial-era streets, Baroque churches, and charming plazas. Lately, though, Oaxaca has gotten lots of buzz, drawing all types of international travelers to its tantalizing mix of colors, textures, sounds, and traditions, and the mingling aromas of mezcal, chocolate, and spices. La Verde Antequera, or the "green antique," as Oaxaca is called — a reference to the green cantera stone on which the city is built, and the city's former Spanish name, Nueva Antequera — has also become Mexico's undisputed culinary capital, and a visit here quickly reveals why. In Oaxaca, your senses are spoiled from your first morning sip of local coffee or chocolate de agua to your last bite of mole or nightcap of mezcal. Today, ambitious modern restaurants exist side by side with traditional mom-and-pop eateries and humming street food vendors. Here, then, is Eater's list of the most essential restaurants, dishes, and culinary experiences in Oaxaca City, from fine dining restaurants to sidewalk snacks and everything in between. Price per person, excluding alcohol: $ = Less than 200 pesos (less than USD $10) $$ = 200 - 380 pesos (USD $10 to $18) $$$ = 380 - 570 pesos (USD $18 to $28) $$$$ = More than 570 pesos (more than USD $28) Health experts consider dining out to be a high-risk activity for the unvaccinated; it may pose a risk for the vaccinated, especially in areas with substantial COVID transmission. Omar Alonso is a culinary tour guide, television fixer, and food writer based in Oaxaca.

The Eater Guide to Oaxaca Posted: 15 Feb 2022 06:00 AM PST Bring on the barbacoa (and mole, and memelas, and tlayudas, and…) There might be no more romanticized state in Mexico than Oaxaca. As home to 16 distinct Indigenous groups that both anchor and drive the culture, the state of Oaxaca is as varied, complex, and beautiful as the rich moles for which it is famed. The word itself seems to emit a perfume of chiles, wild herbs, chocolate, and smoke. It's no wonder then, that Oaxaca has, over the last several years, become a must-hit destination for visitors from around the world — especially those who travel for food. Eater and its team of local experts have assembled the ultimate guide to getting the most out of this essential destination, outlining all the best things to eat and drink and where to find them, as well as ambitious itineraries, vital explainers, and spotlights on some of the unique aspects of Oaxacan gastronomy. It, like the place, is a lot to digest — but that's what the mezcal is for. Why everyone is so obsessed with Oaxaca 10,523 rural villages, 18 recognized ethnic groups, eight regions. Truth is, it's more than one guide could ever contain, but here's a start. What Makes Oaxacan Food Oaxacan? At This Mother-Son Restaurant, the Mole Is Never Truly Done The Ongoing Fight Over Who Owns 'Mezcal' The Indigenous Farmers Preserving Mexico's Native Corn The Bold, Spicy Power of Oaxaca's Afromexican Cuisine No Matter Your Craving, In Oaxaca There's a Drink for That All your eating and drinking, planned Bookmark these restaurants, bars, mezcalerías, street stalls, coffee shops, chocolaterias, tlayuda stands, and more for a feast that will last the entire trip. The 32 Essential Restaurants in Oaxaca Oaxacan Mezcal Is Astounding. Here's Where to Drink It The Perfect 24-Hour Food Itinerary for Oaxaca A Street Food Guide to Oaxaca City Why three days isn't enough The capital city of Oaxaca is an ideal long weekend destination, but for a true taste of the state, save plenty of time to get out of town. The Best Food-Focused Day Trips from Oaxaca City Where to Eat on the Long Road from Oaxaca City to the Coast Behold Oaxaca's Most Unforgettable Seafood Restaurant Unwrapping Oaxaca's Must-Try Tamales The 21 Essential Restaurants of Puerto Escondido The 27 Essential Restaurants in Huatulco Credits Editorial lead: Lesley Suter Creative director: Alyssa Nassner Consulting editors: Bill Esparza, Niki Nakazawa Contributors: Omar Alonso, Tirza Bonifazi, Javier Cabral, Shava Cueva, Bill Esparza, Nicholas Gill, María Itaka, Emma Janzen, Verónica Jiménez Salcedo, Bricia Lopez, Sarah Menkedick, Madeleine Wattenbarger Photographers: Shava Cueva, Juan de Dios Garza Vela, Eva Alicia Lepíz, Arthur Santos Illustrations: Ariadna Vásquez of Central Estudio Editors: Erin DeJesus, Matt Buchanan, Nick Mancall-Bitel Copy editors: Leilah Bernstein, Rachel P. Kreiter, Nadia Ahmad Fact-checker: Liliana Michelena Engagement: James Park, Carla Vianna, Milly McGuinness Special thanks to Nat Belkov, Monica Burton, Talia Baiocchi, Patty Diez, Stephanie Wu, Amanda Kludt, Ellie Krupnick, Ivan Vasquez, Tomas "Tommy" Vasquez, Demla Divina Ramírez Roque, and the people of Oaxaca.

Mole Is a Dish That’s Never Truly Done Posted: 15 Feb 2022 06:00 AM PST Elvia León Hernández grinds ingredients for mole on her metate. | Nicholas Gill/Eater In 2018, Elvia and Jorge Leon Hernandez turned their family home into Alfonsina, a restaurant that embraces the living, breathing tradition of mole-making "In the village, people used to say that breathing the smoke from the chiles was good for you," says Elvia León Hernández, coughing a bit from the plume as she tosses a combination of dried, thick-skinned chilhuacle chiles and ancho chiles on her comal. She moves the chiles continuously with an escobeta, a brush made from dried palm leaves, as the fire burns beneath the clay griddle in the garden of Alfonsina, the restaurant she runs with her son Jorge León on the outskirts of Oaxaca. León Hernández is making mole negro, the most emblematic of Oaxaca's moles. It's the one everyone talks about, the one with the seemingly endless combinations of native and foreign ingredients, and she's been making it for more than 30 years. When the chiles are stiff, resembling pieces of charcoal, she sweeps them off the comal into a bowl with a piece of cardboard. She toasts other ingredients, the driest first: ancho chiles, almonds, sesame seeds that have been soaked in water, cinnamon sticks, raisins, garlic, oregano, thyme, clove, cumin. A ripe banana, peel and all, goes into the charcoal beneath the comal beside onions, then tomatoes and tomatillos. The seeds of the two chiles are toasted. After the banana and vegetables are removed, the chiles are crunched in her hands into even smaller pieces. Then she turns her attention to the metate. Juan de Dios Garza Vela/Eater Jorge and Elvia pose for a portrait inside their restaurant. Alfonsina's metate, a tool made of river stone used to grind chiles and other ingredients, is curved and clunky, and estimates it's probably been in use for at least 40 years. She places a handful of chiles on the old stone, sprinkles them with water, then works small amounts of the chiles with the mano, or roller, which she grips firmly with both hands. It's less of a rolling motion than a pushing downward and dragging back while flicking her wrists. She knows the mixture is ready when it is smooth — when the chiles have melted into the metate. She repeats the process with the vegetables, and then with the herbs and nuts. It takes hours and muscle. As she grinds the mixtures again and again, she reminisces about making mole in Santo Domingo Nundo, her home village, almost 200 kilometers to the northwest. There would be about a dozen women lined up with their metates, side by side, grinding on the stones. She can still hear the wind in the trees, she says, as they made mole and passed the time together. "We talked about life, the fields, the corn and beans," she says. "It was soothing." When each mixture for her mole negro has reached its desired consistency, she heats manteca (pork fat) in a clay pot that has been set on some bricks over a wood fire a few steps from the comal. She adds the chile mixture, then the seed mixture, some chocolate, and the rest. She sprinkles in a little bit of salt, then water and chicken broth, bit by bit. She stirs continuously for the next couple of hours, and the pot bubbles and splats and smokes. When you taste León Hernández's mole negro, which may appear with a protein or on an antojito (a masa-based snack like tlayudas and tamales), depending on how she is feeling that day, not one of the 18 ingredients stands out. That's how she says it's supposed to be. Through the smoke of the comal, the grinding of the metate, and the heat of the fire, everything becomes one. The word "mole" is derived from the Nahuatl word "mōlli," which roughly translates to "watery food," such as a sauce or stew. Mexico's 18 ethnic groups have been making moles long before the introduction of foreign ingredients like onions and sesame seeds. Mole's defining technique, the grinding of chiles and other ingredients on a metate, has Indigenous roots, and these early moles used what was native: chiles, tomatoes, wild greens called quelites — a wide variety of ingredients depending on the local microclimate, of which Oaxaca has many. Some of the moles made in rural villages today still resemble these, and many dishes one might recognize as mole aren't necessarily called mole; they might be known by Indigenous names or a reference attributed to a particular village. Oaxaca's so-called seven moles — negro, rojo, coloradito, amarillo, verde, chichilo, and manchamantel — have over time included some ingredients more associated with the postcolonial era: onions, garlic, sesame seeds, and certain spices. Many moles in the Valles Centrales contain a thickener: Nuts, raw or cooked masa, and tortillas were frequently the Indigenous approach, but now traditional cooks may use bread or ground sesame seeds, if a thickener is even used at all. Tortillas, as the accompaniment, are the only essential complement. "There isn't a standardization," Jorge explains from a table at Alfonsina in between services. "No one can define if [something] is mole or it is not. Everyone has their own definition." Nicholas Gill/Eater Elvia León Hernández roasts chiles on the outdoor comal. Nicholas Gill/Eater Grinding on the metate. Nicholas Gill/Eater León Hernández's mole cooks in a pot in the courtyard of Alfonsina. For cook Veronica Aquino Ambrocio, who works in the kitchen of a reforestation project in San Martín Tilcajete, mole means the warmth of caldo de guajolote, the soulful turkey broth that gives the moles of Santa Ana Zegache in the Central Valley their signature flavor. She mixes the broth with chiles when making her mole negro or coloradito. When she was growing up, there was no meat to accompany the mole — her family couldn't afford it — so they used white beans instead. For Carina Santiago, who owns two restaurants in Teotitlán del Valle, mole evokes the sound of her grandmother grinding fresh oregano and thyme on a metate to make mole de castilla, which is often thickened with bread and served with turkey. For Thalia Barrios García, owner of Levadura de Olla in Oaxaca and whose hometown of San Mateo Yucutindoo in the Sierra Sur sits in the mountains, mole means the surprise of family members delivering baskets of wild mushrooms to her family's house; those relatives would wake at 4 a.m. to collect the mushrooms to make mole amarillo con hongos. In other words, in restaurants, houses, and markets around Oaxaca, everyone makes their mole a little differently. Some might use ancho chiles when others use costeños. Some might use bread to thicken the sauce, while others might use masa. Some might char the chiles longer than others. Some might use a blender when others use a metate. Oaxaca isn't the land of seven moles; it's the land of 7,000 moles. The more you try to define them, the more you realize they cannot be defined. They are everything. They are nothing. I first met León Hernández and León in late 2018, not long after they opened Alfonsina together. In the years before, she had been making tortillas daily and selling them, along with various antojitos, to neighbors, while León had been working in professional kitchens, first at Casa Oaxaca, where he learned to prepare traditional Oaxacan dishes. Later, he'd become an integral part of Pujol in Mexico City — Enrique Olvera's internationally renowned restaurant known for its Mole Madre, Mole Nuevo dish — and of other parts of Olvera's restaurant group, in charge of the moles and masa. When León returned to Oaxaca, he wanted to create something with his mother at their family home in San Juan Batista la Raya. Every peso he saved went into buying kitchen equipment and building a small dining room with a comal. They cleaned up the courtyard, adding tables and an outdoor kitchen with another comal and a fire pit. At first it was just mother and son, but the team quickly grew, as is evident in the kitchen before a recent lunch service. León's stepfather Macedonio García is nixtamalizing the corn in a large pot over an open fire in the courtyard to make tomorrow's masa. León's brother Rubén, the sous chef, is peeling pitaya and crushing almonds for the dessert course, while his wife Claudia is handling reservations and managing the dining area. There are aunts and cousins prepping, making tortillas, and waiting tables. They are all wearing T-shirts that say "Familia." Landrace corn, a Mexican heirloom variety, is the backbone of the Alfonsina menu: In the morning it is among the traditional foods of León Hernández's comida corrida, and in the afternoons it appears on León's menu, which is more free-form and served for lunch and dinner. The corn, which the duo sources from small farmers in their ancestral village, is used in tortillas, tlayudas, sopes, tamales, and tostadas. But the moles are a constant. Mole is a living, breathing document shaped by personal experiences and specific inspirations. León Hernández's moles are inspired by a mix of the mole she grew up making and the classic mestizo preparations of the valley. In her village, they made only one kind — a red spicy mole somewhat similar to a coloradito. Chiles were eaten with everything there, and there were none of the foreign seeds or spices from abroad that she now uses in her mole negro. When León Hernández moved to Oaxaca, her mother-in-law taught her about mole negro and estofado. Finding them too sweet, León Hernández adapted them with less sugar and more chiles, in the style of her village, creating her own recipes. Juan de Dios Garza Vela/Eater Elvia prepares a dish with her mole. León can remember his first taste of his mother's mole in Santo Domingo Nundo. Elvia handed him a cucharilla, a variety of Dasylirion that they now use as spoons at Alfonsina, and the mole was vibrant and alive. Even then he sensed that it wasn't just food but something more: He'd have it at birthday celebrations, a wedding, or for Semana Santa (Holy Week) alongside shrimp cakes called tortitas de camarón. "The occasion was secondary," he says. "Just preparing the mole was a celebration in itself." To some purists, León's moles might not even be considered moles. They are fresh moles, more pre-Hispanic and like the moles of rural villages that are inspired by native produce: whites, greens, and yellows usually, expressions of the season, sometimes made with things like yuca or pulque. He comes up with many of them while gathering produce at Oaxaca's Mercado de Abastos. Like his mother's moles, they lean spicy. "I think they are developing and growing," León Hernández says of her son's moles. "They're surprising. I love them." Each has a tremendous respect for the other's work. They're often in the kitchen together: He might show her a way to clean the chiles to extract the maximum amount of flavor or explain why it's important to use one ingredient over another. She might teach him a particular way to grind an herb. Sometimes in the kitchen, she's stirring one of his moles, and he is grinding chiles for hers — so it is hard to tell where one mole ends and the other begins. As he makes his moles at Alfonsina, León can track how his approach to mole extends backward through time. When he was 18 and in the kitchen at Casa Oaxaca, someone told him to make the restaurant's moles, handing him recipes for large batches — the restaurant would make them 50 kilos at a time. In those days, he says, he had zero experience making mole: Girls are taught to make mole when they are young, but not boys. "I had to just figure it out," he says. It was the moment he started to become more interested in his mother's cooking, setting him off on a never-ending journey of trying to understand who he was and where he was from. As León Hernández watches her son make his mole, she remembers when she was 20, arriving at San Juan Batista la Raya, right beside the airport, from her village en route to the United States. "It was supposed to be just a stopover," León tells me. "Everyone in the village was migrating there." Santo Domingo Nundo was emptying out. León was 4 years old at the time, and moving to the States would mean he wouldn't remember Mexico or the pueblo. León Hernández understood what that meant — not just for her son but for everyone. She told her family that she had changed her mind. "We aren't going to leave," she said. "We're staying in Oaxaca." In the early morning, while most of Oaxaca is still sleeping, I'm walking with León through the Mercado de Abastos. In the past, he explains, every vegetable and chile was some sort of heirloom variety grown within an area's specific microclimate. But at some point in the last few decades, as access to commercial products became easier, things started to change. People in the village stopped using things like panela and handcrafted salt in favor of much cheaper industrial sugars and salt. These weren't just changing the mole's flavor; they were changing an entire ecosystem of ingredients and the livelihoods of everyone involved with them. When we find a group of vendors from rural communities far from the city, their piles of avocados and tomatoes are spread out on blankets and folding tables. "I had to convince my mother to start using tomato riñon," León says as he holds up a large red tomato with grooves along the sides. "She was used to picking out whatever was cheapest. She didn't understand why she should be paying five times more for a tomato." Nicholas Gill/Eater León spoons out mole in the kitchen at Alfonsina. It was important to León that Alfonsina make the same shift. The corn, in particular, would be sourced from small farmers in Santo Domingo Nundo. He's constantly going out in search of ingredients around the state of Oaxaca that are being forgotten or displaced. In the sierra, he's found a community growing criollo chiles and making chintextle, a smoked chile paste. On the coast, he is sourcing criollo hibiscus flowers and working with sustainable-fishing communities in Puerto Escondido. In the jungle in La Chinantla, he found someone growing cacao, while in La Mixteca he is buying pulque and wild mushrooms. Alfonsina is becoming an ecosystem of its own for these types of producers, as well as for his own family. Back at the restaurant, León is preparing a mole he dreamed up that morning in the market. He's never made it, but he's confident about the flavors. There are pumpkin seeds, which he grinds in a Vitamix. He chops parsley, garlic, and onions and adds them to a hot pan with whole manzano chiles, a sort of fatter, larger habanero that isn't quite as hot but maintains the same flavor. After a few minutes, he adds squash blossoms. Lots of them. After sautéing them for about 30 minutes, they wither and melt in the pan. In the blender, he adds some of the mixture. He tastes it and nods his head. He blends some more, tastes it, then adds some more from the pan and blends it until the Vitamix starts steaming. He sautes some parsley, adds it to the blender for a minute, then dumps everything back into the pan. Stir, back to the blender, back to the pan, more chile: Everything goes back and forth until the mixture has just the right texture and flavor. He passes a cucharilla with some of the mole on it to León Hernández, and she nods her head. Just like his mother's moles, no single flavor stands out, but it's a touch spicy. Nicholas Gill/Eater León's fresh green mole plated alongside León Hernández's mole. As he cooks some fish and mustard leaves that are going to be served with this unnamed mole, we start talking about Pujol's famous Mole Madre, Mole Nuevo dish. Maybe the most symbolic fine-dining recipe in modern Mexican cuisine, it's a two-mole plate where an older mole negro that keeps getting fed with new black mole every few days, similar to a masa madre (or sourdough starter), is topped with a fresh mole rojo. For visitors and the international food set, the Pujol dish is avant-garde, something that dramatically pops on Instagram, but it borrows from long-standing traditions during village celebrations. In Oaxaca, it often takes five days to make a mole, sometimes more. The first few days involve preparing all of the chiles: cleaning, charring, grinding. Then there's the day of the celebration, when the mole is eaten by everyone in the community. But it's the day after that initial serving when people reheat the mole in their houses — the famous recalentado, meaning "reheated" — which results in a much deeper flavor. "My mother taught me how special this was," León says. "Reheating isn't for the entire village but just your family. It's more important. That's the concept for Mole Madre, Mole Nuevo: recalentando, recalentando, recalentando." This reheated mole is traditional, a comforting meal not made for tourists but for the people of Oaxaca. As long as there are moles being made, it will always be there the next day. It was Olvera's idea to add the mole nuevo atop the mole madre, León says, so diners could try the two moles together and taste the differences created by the passage of time. At that moment, in the kitchen at Alfonsina, León has the idea to plate his mother's mole negro on the same plate with the light-green mole he just made. It isn't one on top of the other, though; they are plated side by side. Writer and photographer Nicholas Gill is the co-author of the Latin American Cookbook and writes the Substack newsletter New Worlder. Juan de Dios Garza Vela is a photographer specializing in food and travel. When he isn't doing photo work he also does illustration work and murals. Based at the moment in Guadalajara, he can't imagine life without tacos.

No Matter Your Craving, Oaxaca Has a Drink for That Posted: 15 Feb 2022 06:00 AM PST Horchata con tuna. Beverages brimming with cocoa and corn, herbs and squash are among Oaxaca's must-try (and mostly non-alcoholic) drinks Describing Oaxaca is like trying to describe a whole country — the 36,000-square-mile coastal state is a bit like a nation unto itself inside of Mexico. There are more than 15 Indigenous groups represented here and countless small villages, all with their own distinct cultures, traditions, and cuisines. While Oaxaca is well-known for its impressive variety when it comes to food, its lineup of traditional drinks is just as awe-inspiring. And not just the mezcal. There are dozens of beverages made using corn, chocolate, agave, and various native fruits that quench the daily thirst of Oaxacans and make for a delicious drink or snack for visitors. Many of these beverages are specific to a single town, while others can be found statewide; some are seasonal, a key part of annual celebrations and rituals, while others are used mainly for medicinal purposes. No matter the cause of your thirst, in Oaxaca, there's a drink for that. Morning Drinks Cafe de olla is sweetened with panela and often spiced with anise, cinnamon, cloves, and pepper. Café de Olla Coffee arrived in Mexico at the end of the 18th century, when the Spanish brought plants over from Cuba, but it didn't make its way to Oaxaca until another century after that. Even then, Oaxacans mostly preferred to drink their traditional atoles and chocolates rather than the bitter African beans. The land, however, loved coffee — its ideal climate and topography nurtured what's now a booming coffee-growing industry, known for distinct, high-quality beans. Today many locals start their day with a cup of café de olla, a delicately spiced coffee drink emblematic of Oaxaca. It's most often prepared in a clay pot over a wood fire with a mixture of ground coffee beans, anise, cinnamon, panela (unrefined cane sugar), cloves, and a little pemienta, or pepper, for balance. You can find café de olla in other Mexican states, but Oaxaca's version is unique. That's thanks to the particular qualities of the local clay, firewood, and Oaxacan panela, which produce a light but still intensely flavored cup. Some recipes add orange peel; others tweak the spice mix just so. But no matter how it's made, it's best enjoyed in a clay cup to warm your hands and your body with every sip. Where to try it: La Olla A wooden molinillo forms the thick foam atop chocolate de agua. Chocolate de Agua Despite how much coffee is grown in Oaxaca, mornings here still more often than not begin with chocolate. The Olmecs of ancient Mexico were using kakawa (cocoa) for drinking chocolate as early as 1000 BCE. Oaxacans continue this tradition today, grinding cacao with a stone metate or electric grinder and mixing it with cinnamon, panela (unrefined cane sugar), and sometimes other spices before it's formed into a disc and dried. Just drop one of these rounds — called barra de chocolate — into a clay jug with hot water (traditionally never milk) and whisk vigorously with a wooden tool called a molinillo to achieve the characteristic foam that lends a luscious body to the drink. Where to try it: Mercado 20 de Noviembre, or make your own at home with solid chocolate from El Rito Chocolatería or Mamá Pacha Chocolate Cornstarch and water are the root of atole de maíz. Atole de Maíz Atole de maíz (corn atole) is consumed throughout Mexico and rounds out the varied lineup of morning beverages you'll find all over Oaxaca. The word "atole" comes from the Nahuatl atolli: atl, meaning "water," and tolli, a noun derived from the Spanish todo, "all." The most popular take is a thick, white mixture of cornstarch diluted in water that is enjoyed for breakfast alongside a warm tamale. Atole de maíz starts with corn kernels that are soaked in water for 12 to 24 hours and then boiled, ground, and boiled again — the final consistency varies depending on the maker, but the sweet spot is somewhere between a cream and a porridge. Atole de maíz can be made with just water and corn kernels, but some people like to add a touch of cinnamon or panela, a type of unrefined cane sugar. Where to try it: Any stall in the food court or IV Centenario market Cocoa adds flavor and richness to the corn-based champurrado. Champurrado Corn with cocoa is one of Mexico's greatest culinary combos, and the champurrado is one of its finest examples. Born alongside the atole, champurrado was invented by the Aztecs, who, it's believed, added cacao to acorn atole for sweetness years before sugar cane was introduced. Today's champurrado starts with a barra de chocolate that's whisked into an atole of yellow corn with a molinillo until the mixture is thick and frothy. It's traditionally served in a clay cup with a side of bread and can be found in the morning at street stalls, markets, and restaurants throughout Oaxaca. Take heed: Champurrado is served nuclear-level hot, so a bit of patience will do you, and your mouth, well. Where to try it: Las Quince Letras Wheat is the foundation of the Mixtec specialty, atole de trigo. Atole de Trigo Oaxaca might be known for corn, but wheat is grown here, too — planted on the slopes and valleys of the Mixteca region, where it's cultivated for a multitude of uses, including, yes, another atole. Rarely found outside of the Mixteca region, atole de trigo resembles a corn atole in consistency only — the taste is far sweeter, with a cinnamony, bready, yeasty aroma that pairs well with the inevitable bread that's served alongside it. Where to try it: Masea Trigo y Maíz Afternoon / Evening Drinks Thick, chunky foam is a signature of Oaxaca's tejate. Tejate Tejate is one of the cornerstone pre-Hispanic drinks of the Oaxaca Valley. Typically made with cocoa, corn, mamey sapote seed, and rosita de cacao — an edible flower that's often used to season chocolate — it's renowned for its energizing properties and was originally served to field workers in need of a boost. Today it's an everyday drink for many Oaxacans, but the process of making it is anything but basic. Ingredients are laboriously toasted and ground to form a paste that's ultimately added with water to a wide pot, traditionally made with green glazed clay from Atzompa. The mixture is then whipped by hand for an hour or more until a thick layer of chunky foam forms at the top. The result, though, is worth the effort — light and chocolatey, with a slight floral note on the tongue and a thick, foamy finish with all the refreshing appeal of a milkshake. Tejate is typically served in a hollowed-out jícara (drinking gourd) with a wooden stick for scooping the signature foam. Where to try it: La Flor de Huayapam at Mercado Benito Juárez The recipe for the horchata con tuna at Aguas Casilda is nearly 100 years old. Horchata con Tuna (Red Prickly Pear) The sweet, spiced, rice-almond drink known as horchata is a favorite throughout Mexico — and much of the world at this point — but Oaxaca has a uniquely delicious variation made with the tart red fruit of the prickly pear cactus, or tuna in Spanish. Casilda Flores is credited with creating the drink in 1926 while selling aguas frescas in the Zócalo. Nearly 100 years later, Flores's granddaughters run the iconic Aguas Casilda chain of juice stands, where they maintain Casilda's original recipe. The process is all done by hand, including soaking the rice and cleaning roasted almonds one by one. Here, when the horchata is served over ice, a scoop of crushed prickly pear is added to the glass along with some melon and a sprinkling of crunchy pecans for texture. Where to try it: Aguas Casilda in the Mercado Benito Juárez The chilacayota squash is the base of this thick, spoonable drink. Agua de Chilacayota The chilacayota is a type of large squash similar to a watermelon, with greenish-yellowish skin and white fibrous flesh studded with jet-black seeds. Its name comes from the Nahuatl word "tzilacayotli," from tzilac ("smooth") and ayotli ("pumpkin") — meaning "smooth pumpkin," though others say the name comes from the word "tzilictic" ("something with a clear sound") for the pleasing, vibrating echo the chilacayota makes when thumped. The pulp is used in many sweet preparations, including a drink that cooks it down along with panela and fresh lime zest. While technically a beverage, agua de chilacayote is so thick and stew-like, you can eat it with a spoon. Where to try it: Aguas Casilda in the Mercado Benito Juárez The wild poleo herb is renowned for its hangover curing powers. Poleo If you go to Oaxaca, you're likely drinking mezcal — and if you're drinking enough of it, you might require a cup of poleo the next morning. Poleo is a wild, bushy herb with a minty aroma that's as renowned for its medicinal hangover-curing properties (its nickname is satureja laevigata, or "herb of the drunk") as its culinary ones. It's a sacred plant for the Zapotecs and often used during celebrations and as an offering for guests. As a tea, it's prepared like any other infusion, using fresh or dried leaves steeped in hot water. With no caffeine and an intoxicating minty scent, it's a warming sip for anytime of day, and you can find it served in restaurants and market stalls across the state. Where to try it: Tizne Toasted corn kernels give depth to the cold agua de maíz tostado. Agua de Maíz Tostado While mornings are for atole de maíz, afternoons are for a cold agua de maíz tostado, made with corn kernels that have been roasted over a comal before grinding. Too much heat will burst the kernels and too little will leave them flavorless, but just the right roast caramelizes the sugar and adds some smoky depth to the refreshing drink that's as much about the texture — pleasingly chunky and grainy — as the taste. Where to try it: Levadura de Olla Rey Eteco is one of the few distilleries bottling Oaxacan rum. Aguardiente de Caña Mezcal gets all the attention, but there's another locally made spirit worth paying attention to in Oaxaca: rum. Sugar cane first arrived in the Americas from the Canary Islands in the 16th century, spreading via the Spanish from the Caribbean through the rest of the continent, including Mexico and, of course, Oaxaca. Oaxacans began distilling the fermented cane juice into rum, or aguardiente de caña, soon after its earliest cultivation here, and the spirit remains central to many rural communities in Oaxaca's eastern highlands. Compared with mezcal, only a relative handful of distilleries bottle aguardiente de caña for commercial production, let alone export it, but you can try a number of them, like Rey Eteco, at better bars throughout Oaxaca. Where to try it: Maguey y Maíz Shava Cueva is a photographer based in Ensenada and Oaxaca, and the author of Bebidas de Oaxaca.

Savoring the Long Road From the City to the Coast Posted: 15 Feb 2022 06:00 AM PST Comedor "el rincon del sabor" stands alone on a mountain cliff in Oaxaca. The long, winding road through the mountains is a wonderland of sweeping vistas and regional specialties that are more than worth the time At 2 o'clock in the morning on December 7, 1993, just a month shy of his 12th birthday, Ivan Vásquez hopped on a recycled bike made from a refurbished frame and scraps and headed off to ride 118 miles along treacherous, high-altitude mountain roads from Oaxaca City to Iglesia de Santa Catarina Juquila. Wearing jogging pants, soccer shoes, a black "Venice" hoodie his aunt had sent him from LA, and a backpack (contents: water, torta de jamón, tire patch kit, blanket, muscle pain relief cream), Vásquez made the exhausting trip — which takes a full 24 hours — as part of a grueling ritual pilgrimage that ends at the feet of the Vírgen de Juquila. The petite wooden figurine of the Virgin Mary was given to a local Indigenous man in the 16th century by Fray Jordán de Santa Catalina and became an even greater object of devotion after surviving a fire in 1633 that decimated the church but left the statue intact — with a new morena complexion that resembled the native Chatinos and other Indigenous groups. The small rural villages along the highway act as pit stops for travelers and pilgrims alike. Vásquez was not alone. Each year in the days leading up to the Virgin of Juquila's Day, on December 8, the two lanes of the winding, worn Federal Highway 131 that rises and falls with the contours of the Sierra Madre del Sur mountains accommodates thousands of Zapotecos, Mixes, and Maya groups from Guatemala and Chiapas, as well as other Indigenous people from the region. Some on bikes, others on foot, they make the trek for all sorts of reasons — to pray for a loved one or to make a vow of self-change. Vásquez made the journey with the hope of helping his father overcome his alcohol dependency and to somehow come up with the money to make the payments on their family home, which they were in jeopardy of losing. The trip was undoubtedly hard — at one point Vásquez's cousin found him stalled on the road, leg muscles burning and cramped — but it was also riddled with pit stops that served a vast array of fortifying Oaxacan delicacies. Vásquez remembers stopping roadside for memelas brushed with salty lard and topped with black bean puree and cheese, smoky pit-roasted barbacoa, hearty soups infused with wild herbs, and of course mezcal. In the end, helped along by the nourishment of good food, his family, and his faith, he successfully completed the journey that year and repeated it twice more before ultimately leaving Oaxaca for the States at the age of 16. Vásquez now owns a mini-chain of acclaimed Oaxacan restaurants in Los Angeles known as Madre. "I didn't realize it at the moment, but all the pain, fear, sweat, and cramps were preparing me to leave Oaxaca," he says. "It gave me the courage to come to the U.S. alone." Today, in addition to serving as the challenging path for thousands of religious pilgrims each year, the 131 Highway is one of two main roads from Oaxaca City to the Oaxacan coast and its beautiful beach towns of Puerto Escondido and Huatulco. Those who choose to drive the six-plus hours to the beach and back pass through the same small villages and roadside food stands that Vásquez and his fellow journeymen stopped at during their trips. This summer, however, the long-awaited Oaxaca-Barranca Larga-Ventanilla superhighway is slated to open, replacing the bumpy, twisting, nausea-inducing 131 and 175 highways and turning the trip to the coast into a short two-and-a-half-hour drive. But like a handmade pot of mole, shortcuts in Oaxaca are ill-advised; what one saves in time, one loses in deliciousness. Should you then choose to embark on your own pilgrimage down the 131, an itinerary of mouthwatering dishes awaits — as well as welcoming villages full of talented local cooks ready to cure your road weariness. Here, Vásquez shares his favorite stops and dishes found along the way, wistful memories formed during childhood treks, and his many returns since. Note: You can complete this itinerary in as few as two days or up to a week, depending on how long you want to stay on the coast or in any of the scenic villages. Also note that while the mileage may look low, the roads are very windy and slow going. Either way, don't be in a hurry, but be hungry. Pancita de res with all the fixings at the cliffside Comedor "el rincon del sabor." PART I: 131 to Puerto Escondido Stop 1: Villa de Zaachila (about 10 miles from Oaxaca City) Eat this: Antojitos at Empanadas y Memelas Irlanda After you leave Oaxaca International Airport, your first taste of Oaxaca is just 20 minutes down the highway at the Mercado Gastronómico, in the small town of Villa de Zaachila — specifically, the antojitos at Empanadas y Memelas Irlanda. Here, empanadas de verde are filled with a pungent green mole that's tart, sweet, and minty from a mixture of green tomatoes, chayotes, and epazote. Irlanda's giant memelas — big enough to share — come coated with porky asientos (unrefined lard), diced white onions, and salty cheese, but add an upgrade in the form of a huevo de comal: a fried egg cooked hard over a wood fire on a clay comal. Stop 2: Villa de Zaachila, colonia soledad (1 mile) Eat this: Pollos Asados a la Cubana Lencho Verano Just a little farther down the highway at Ñatipaa, a rare taste of the Cuenca del Papaloapan region can be found at Pollos Asados a la Cubana Lencho Verano. Here, wood-fired roasted chicken and whole suckling pig make for an exciting break from the mostly Valles Centrales cuisine you'll be eating the rest of the way. The crispy birds and pigs are marinated in Cuban mojo de ajo, a recipe adopted by Oaxacans in Papaloapan from Cuban immigrants, and paired with thick, refried black beans, rice, corn tortillas, and salsa. Stop 3: Villa Sola de Vega (48 miles) Drink this: Café de olla at Comedor Juquilita "Arriving in Sola de Vega in the morning was a great feeling of accomplishment of completing the first leg of the ride," remembers Vásquez of his first trek. "Then I had a café de olla, frijoles de la olla, surrounded by the beauty of the Sierra Madre Sur." After your first ascent up the lush, green mountains, it's time for a café de olla at Comedor Juquilita, a humble blue-painted restaurant obscured by a large tree with leaves that stretch over the restaurant's quartet of parking spaces. There are also fortifying bowls of pollo enchilado — browned chicken legs and stock in a salsa of pure chile guajillo, garnished with epazote — and caldo de pollo (chicken soup) bulked up with Mexican rice, with a side of black beans with tortillas blanditas. Marijuana-infused mezcal and fresh coconuts are among the offerings in San Pedro Juchatengo. STOP 4: San Pedro Juchatengo (31 miles) Drink this: Mezcal de marihuana at the roadside market There will be sharp, sinuous curves on the next climb, memorable for the spectacular views of the canyon on your left lined with pine-oak forest and agave espadin, which brings you to the town of San Pedro Juchatengo for a shot of mezcal de marihuana. Even at 11, Vásquez was encouraged to drink a little mezcal to help lift his spirits up the mountain. "It's funny how things have changed," he says. "Back then [when I was making these pilgrimages], there was no tepextate, cuishe, espadin, or anything like that — just cheap mezcal, no labels." Today, just off the road, is a small market in full swing with comedores (food stalls) — Comedor Lupita and Comedor Sagitario are both great for comforting bowls of costillas en salsa roja (pork ribs in a salsa of dried red chiles) and tasajo asado (beef jerky cooked over fire). But first, sample a flight of mezcals at the small stand on the market's right. Among the many unlabeled bottles are mezcal infusions like gusano (grubs), fruit punch, and showstopping glass carboys loaded with pounds of mountain marihuana floating in espadin mezcal. It tastes like puffs of mild, skunky, pine-scented smoke, but don't expect much in the way of mind-altering effects. Still, it's not a bad bet to grab some chips and Maruchan to go, just in case. STOP 5: Santa Catarina Cerro del Vidrio (15 miles) Eat this: Sopa caldosa and café de olla at Comedor Emi Comedor Emy and Comedor Beather are just past the intersection of the roads to Juquila and Puerto Escondido. "Here is where we'd always stop for one last café de olla before arriving in Juquila, and this is also the first time you feel the cooler climate of La Costa," says Vásquez. A jolt of cinnamon-spiked café de olla is best enjoyed with sopa caldosa, the next-level fideo soup from the Valles Centrales made with an anise- and eucalyptus-scented chicken stock with hierba santa leaves and served with cilantro and a dash of hospitality to sustain the descent into Puerto Escondido. STOP 6: Puerto Escondido (53 miles) Eat this: Check out the city's essential destinations here Once you settle into your lodging for the night, it's time to explore the trendy scene on the beaches of Puerto Escondido — to sip tropical cocktails, enjoy the local seafood at popular restaurants, and dance to electronic music with your feet in the sand. The beaches in Puerto Escondido are a favorite with tourists and locals for calm waters and fresh seafood. PART II: 175 to Oaxaca STOP 1: Santa Maria Huatulco (about 70 miles from Puerto Escondido) Eat this: Piña rellena at Ay Caray and pancita de res and agua fresca de guanabana at the unnamed morning stand Cruise south from Puerto Escondido toward the 175 on your way to Santa Maria Huatulco. Development of Huatulco began in the '80s to bring tourism to its nine attractive bays, 36 beaches, and lush forest reserve, and today the area is a hit with families and ecotourists from Oaxaca City and CDMX. The biggest attraction is its beachside palapas serving barbecued fish, ceviches, and the pride of the marisquerías: piña rellena, or seafood-stuffed pineapples au gratin. At the southwest corner of Av. Benito Juarez and Juan Escutia is a busy, unnamed morning stand encircled by a parade of colorful aguas frescas and a pair of anafres asadores (stainless steel charcoal grills), where women cook memelas and goat barbacoa tacos. There is also a large bubbling pot of inky pancita de res (menudo) stained a dark red by chile cascabel, charred chile de árbol, and chile morita. Finish with a refreshing cup of agua fresca de guanabana, a sweet, pulpy drink with notes of sugary apple, pineapple, and berries. Save room for a second breakfast in the mountains. STOP 2: Candelaria Loxicha (29 miles) Eat this: Oaxacan breakfast at Comedor "el rincon del sabor" Just an hour or so drive up the mountain overlooking a cliff is a quiet wood-framed hut lined with aluminum siding that offers perhaps the best breakfast on planet earth: a plate of warm, herbed beans, barbecued tasajo (regional beef jerky), salsa de molcajete, and a huevo de comal cooked on a hot, greaseless clay disc until it's splayed, crispy flesh easily lifting away. "Memories of special places like this are why I'll still be using the old highway," says Vásquez, echoing the sentiments of many who worry what might be lost with the new road. Peer through the open window at hazy mountains and the forest obscured by morning fog as winding plumes of steam waft from your plate. Indigenous communities throughout Oaxaca cook a similar breakfast of black beans with epazote, hierba de conejo (a fragrant wild herb), and other local aromatics, with dry cooked eggs that soak up the bean liquid and a side of tasajo. There are tortillas, of course — shaped from masa made with landrace corn — and stone-ground salsas of foraged fresh chiles and dried ones from the local market. If there's one meal that's worth the extra miles, it's this one. The early morning sun shines on the simple breakfast offerings at Comedor "el rincon del sabor." STOP 3: San José del Pacífico (34 miles) Eat this: Los hongos sagrados in San José del Pacífico if you so wish; mole coloradito at Comedor Familiar Legend has it that the Beatles' George Harrison and John Lennon came to this sacred land of magic mushrooms in 1969 to expand their minds in ritual ceremony under the guidance of the high priestess of psilocybin mushrooms, Maria Sabina. The city has since become a favorite of spiritual seekers, but its status as a drug tourism hot spot has its drawbacks — namely, the overharvesting of the mushrooms and a lack of infrastructure for dealing with inexperienced trippers. Still, there are plenty of nonhallucinogenic things worth eating here. "My uncle would say, 'Let's dine in the clouds,'" says Vásquez, "because of the altitude and cold weather in San José del Pacifico, but also because the people eating those mushrooms really were in the clouds." If you're considering a longer stop along the highway, this cool, wooded town is the ideal spot for nature hikes up the mirador, the healing energy of a temazcal, and a range of ecotourism activities. Hotel Boutique y Cabañas Alto de la Sierra is a very comfortable, upscale lodge, or there's Cabañas Pacifíco, one of the many established rustic cabin resorts where you can rest, connect with a shaman, and procure los hongos sagrados (sacred mushrooms). Fuel up for your trip with a well-spiced mole coloradito and salsa de chicharron with stewed pork rinds in a red-orange salsa at Comedor Familiar, a cozy restaurant at the entrance to the adjacent town of San Mateo Rio Hondo. Whether for a few hours or overnight, you're now in the Mihuatlán District, home to many of Oaxaca's most revered maestro mezcaleros and wild agaves, and it's time for a mezcal. STOP 4: San Guillermo, Municipality of Mihuatlán de Porfirio Dīaz (35 MILES before Oaxaca City) Drink this: Mezcal at Palenque de Francisco Garcia Léon (Cuishe) "The terroir in Mihuatlán has been an essential stop for me in learning about mezcal and represents the historical taste of Oaxaca," says Vásquez. "It's the town of great mezcaleros: Francisco García, Hermoneges Vásquez, Sosimo Jarquín, and many others." As you leave the mountains in your rearview mirror, the drier scenery calls for a taste of the hottest brand of mezcal in the town of San Guillermo: Cuishe. It's produced by maestro mezcalero Francisco García Léon, who crafts herbaceous, mineral mezcales with different agaves at his countryside palenque: cuishe, tepextate espadin, verde, and mexicano (the last is his favorite agave). Cuishe has become a hit in the U.S. and now has a fancy tasting room in Oaxaca City, but García has also remodeled his own roadside distillery along the highway in San Guillermo. While the Cuishe property is now more inviting for new customers, the rugged copper stills — and García himself — keep this heritage brand true to tradition. "Francisco is still shy to take pictures, but I imagine now he'll have to get used to it," says Vásquez. Buy a few bottles to take back to your hotel in Oaxaca City — it's the ideal cap off to all the flavors, sights, and sounds experienced along the twisting, winding highways of old Oaxaca. The Municipality of Mihuatlán is where many of Oaxaca's best mezcal brands grow their agaves. Bill Esparza is a James Beard Award-winning writer and author of LA Mexicano, covering Latino food and culture. Juan de Dios Garza Vela is a photographer specializing in food and travel. When he isn't doing photo work he also does illustration work and murals. Based at the moment in Guadalajara, he can't imagine life without tacos.

Unwrapping Oaxaca’s Must-Try Tamales Posted: 15 Feb 2022 06:00 AM PST The vaporera of a vendor outside Mercado Sanchez Pascuas in Oaxaca City. | Eva Alicia Lépiz/Eater Go beyond the mole negro with hyper-regional varieties  fcoMy love for tamales, and connection to their innumerable forms, is very personal. As a Chicano growing up in the Central Valley of California, my holiday table always included my grandmother's perfectly moist, spicy tamales, and they've remained a benchmark for me as a food writer covering Latin America. I've tried pamonhas (sweet corn steamed in a fresh corn husk) in Brazil, enjoyed a variety of tamales in all of Mexico's 32 regions, squirted ketchup on tamales cubanos in Havana, had a breakfast of paches (potato tamales) at a roadside stand in Quetzaltenango. My ongoing fascination beyond my grandmother's vaporera (steamer pot) has been expanded by frequent visits to Oaxaca — if Oaxaca were a nation unto itself, its vast repertory of tamales would leave Mexico steaming with envy. At Doña Bonfilia's home in Collantes, an afromexicano town in Costa Chica, she recently served me a wonderful tamal de mole steamed in banana leaves, which bridged the ultra-moist southern tamal masa with a spicy mole that reminds me of the tamales I love in northern Mexico. It's not something I expected to find in Oaxaca, and that moment of surprise and appreciation crystallized for me: Tamales are our edible histories wrapped in the fruit of human innovation, made by queens. Tamales are Mesoamerica's first masa dish and an important cultural food for Mexicans. The dish is made from nixtamalized or fresh corn filled with meats, seafood, vegetables, fruit, and insects, many in stews of flavorful, local chiles, which are then wrapped in a variety of leaves — banana, dried (totomoxtle) and green corn husk, de milpa (green corn stalks), de papatla, hierba santa, and more — all steamed in a pot. There are 370 registered tamales in Mexico according to a report by the National Council of Culture and Arts (Conaculta). Yet most reports claim over 500 tamales in the republic; some communities use green plantain, mextlapiques (fish roasted in corn husk), yucca, and rice flour in more uncommon tamale recipes. And an abundance of these unique approaches can be found in the eight regions of Oaxaca, a vivid diversity formed from its 16 indigenous groups and robust community of afromexicanos. Oaxacans eat tamales at weddings, at calendas, on Dia de Los Muertos, countless religious and indigenous holidays, Christmas, and in the everyday — they're sold at street carts, and from homes in the pueblos. The state's most famous tamal, tamal de mole negro, routinely announced from bicycle horn speakers in CDMX on a recording loop, "ya llegaron sus ricos tamales oaxaqueños…" sends chilangos sprinting out of their doors for a taste of Oaxaca. But this merely scratches the surface of Mexico's most regionally diverse states, and tamal capitals, where each region reflects the many distinct cultures preserving their heritage in moist parcels of steamed masa. Here are eight versions of this iconic dish to celebrate the many Oaxacas, as we unwrap the range and flavors of tamales oaxaqueños. Juan de Dios Garza Vela/Eater Tamales de tichinda, steamed with mussels in their shells. Costa Afromexicanos pull up mussels, called tichindas, from the roots of mangroves in lagoons of Chacahua and Manialtepec to cook in moles with bean powder and stuff in their beloved tamales de tichinda, steamed in dried corn husks. Sold in the Mercado Benito Juárez in Puerto Escondido and in afromexicano coastal towns like Collantes, Rio Grande, and Chacahua, these luxurious seafood tamales are made by blending masa with a spicy adobo, then adding mussels in their shells to this mixture. As the mussels cook, they open up and punch through the soft, flaky tamal. They're a seafood lover's dream. Tamales de tichinda are the quintessential afromexicano dish, and you haven't been to the Costa Chica if you haven't eaten a dozen of these. Sierra Norte Zapotecos in this part of Oaxaca are known as "la gente de las nubes," or people of the clouds, named for the fog that settles over these mountainous towns and people. Here, the regional flat, rectangular tamales de frijol (bean tamales) serve as utensils for eating caldo seco de res, a regional beef jerky soup made with high-quality rib-eye steak. A popular method is to cover a medium-sized rectangular table with a sheet of plastic, then spread a thin layer of masa that's next covered with black bean paste herbed with avocado leaves. The plastic is used to roll the tamal, creating several layers of beans and masa that are cut into tamales with a string along the width. Each tamal is pressed with a whole avocado leaf, and steamed in banana leaves — the finished product is served with soup for Zapoteco cultural events. Pieces of the tamal are torn off to scoop up sips of soup or simply to dip in the broth before eating. Eva Alicia Lépiz/Eater A banana leaf-wrapped tamale from La Teca restaurant in Oaxaca. Valles Centrales There are many popular tamales in Oaxaca's most tourist-filled region: salsa verde de pollo, chicken in a sauce of chiles serranos, tomatillos, scented with pungent epazote; mole coloradito thickened with sweet plantains. But the best known is likely the honored mole negro, a global hit known all over Mexico as the tamal oaxaqueño. You'll find the tamal de mole negro in markets, sold by street vendors serving from baskets covered in towels, or from beverage coolers loaded onto cargo bikes. Made with several chiles including chilhuacle negro, chilhuacle rojo, chile pasilla, and chile mulato together with close to 30 fried and toasted ingredients in all — fruits, seeds, herbs, spices, and more — this complex, laborious mole with chicken packed in tender masa is divine. Papaloapan In the zone of the mazatecos, the highlands of Papaloapan, yucca is a staple for tortillas de yuca, fried yucca, yuca al mojo (cooked in a garlicky marinade brought over by Cuban immigrants working in the region's tobacco industry), and tamales de yuca, all essential dishes during Semana Santa. For the tamales, raw yucca is grated, strained, and passed through a mill to remove fiber and formed into a sticky, dense masa. It's then filled with pork in a red salsa of tomatoes, chiles guajillos, other dried red chiles, and aromatics — spearmint, spices, and a whole acuyo (Mexican pepperleaf) leaf. Yucca is also used in a sweet tamal de yuca with honey, both steamed in hojas de papatla. Sierra Sur Sweet tamales are a staple in Mexico during Christmas, and for zapotecos in the Sierra Sur, the most common version is tamales de támala, a sweet tamal of squash, bean puree, and sugar. Calabaza támala, a local cylindrical squash with white skin and orange flesh is steamed, and strained, then run through a mill along with nixtamalized corn, and sweetened with sugar. The orange masa is filled with black bean puree and steamed in totomoxtle during the holidays; their flavor is reminiscent of the Mexican candied squash sold in markets, bakeries, and convenience stores beloved by all in Mexico. Esther Tseng/Eater Tamales de pescado are crimped into a shape resembling an empanada. La Cañada In towns like Santa María Puxmetacán, traditional Mixe cooks will mesmerize you with their efficient, unusual process of making tamales de pescado (fish tamal): It usually involves slapping fresh masa flat like a tortilla, folding, and crimping it into an empanada, filling it with barbecued river fish and amarillo (thick yellow chile sauce), then wrapping the sealed "masa empanada" with hojas de tamal, a local plant. The thin wall of masa gives the full spotlight to the humble, smoky stew of barbecued fish in fruity chile guajillo sauce. Recipes and techniques for tamal de pescado are passed down to family members via oral traditions, and making them is reserved for special occasions in the Mixe culture. Istmo You can only try this tamal de iguana prepared by zapotecos in Juchitán during Semana Santa (Holy Week), where annually, five thousand black and green iguanas are harvested to make these special tamales. The event is supervised by the region's government to sustainably maintain the ancestral practice (iguanas are a protected species in Mexico). Pre-cooked iguana meat, which tastes like a gamey foul, is set on a circle of masa amply covered in earthy green pumpkin seed mole herbed with pungent epazote, or dried red chiles brightened with achiote paste — and sometimes, too, with iguana eggs. Regardless of the mole type, it's steamed in banana leaves. Mixteca The mixtecos of Huajuapan de León have a local version of a rice flour tamal, called tamales canarios, which are one of the prominent tamales for the indigenos group's Día de La Candelaria, a Catholic holiday that involves offering tamales to honored guests. The person who finds the figurine of a baby in their Rosca de Reyes (King's Day bread) on Día de Los Reyes Magos is the one who hosts this party. The yellow masa is a sweet blend of rice flour, butter, egg custard, egg yolks, nuts, and sugar, steamed in dried corn husks, and enjoyed as a rich dessert during this religious celebration. Bill Esparza is a James Beard Award-winning writer and author of LA Mexicano, covering Latino food and culture.

You are subscribed to email updates from Eater - All. To stop receiving these emails, you may unsubscribe now.	Email delivery powered by Google
Google, 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043, United States