Notes From Oaxaca

The beginning

A long day of travel and sensory overload. In the van driving from the airport to the hotel, the level of poverty on the outskirts of Oaxaca seems profound. As we enter the city at night, doors are shuttered and there is surprisingly little to see in our neighborhood.

The next morning as we walk to the Instituto, my poor sense of direction is in full effect. It will take 2-3 days to be oriented.

Soledad is all that Mark promised and more. The welcome Chocolate de agua and Pan de cazuela are the perfect bit of comfort. Soledad inundates us with information and I regret every day I skipped Spanish in college. Translation loses nuance but it’s still a joy to listen to her speak, then get the recap by way of Mark and the other Spanish translators. We will spend the next 18 days judging every cup of chocolate de agua based on it’s espuma.

Beginning Spanish Class is filled with more flashbacks to my poorly attended college Spanish classes. *See the bottom of this page for pix of all my handouts, recipe packets, etc

I miss the walking tour due to the heat - a hard choice, but I know that if I push it, I’ll be ill for a few days. My quiet evening walk to La Jolla reveals the personality of the neighborhood, even if Google GPS can’t keep up with my pace - I pass the restaurant without realizing it and have to double back.

As I arrive, I realize I have no idea how to ask for the group dinner in Spanish. Mercifully, the staff speaks enough English that I’m directed to the rooftop. Feeling skittish about my lack of Spanish, I don’t introduce myself to Pilar (a missed opportunity).

Dinner starts with our first taste of mezcal and the most elegant version of the Sopa de Guías we will eat during our trip. Totopos, bright salsas, purslane, and the surprise of apples mixed with tropical flavors in the dessert… The food is already profoundly different than the Mexican food I know from the Bay Area.

settling in

On our first solo foray, Malcolm and I discover a little neighborhood breakfast place, La Abuela, where we point and mime what we want along with our 14 words of Spanish. Our foolishness is rewarded with delicious food (tortillas made to order with our choice of fillings, concha, and chocolate de agua), and our first “in the wild” lesson about the gracious and welcoming Oaxacan people: the man at the neighboring table is enlisted by our server to translate the amount of our bill when it becomes obvious we have no clue.

Our classes with Pilar and her staff start with Maíz y Chiles. A flurry of new dishes… masa in forms I’ve never seen: Memelitas, Molotes, Tetelas. Even the Chiles Rellenos (one of my standby orders at my local restaurant) are a revelation, using differing chiles, fillings, and flavors far beyond the standard gooey cheese I have come to expect.

Full disclosure: Chicitanas are not my favorite… something about the aroma of them when in a salsa that doesn’t appeal to me… but I love that Pilar and her staff don’t make any explanations, they just include them as any other ingredient. I’m also pleased that no one in our group reacts in an obviously negative way.

TIL (today I learned) that Chile de aguas will try to kill you if given half a chance.

Our second class with Pilar starts at the local market - including stalls as well as the more informal tianguis. We arrive early to enjoy some chocolate de agua at Rito, recommended to us by Pilar’s assistant Stephanie. At the market, we taste nicuatole, mamay, a type of stonefruit that seems like a mini plum crossed with a cherry, queso blanco con chiles y epazote, and pick up ingredients for tamales. Squash blossoms, an expensive treat in the bay area, are everywhere. I take a moment to buy some small bananas and after my 2 failed attempts to give the correct amount of money, the stall keeper just picks the correct change out of Mal’s hand. We really need to get a grasp on the number situation.

Towards the end of our tamale prep, I spot a pot of mole negro warming on the stove and sneak a taste. It’s so good I feel guilty, so I encourage others to go pilfer a taste.

Tamales de chepil y flor de calabaza are the sleeper hit for me. Although I don’t get a lot of flavor when I taste the chepil raw, when steamed in the masa, it gives off a lovely fragrance and flavor.

The toasted banana leaves, with their brown stripes are a beautiful touch in the Tamales de mole negro en hoja de plátano.

The salad features criolla tomatoes along with criolla avocados, which are eaten with the skin still on, along with charred spring onions and slivers of dried chile. The play of textures and flavors is perfect.

We finish with class with another mezcal.

That evening, as we walk down Calle Macedonio Alcalá we encounter our first parade. It seems to be similar to a New Orleans second line, with a low key group of folks walking behind a small brass band and a marmota… it’s the Oaxaca chapter of Indian Motorcycle club, a mix of folks in their black leather vests and others just in street clothes walking along. This experience will in no way prepare us for what is to come.

A few minutes later, further down Alcalá, we are hit with the sensory overload of a parade consisting of several Isthmus villages. Women in velvet tops richly covered in embroidery, gold coin necklaces, and lace headpieces are escorted by men sharply dressed in guayaberas, kerchiefs and sombreros. Large banners are carried, with the long ribbon streamers held by more participants. If they aren’t holding ribbons, they might be holding sheafs of local flowers. The outfits varied by village, but to a person, participants were dressed in their finest and were very proud to represent their heritage.

Oh, and it appears that the secret to survive marching on a cobblestone street in a heavy dress while wearing high heels is the liberal application of mezcal. Many women who still had a free hand were holding tiny cups as a few men were working their way through the parade contingent with bottles.

We end the day at La Sierrita for dinner. We arrive too early for the carne asada tacos, so we start with a first course of tostadas, then split an order of tacos* once the asada is ready. It’s pretty safe to say we finished the night with nieves at Manolo Nieves…

Chef Rodolfo Castellanos

After meeting up at Chef Rodolfo’s restaurant, Origen, we pile onto a bus and head for the Mercado de Abastos. This is another full on market experience, tasting cuajinicuil, sugar cane, sprouted coconut, stopping for a snack, buying huge bags of chiles, getting hit with flying fish scales (the next door fruit vendor can’t really love the location of this fishmonger). We fill sack after sack, with a final stop for a bag of tortillas that need to be supported on the bottom as they have just been made. In fact, they are so fresh and hot, I need to shift them from hand to hand as we walk back to the bus. Lunch is the best of farm to table: an amarillo mole, ceviche that is pristinely fresh and simple, chicitanas make their way into a mole that will sauce pork jowl which has been brined, cooked sous vide and marked on the grill. The sprouted coconut and mangos diced up by the class has been transformed into a lovely dessert thanks to good plating and the addition of quenelles of sorbet and nieves, along with a sprinkle of flower petals.

Mezcal Geekery Run Amuk

Our mezcal tour guide Randall gives us an über detailed look at the making of mezcal, from growing the various types of maguey and resulting piña shape, to the impact of still materials (clay vs. copper), all the way to family recipes for pechuga and various infusions. Randall is full, full, full of information. All of it is great info, and all the stops are interesting, but frankly, after tasting 30 plus varieties, it’s possible my attention is waning. Even with my reserved dipping in a finger into the gourd technique it’s all blurring together a bit. As the bus bumps along between the third and fourth stops, he pulls out the bonus bottles of mezcal and tries to get us talking (and drinking) more mezcal. It’s not going well. Folks are falling asleep or are on their phones. Randall seems a bit tetchy about the lack of responses after imparting all this wisdom (understandable), so I take one for the team and ask a question.

The day ends with another class with Gina… and while I tend to grump about Spanish, in reality the classes are incredibly helpful. She is a passionate instructor who uses lots of humor and works hard to keep us engaged.

Mushrooms in the Mountains and exploring Oaxaca City

As we gain elevation, we get a glorious break from the heat. A bio break in the village as we add our mushroom guides to the group. You know they mean business - as we make the slow drive up the dirt road, the front bus stops occasionally to let one of the guides out whenever she spots a mushroom. The trout farm features a handful of small pools, fed by the mountain streams. Capturing the last few fish brings out some silliness, what with the flopping fish and the crowd cheering. Pine forests = porcini deliciousness. Olivia, our guide, has very limited English, but we all understand no. No, it’s not edible. No, it’s too old. No, it doesn’t have good flavor. No, it will kill you. She is endlessly patient as we stumble along. We aren’t hugely successful in our hunt, so our attention and energy wane after about ninety minutes. When we are within sight of the camp, longing glances are thrown. When we return to camp, the tiny kitchen is filling the air with good smells. The simplest of soups starts our meal - just water, a bit of garlic, a touch of cumin, and diced wild mushrooms - mainly fresh porcini. I shudder to think of the cost of that bowl of soup if served in SF. Lunch is trout, stewed mushrooms, cornmeal crusted and deep fried mushrooms, along with a scoop of rice, and roasted potatoes. The meal finishes with a mug of poleo tea spiked with sugar. I have flashbacks to my childhood and being on a fishing trip in the Boundary Waters with my family. We would fish all morning, then find a spot for Dad to build a fire and fry fish coated in Shore Lunch, a fish breading that you can, true story, buy at hardware stores in the upper Midwest. He would have loved this day.

Our free day called for something more low key, so after a slow start, we go down to Santo Domingo - visiting both the church and the Museum of Cultures of Oaxaca. The library space is doubling as a gallery for an artist who creates fantastical and macabre creatures in clay - not unlike the alejibres, but without the vivid colors or designs. My favorites are spiders and insects that have been mounted onto the metal lattice doors protecting the books.

Dinner is a trip back to La Olla. The server wants to practice his English while I want to practice my Spanish… he wins. The food is great - a seasonal salad filled with fruit which could have been served in the Bay Area on the same day without changing a thing. My entree is the daily fish special, featuring a broth filled with slivers of dried chiles that is poured tableside. I make a mental note to add this type of element to Chef’s Table in the Fall.

Cooking with La Teca and a tasting menu

Oh, La Teca. The food is just so, so good, plus just being in the kitchen with her is a joy. I love her little bit of grumpiness when the corn isn’t getting ground as quickly as she would like. I get a burst of pleasure when she judges my effort forming a molote de plantano to be muy bueno. Like many others, this lunch is my overall favorite food to date. Every bite is delicious and unique. I will dream of the fruit stuffed chicken… The Spanish touches (capers and raisins) mix so well with the plantain and fruits. It is also charming how she really wants us to make these recipes at home, even if it means subbing ingredients and using the convenience of blenders and processors. Despite it’s labor intensive nature, I’m hoping to incorporate some elements into future menus.

Dinner is splurge at Pitiona, for the tasting menu, eaten at the rooftop dining area. Lovely service and great food, with a couple of standout dishes: a very plain looking bowl of tomato soup, featuring spherified quesillo and a la minute noodles, a palate cleanser of unsweetened coconut milk frozen into a hollow globe, and one clunker - the chapuline croquette, which was gummy.

WInding down

As we enter the last week of our trip, I am paying attention to how much art is infused into the Oaxacan experience - the graffiti and street art which finds its way into restaurants, the way security gates show attention and craftsmanship, how original architecture is respected and preserved. The way art and culture is infused into daily life is inspiring.

It will be a week of lasts and endings.

Our final class with Pilar focuses on moles. By the end of the day, I will have tasted (and or made) 6 of the 7 major Oaxacan moles - each unique and delicious in it’s own way. I watch as the chile seeds and tortillas are burnt to carbon. When I taste the ash slurry, I feel like a tiny amount of capsaicin survived the fire, but it could be my imagination. I remember making a Rick Bayless mole negro at the end of my time in Night Lab. I was shy about putting any real burn on the bread when I toasted it. If only I knew then…

Dinner in “smoke alley” with Mark, Ron, and Malcolm is delicious even if I’m not a big fan of the tripe. Our tableside palm weaving artist creates a quintet of creatures for us. Mark shows us the key elements of the market, even though things are shutting down for the night. My coconut paleta, although delicious, is way too rich after the meat feast. I only make it through half of it.

A quick pitstop for Mark turns into video interviews for Ron, Mal and I as locals taking an English class enlist our help with their homework. I comment on how friendly and welcoming the people of Oaxaca are and that mole amarillo is my favorite.

The next day is a bus ride out to Susana Trilling’s Seasons of My Heart Cooking School. I want personal cheese making lessons from Sylvia and will do anything Lorenza asks of me. The breakfast of salsa de queso is sublime. That alone was worth the trip. The chocolate bread pudding is a great ending… I was dubious about the tiny portions, but given the richness, the 3-4 bite serving size was pretty much perfect.

Our final class is with Irish Pastry Chef Mark. We accomplish a surprising amount during the day, cranking out far more that we could ever eat. As it happens, the hotel staff is happy to help us with that issue, taking home bags of concha and all manner of goodies. I’m firmly team butter for the concha topping - the top slides off way too easily, but the flavor is far superior to the shortening.

With our final free day, we are goaded into buying more stuff (thank you!). Malcolm now has the shirts he had searched for and I had the perfect rebozo to use as a table runner. A good part of the day was spent getting packed, running donated items and excess pastries over to the Instituto, and just getting ready to leave.

Our farewell dinner at Origen was the perfect conclusion to the trip. The room was gorgeous, the food was delicious, and it was a pleasure to look down the table at all the happy faces who had been on this journey together.

It was a fantastic trip that expanded my horizons, deepened my appreciation for the nuances of Mexican regional cooking, and left me wanting more.

Paperwork, handouts and recipes, oh my! (Click on the right side of the images to see them all)