'Antojitos: Festive and Flavorful Mexican Small Plates'
by Barbara Sibley and Margaritte Malfy with Mary Goodbody
Photography by Lucy Schaeffer Ten Speed Press -- 2009 Buy it on Amazon
Antojitos, as Barbara Sibley and Margaritte Malfy explain in their book of the same name, are small bites sometimes eaten as appetizers in Mexican cuisine and sometime just downed as a street snack to satisfy between-meals hunger pangs.
The owners of New York City's La Palapa have written a book that covers all manner of these spicy snacks -- from empanadas and tacos to ceviches and mole. Along the way, they give brief stories about the dishes as well as menus perfect for any fiesta, and colorful pages filled with images of Loteria cards and stock Mexican art that add a whimsical touch to the cookbook.
See what we tested and whether it's worth buying after the jump.
Enchiladas are arguably the most comforting of all Mexican entrees. Perhaps that's because they most closely resemble a casserole -- with protein, grains and vegetables all baked together and topped with delicious, flavorful red sauce and a layer of melted cheese.
Whether filled with beef, pork, chicken, fish, cheese, beans or any combination of those ingredients, enchiladas can often be complicated dishes, like these with homemade sauce and fresh cilantro from Flickr user purdyinblue. But the Mexican one-pot meal is also a great way to feed lots of people with very little effort, especially if you use a Dorito-encrusted recipe from the likes of Emeril Lagasse... or Charlie Gibson, depending on who you ask.
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Xoco's churros are hard to get. Photo: ehfisher/flicker.
Would you wait three days for a "Top Chef" churro?
Rick Bayless, one of Chicago's top chefs and the winner of Bravo's "Top Chef Masters," is extending his gourmet Mexican empire to street food. Last week, he added XOCO (pronounced "Sho-Co") to his string of Windy City hot spots including Frontera Grill and Topolobampo. The latest aims to bring authentic Mexican tortas and caldos (sandwiches and soups) to the masses. How did it go over with the locals? The line snaked out the door.
When Slashfood swung by for after-dinner churros -- the delectable fried-dough treats sprinkled with sugar and spices -- it took three nights of trying to get in.
'Guac Off: Rules & Recipes for Becoming Guacamole Champion of the World' by Nathan Myers Photographs by Jeremiah Webster Chronicle Books 2009 Buy it on Amazon Making that beloved standby, guacamole, is a simple enough task when fresh avocados are on hand, relying only on the chef's personal whims and a dash of imagination.
In the case of Nathan Myers' "Guac Off," however, we are reminded of the limitations of imagination when it comes to a classic recipe. A loving ode to the avocado, the book is comprised of three parts: a history of the fruit, guidelines for hosting a "Guac Off" competition and a selection of recipes ranging from the tried-and-true to the dangerously exotic (hard-boiled eggs and cranberries, anyone?).
The background info is fascinating, delineating the dip's roots as what the Aztecs called "testicle sauce," for its purported fertile and aphrodisiac powers. Tips are downright dopey, advising cooks that "Silly hats should be worn on an 'as needed' basis," or that a culinary task should be approached "with the wily ferocity of a cornered tiger."
What we tested and whether the book's worth buying, after the jump.
Man. Now that is a torta. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then what you're seeing is an eloquent argument for why the Mexican sandwich is deserving of its own banh mi-like renaissance. Snapped -- and then inhaled -- by a reader at Midtown Lunch, this appears to be an elegantly and satisfyingly proportioned combination of sirloin, avocado, cheese and tomato, anointed with just a whisper of creamy dressing. The Web site's name notwithstanding, this is a sandwich that could easily encompass breakfast, lunch and dinner, leaving room for only a Mexican Coke or, better yet, an ice-cold Negra Modelo. Apologies if you were planning something, y'know, light for lunch.
Margaritas are lovely, yes, but sometimes the liver needs a break. And Mexico, of course, is no one-trick culinary pony. In fact, while ambling through the famously taco- and torta-laden neighborhood of Sunset Park, Brooklyn, last weekend, a compadre proselytized wildly about a maple-walnut popsicle right before running into traffic to lead us to the deli where it lived.
Traditionally no friend to the walnut unless it is candied, we were inclined to pass. Then we noticed that in this popsicle, walnuts were a minor player relegated to the stick end of the treat. We politely accepted a small bite. And then another.
And then we turned on our heel and ran back to the deli to rummage frantically through the cooler gleaming on the sidewalk: mango-lime, pistachio, egg nog. Egg nog?! Walnut! Where was it? Pops flew everywhere as, like a dog frantically chasing a mole burrowing underground, we went shoulder-deep into the icy cooler. Thank the stars, a lone, innocuous "nuez" pop remained.
These gorgeous, golden-brown churros look so enticing we can practically feel their crinkly, sugar-studded skins melting on our tongues. Though their shape deviates from that of tubular churros -- traditional Mexican treats of deep-fried dough rolled in cinnamon and sugar -- we can't really say that we care. What matters is that they look sweet, crunchy goodness personified ... or like history's most gloriously demonic matzoh balls.
The Amateur Gourmet's Adam Roberts describes these beauties as "The Churros That Saved The Dinner Party." We think he's being too modest. These look like the churros that could save the world, or at least a small principality.
There are many dishes in which the sauce can overwhelm the rest of the meal. But mole is not just a sauce; it's also the focal point of the dish. The meat that accompanies the mole plays a secondary role. Mole consists of nuts, chilies, and spices that are toasted and ground to release their spicy-sweet aroma. Mole poblano from the state of Puebla is also made with chocolate. Hence, its nickname chocolate sauce.
The word "mole" derives from the Náhuatl (language that dates back to the Aztecs) word "molli". The process of making mole is lengthy and it usually involves toasting ingredients, slow-roasting, pureeing, and frying fresh herbs. But, at the end, you have a dish full of deliciously complex tastes, a rollercoaster of flavors. And, if you're looking for the most thrilling gastronomic ride, head to the city of Oaxaca, known as the "Land of Seven Moles."
In Zarela Martinez's book "Food & Life of Oaxaca", renowned Mexican chef shares an incredible recipe for Teotitlan-style black mole. Another recipe to try out is turkey enchiladas with mole sauce. I have just recently been exposed to this fascinating sauce, and I cannot stop thinking about its richness and the fact that there are so many more for versions for me to try.
Sometimes, nothing hits the spot the way a good restauran taco does (I'm not talking about authentic tacos, but more like those that are one step up from Taco Bell). These platter of tacos reminds me of the sorts of dishes I'd get at La Casita when I was in college. Walla Walla had a small chain (if you can consider two location a chain) of locally owned Mexican restaurants that were great when we wanted unlimited, freshly made tortilla chips and delicious tacos (if we were broke, we could get even cheaper and more authentic tacos at one of the nearby taco trucks).
I'm not sure there is a baked dish that's quite as simple as vegetable pudding. Cook and mash your vegetables, add some other tasty ingredients, top with cheese, and bake. In no time at all, you will have a sizzling side dish or tasty main. It's perfect for leftover-using, less pan-dirtying, and quick post-work meals.
The following dish comes from Mexican Border Flavors: The Beautiful Cookbook. Beautiful indeed -- a big honking book with a ton of Mexican recipes and pictures on its large, glossy pages. Budin de Calabacita, or Zucchini Pudding, is a mixture of mashed zucchini, cheese, and crackers that gets mixed, thrown into a dish, and baked.
Since I was cooking for one, I halved the recipe (except the egg) and threw the mix into 2 ramekins, which I found more appealing than scooping and slopping it onto my plate post-baking. In this meal, you really taste the crackers, so it's the perfect dish for flavorful crackers and crumbs -- maybe even some croutons, as well as good spicy flavor, whether from spices alone, or maybe some sauteed garlic and onions.
I'm posting images of sausage counters the world over each weeknight (and occasionally weekend) witching hour (until I run out), so please use the comments section to post links to your Flickr or personal site faves, and perhaps you'll see 'em posted here late some evening.
Before you get turned off by this edition of Midnight Snack allow me to explain the headline. Years ago I used to eat these wonderful tacos at a Mexican deli in Hell's Kitchen. After working my way through all the humdrum varieties (carnitas, bifteck, al pastor, cecina, etc.), I spied pancita de chivo written on the blackboard.
I asked what kind of meat it was before trying a taco. When the lady told me they were goat belly, I gladly ordered one up, after all I'd never met chivo that was anything less than cravable. When I saw that the tortilla contained blood pudding and god knows whatever other bits of goat innards I wasn't entirely turned off. In fact, my interest was piqued since I enjoy a good black pudding every now and then. When I tasted it, everything changed, for this was no mere blood pudding. It was subltly spiced with cinnamon and hot peppers and utterly delicious.
Fast forward to yesterday when I saw pansa negro de chivo on the specials menu at one of my favorite Mexican spots. When I ordered it, I wasn't entirely sure whether it would be the same meat I'd had in tacos. As it turned out it was. About five tacos worth of goat gutty goodness were sided with some of the best Mexican rice I've ever had. Usually this lackluster rice has a technicolor orange hue and remains uneaten, but not this version. It had just enough achiote to color it and was studded through with bits of fresh carrots and peas, and kept company by some great stewed beans. The whole affair was topped with four or five pickled jalapeños that had been sliced lengthwise.
As you might have guessed from the topic of this post the whole platter proved to be too much for me. Of course when you get it packed up, dump in a bowl and then nuke it, the result looks nowhere near as good as it did in the restaurant. But I can assure you, it hits the spot at midnight with an ice cold Tecate. Let's just hope I don't have any nightmares about chupacabras.
When I watch too much TV, I crave Taco Bell. A primitive neuron deep within my brain stem fires. Within days, if not minutes, I find myself running to the border.
Normally when I'm in the mood for Mexican, I settle for nothing less than homey soft corn tortillas. Best case scenario: Standing at a taco truck downing a double layer of lard-griddled goodness topped with carnitas, cecina or al pastor, while cilantro-and-onion-infused reddish grease threaten to ruin my outfit.
To make their way into my kitchen supermarket tortillas must pass a strict test. The package needs to showcase the words "tortilleria" and "hermanos" and bear an address within a 45-minute drive from my humble abode. I never purchase "tortillas" that bear the dreaded word "wrap."
Hopefully the above rant explains my issue with a recent article on tortilla sales. I have no beef, cecina or otherwise, with citing 2002 Tortilla Industry Association stats that rank the delectable discus just behind white bread. I understand that those figures are no doubt the latest digits. Perhaps, I'm jonesing for pork and lard, but I was put off by what I found to be a puff piece for Tumaro's Gourmet Tortillas, which earned top honors from Men's Health's for wraps. But who am I to say, maybe Tumaro's pineapple flavored tortilla will hit Taco Bell just after I've maxed out on Seinfeld reruns.
I have been hunting for green tomatoes the last few days and have finally tracked some down to a Mexican restaurant in central London. I have to buy a 20 litre tin mind which seems a little excessive for just one recipe! The restaurant, Mestizo, is about the only authentic venue for Mexican cuisine in the UK. As recommend by The Passionate Cook who, in her colourful past, lived in Mexico. [Another recommendation here]
But it would seem that decent Mexican food is as hard to find in the UK as it is in New Orleans. Which surprises me seeing how close the city is to Mexico. But Blogging New Orleans reported the other day that despite an influx of Mexican workers since Katrina there still isn't an 'authentic' Mexican restaurant in the city. Plenty of Mexican drinks and foods appearing in the shops but no restaurants.
A shame that other countries manage to export their culinary culture so well but Mexico (and other South American countries) do not.
When I watch too much TV, I crave 
I have been hunting for 
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