Tortilla Nation

If the American South is Cornbread Nation, then Mexico must be Tortilla Nation, for the tortilla seems to knit a meal together there in a way that spans region, class and taste.

Tortillas show up at every meal, and no, I don’t mean those flavorless dead-crunchy, boxed and bagged jobbies we find in grocery stores north of the border. Real tortillas are freshly made, hot, flavorful and ready to wrap around anything you care to eat.

And they’re ubiquitous. Consider the following dishes, all requiring tortillas either rolled, folded, used a base or served alongside: alambre, burrito, carnitas, cecina, chalupa, chimichanga, enchilada, enfrijolada, entomatada, flauta, gordita, huarache, machaca, quesadilla, sincronizada, and the famous and clever taco. And this is just a start.

While corn—ask for maize—seems to be preferred, tortillas may also be made of flour—harina. Occasionally tortillas will be crispy, but typically they’re soft. And I was surprised to discover that there are actually two distinguishable sides of the tortilla, a softer, more moist one and a harder, drier one. When you start to fill a tortilla, hold it with the softer side toward your hand (for a better grip, perhaps?), and the drier side inside.

There’s a saying in Mexico: “The sides of a good taco don’t touch.” I paraphrase. But it’s true, and I worked on making and eating several GOOD tacos during my stay. Essentially, you can put most anything inside. Whether you’re making a meal or a snack, you can’t go wrong with a fresh, hot tortilla filled with your choice of ingredients. (This taco included chicken, tomato, avocado and nopal, a cactus that has a taste and texture reminiscent of okra).

But tortillas are satisfying on their own, no fillings needed. Just rolling up and eating a tortilla all by itself is a nice little treat to have anytime. That’s certainly a comfort when you’ve indulged too heavily or you’ve tangled with El Senor Tummy Bug!

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Apropos of something . . .

Andy and I popped into a neighborhood Japanese restaurant on Sunday and noticed this sign as we sat at the sushi bar:

Thanks and arigato!
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A Confession

Buenos Dias! We’re back from our week in Mexico City, filled with good food and great memories. Problem is, I’m inundated with ideas and trying to sift through them all. Which one to write about first? and second? and so on?

So as I work my way through a major case of bloggus indigestus this morning, I’m procrastinating for a few minutes by reading some food blogs I like. The current entry on Orangette gives me encouragement. If Molly Wizenberg can admit to train wrecking in the kitchen and reaching for olives and cereal, then I too, can admit to a recent lunchtime of kimchi, doritos, peanut butter and ice cream. No, not all at once, but in fairly rapid succession.

Sometimes it’s necessary to do this sort of schizophrenic grazing. Satisfy the taste buds with an assortment of different flavors that might not go together, but that are nonetheless required to keep the tongue and the spirits happy. I don’t do it very often, but maybe I can do it with less guilt now that I see Ms. Wizenberg owning up to it.

Hmm, perhaps that should be a blog all to itself, a confessional spot on the Web where people could go to admit to the bizarre combinations of food they sometimes find themselves building a meal (or a grazing session) out of.

I promise, the next blog will begin a launch into the glories of authentic Mexican cuisine. And there are many.

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Mex Without the Tex

At the end of a tiny strip mall in Memphis’ Wolf River basin is Las Tortugas Deli Mexicana, where the Magallanes family brings authentic Mexican food to a city in which most so-called Mexican restaurants serve up things a citizen of that country would never recognize as his homeland’s cuisine.

Forget the Tex-Mex, the nachos and the cheese dip. Forget the mediocre entrée flanked by too much rice and flavorless refried beans that most likely came from a can. This is the real stuff, prepared by a personable family who love sharing not only their native food but the back-story of the food as well.

Small but clean and bright (and with a lunchtime line that trails out the door), this eatery serves up freshly-made specialties that anyone from Mexico City would recognize.

Pepe, the patriarch, explains that the twice-cooked pork ribs are made from his grandmother’s recipe. How can I not try them?! and have them on the second visit? and on the third? They’re superb, the meat falling off the bone so cleanly I can accomplish my post-meal lipstick reapplication in my reflection. Superb mole in homemade mini tortillas, fresh, wonderful tamales, both chicken and pork. And corn on the cob that you wouldn’t believe, beginning with fresh—not frozen—corn, that’s perfectly cooked, then coated with a thin layer of mayonnaise and sprinkled with grated cotija, an aged cow’s milk cheese, and red pepper.

Pepe and his son Jonathan are warm, friendly and hospitable hosts. As I trot to the pick up area when my number is called, Jonathan reaches across a case filled with cheeses, chili peppers and long curls of cassia bark to explain each item I’ve ordered.

Of course, you need a real Mexican beverage to go with your feast. Their agua fresca, fresh fruit drinks, will make you forget all about your favorite soda. Horchata, jamaica, mango, watermelon, limonata and tamarino are just a few, all made fresh and all made really, really good (hey, I’ll shove a clean straw into the glass of anyone who will allow me a taste!).

Tomorrow Andy and I venture to Mexico City to spend a week visiting friends, seeing the sights and enjoying the local cuisine. We look forward to learning more about authentic Mexican food. Of course, just as Italy’s food is regional, so is Mexico’s. But as happens everywhere, folks from the country venture to the city, and some of them open restaurants where their fellow transplants can go for a taste of home. So we anticipate finding at least a smattering of the country’s regional dishes to enjoy while we’re in its capital.

So until our return, hasta luego!

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New Orleans Redux

As I digest the experiences of my recent week in New Orleans at the annual conference of the International Association of Culinary Professionals, many great moments come to mind. Here are a few:

Just being back on the streets of that lovely, exotic and historic city for the first time in 11 years. New Orleans is a place like no other, with its unique blend of cultures–European, Caribbean and African–and its history, customs, architecture, music and food.

Enjoying beignets and chicory coffee in Café du Monde. The place was packed like there was no tomorrow–or as if everyone thought beignets would be outlawed by midnight. So what if it looked like we’d been dusted for fingerprints? What’s a little powdered sugar when you get to enjoy freshly-made beignets, along with an attitudinous dark-as-sin coffee that’s stout enough to power a jet engine?!


Surely they must serve beignets in Heaven!


Hearing, “’scuse me, darlin’!” and “Sorry, Sweetheart!” countless times as I navigated crowded sidewalks and slipped past local men going about their business of setting up for the day’s activities. In most cities, there would have been (1) no apology for having bumped into me and (2) no term of endearment go to with it. There was nothing weird or predatory behind it–just good manners.

The kick of having Chef Paul Prudhomme himself serve me a bowl of amazingly tasty gumbo and give me the cheffly knuckle tap. Chef Paul is one-in-a-million, the real deal, an ultra-fine cook who never sought out fame and who wears his celebrity lightly and modestly. (And out of respect for this, I refrained from shoving a camera in his face.)

Most importantly—and Chef Paul is a part of this—the warmth and gratitude of those I bought from during my stay. New Orleans is one of the great welcoming cities in this country. Its citizens know how to have a roarin’ good time, and they love showing visitors a good time, too. No one’s a stranger there for long. And the food, as always, is top notch and memorable.

The Creole rabbit at Olivier’s is succulent and flavorful.



Central Grocery on Decatur Street, birthplace of the muffuletta, still serves up its famous party-sized sandwich. This giant round of Italian bread filled with cured meats and cheese and zazzed up with garlic-and-olive relish is great to pick up on your way out of town—you can eat some now, and still have plenty to enjoy on the trip home.

New Orleans is a long, long way from being completely repaired and restored. There are people still living without electricity and phone service. There are people still living in tents. And many who have yet to return. The city is bloodied, by both the storm and by the federal government’s indifference to its plight, but New Orleanians are fighting to regain some sense of normalcy, to rebuild their homes and their lives.


You never know what–or who–you’ll find in your wanderings about the city. Looks like double good fortune to me!

Some people seem to think the city is still under water. The water receded within a couple of days of Hurricane Katrina 2½ years ago, but the damage—both physical and psychological—left in its wake is taking a long time to erase. And perhaps it never completely will be.

This is where the water lives–
in the Mississippi River, not on top of the city!



It’s impossible to stand still when the music cranks up. It’s as vital a part of life in New Orleans as eating, drinking or even breathing . . .

But New Orleans is open for business, with its warmth and hospitality intact. To those who crave to travel abroad but who don’t have the money, I’ve always said, “Go to New Orleans—it’s the most foreign and exotic place you’ll find on the North American continent.” With the dollar taking a clobbering against the euro and the English pound, why not visit—or revisit—this amazing city? Beauty, history, great food and a warm welcome await you. As the locals say, Y’all come, and

Laisse le bon temp rouler!


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