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Pork Pozole Rojo
Thursday, 1 January 2015
Pozole is perhaps the one dish I miss the most from home. A spoonful of it is enough to bring me right back to my mother's kitchen table. I particularly crave it this time of year, as many Mexicans enjoy it as a celebratory meal to see the old year out and ring in the new one. It's substancial, nutricious and as ancient as Aztec times. Amazing cure for hangovers too!
Pozole is a full flavoured soup with tons of bite and texture; it's rich and fragrant, deeply enbeded in traditions all throughout the country. Its preparation was sacred and ceremonial in Aztec times; it is documented that Moctezuma himself regularly enjoyed a bowl of this soup made with the tigh from a prisoner who had been sacrified. Quite gross I know, but thankfully, we've switched to more standard meats such as pork or chicken, and in some coastal parts of Mexico, they make it from dried and fresh shrimp.
The main component of Pozole is the Pozole Kernels, also known as hominy. They are Cacahuacintle Corn, a type of corn known amongs Aztec people as 'cacao corn' due to the similar look these kernels had to the raw coco beans. The Cacahuacitle Corn produces a large, round and soft, almost floury like, kernel that is soaked and then boiled until its head falls off. Then it is ready to be used in Pozole or to make tamales or a drink called pinole.
There are are generally speaking three types of Pozole: White, Red and Green. Red Pozole is traditional from my part of Mexico, so it is of course, the one I share here with you. The soup starts life as a clear one and its making is quite simple. Chili, garlic and oregano is used to colour it and good meat is paramount. We use pork, preferably on the bone, to give the soup deeper flavours; however, I found using a piece of pork loin for roasting works well too. If you end up using a piece with bone, don't forget to fish out the bone after cooking to avoid 'nasty' surprises!
Even though the secret to a good Pozole rests deep on the earthly flavours of the soup, the flavour of the dish as a whole depends on the garnishes just as much. A Pozole withouth the correct table toppings will be too strong, a tad bitter and quite boring. So don't skimp or skip any of the garnishes, this is one of those dishes that must be eaten with EVERY garinish dictated by traditions. And don't forget to make some plain tostadas to accompany the dish with, they do make a huge and flavoursome difference! For tips on tostada making, check this recipe here!
So without further ado, here is my recipe for Pork Pozole Rojo, I hope you enjoy it!
Champurrado: Rediscovering Home-made Atoles
Friday, 12 December 2014
I am currently obsessed with Mexican Atoles. They are perfect for this time of the year as they are warm and nutritious. Giving that Christmas is nearly here, I decided to post what it is perhaps the most traditional and Christmassy of all known Atoles: Champurrado.
Let me start by telling you that an Atole is an ancient, pre-hispanic, Mexican drink made originally by boiling corn-masa (maize dough) until thickened, flavouring it with things like vanilla, chocolate, chili and sweetening it with honey. The word Atole, derives from the Nahuatl word Atolli, which means something close to 'thin' or 'runny', both referring to texture of the drink.
Its original Aztec flavour is believed to have been quite bland to the European palate (the head conquistador Cortez wrote about Atoles to the Spanish Crown in those terms); the drink most likely had an earthy taste from the maize and an almost granular texture from the masa, perhaps too complex for the simple palates of the Spanish soldiers back then. Nontheless, the mentioning of Atoles in the correspondance shows how important they were in the every day life of indigenous Mexicans. They were, if you like, the first energy drink ever to be made in Mexico. It was given to the sick to improve their constitution and to those who did heavy work to help with their strenght (mind you, the same was said about Guinness!).
With time, piloncillo (raw sugar cane) and white sugar replaced the honey, and worst of all, corn starch replaced the masa. By the early 1930's corn startch was introduced to the mass Mexican market and many people in Mexico only know those disgusting flavoured atoles made from a pack, very similar to the ready made custard we get here in Ireland. The tradition of hand made atoles slowly taking a second place and fading away from 'civilized circles. We were sold 'convenince' in a pack and forgot how quick it is to actually make them from scratch! The most important change to Atoles was the introduction of milk as the main ingredient. I grew up with these shitty versions of atoles, so when I went on an Atole discovering mission about 3 years ago, I fell in love with the real thing and I want to share some of my love for them here with you.
So I'm going to start with the most traditional of all: Champurrado, which is a drinking atole flavoured with chocolate. It is drunk as part of a good breakfast or traditionally served with tamales this time of the year. My mam loves it with churros too. It is one of my favourite atoles and although far better if made with fresh nixtamalised masa, this version here using dried masa-harina is very, very tasty and brings us over the hump of that one ingredient we cannot find here in Ireland: Mexian Corn.
Boozy Spiced Candied Pecans
Friday, 28 November 2014
Most of my creative process starts with one single hungry thought. It usually comes at the least expected time... when the belly is full and I am relaxed. Funny enough, never when I am actually physically hungry (I get impatient and cranky when I'm hungry). When mam and dad were here in October, we were discussing Mexican traditional sweets... and candied pecans, or nueces garanpiñadas, came to mind. They are an expensive enough edible gift in Mexico as pecans are never cheap, but very, very tasty and Christmassy.
I decided I needed to make some, so I bought all the ingredients to make them and had a go at it... they were fine and they certainly cured the craving... but then, sitting at the car on the way to work I thought, what if I could spike them?! What if the caramel could be made with a bit of tequila in it... and maybe some spiciness too? The idea started playing in my head and then there was nothing else in my head for three weeks. All I could think off was nueces garanpiñadas with tequila and chilli!
It took three attempts to get it right. The first time, I added the tequila and spice to the caramel at the end, so that did not work. Second attempt saw too much tequila in the caramel, so the alcohol took forever to evaporate and the caramel never really got to the right point... it just tasted bitter... Third time lucky saw these beauties emerged from the pan, and believe you me, they are AMAZING!
Caramel and humidity do not go hand by hand, so if you decide to make these in Ireland, only made them a few hours in advance. Caramel goes sticky in the eternally damp Irish weather. On the plus side, it takes only a few minutes to make, so if you are using them for edible gifts, you can make them an hour in advance and then just pack them and warn the person they must eat them quick... but seriously, that won't be a problem, once they have one, they won't be able to stop!!
I brought these for a Thanksgiving gathering with friends and they were gone quite quickly!
The Mouse, the Hole & the Wardrobe
Monday, 17 November 2014
In the spirit of a life less curated (and believe you me, if there ever was a week to exemplify the idea, this would definitely be the one), I am sharing the happenings of my last week. If you follow my feed on instagram you probably have seen the picture below accompanied by what a friend refered to as 'the likes of a Some-Mothers-Do-Ave'Em Episode' (if you're not familiar with this 1970's TV British Show, you need to check the link, it's hilarious!). My niece, Daili and I were like Frank and Betty in the show. We had a series of accidents that lead to the house practically falling to bits!
The day started with the usual mixture of sleepy heads and mad rush to sort out online orders and pending things before we all had to leave the house. Daili wasn't feeling the best, so we decided she needed to stay home and get some rest. The house's hall was crowded with boxes we had with the bits from the Day of the Dead Altar, which needed to go to the attic. Around 11 a.m., I received a phonecall from a very upset Daili, telling me she had had an accident. I went into a panic. What?! What happened? Are you ok?!
A million things went through my head in that second it took her to inhale and gather the courage to say -'I am ok, but I made a hole in the celing of your bedroom'- she proceeded to explain that while taking one of the boxes from the hall into our unfloored attic, she lost her balance and fell in between the joices. Which of course meant, she went though the ceiling of my bedroom and landed with one leg on my wall-to-wall wardobe. She was so upset about the hole, she couldn't tell me whether she had hurt herself or not.
I picked up the phone and rang my ever helpful dad in law, who went to check that she was ok (which she was, if a little bruised). She sent me the picture below by text. My only thought was -fuck that's bad!. I rang Alan, and he had a very similar reaction, which is much odder in him than in me (he does not swear in vain as much as I do). We both agree the best thing was that Daili was not hurt. When I got home that night, we realised the wardobe she had landed on was, unfortunately, also broken. It was on Alan's side of the wardrobe, so all those folded, never worn woollie jumpers I've been begging him to throw away, fortunately (or not?) served the purpose of cushioning Daili's fall and preventing more damange beyond the roof of the wardobe, which gave Alan an excuse to say 'I told you they'd come in handy someday' (smug fecker!).
When up in the attic checking the damage from above, we noticed light coming from the roof (we rarely go up the attic). Turns out there was a hole in the attic too, directly to the right of the hole in my bedroom!!! Now things were starting to get serious. I don't have a go-to-builder, so our friend Yolanda sent us the details of hers. I rang him and he quoted for the job. We agreed he'll do it on Monday. In the meantime, we put a suitcase right above the hole in the ceiling, to stop the cold from coming into the bedroom, which did make us feel better but was actually useless for the purpose it was intended: the bedroom was freezing!
The following morning, all positive and ready to get through the weekend, I'm blowdrying my hair and the next thing I see a mouse coming out of my bedroom door into the bathroom, where I was standing with hairdrier in had. The mouse saw me, paused and turn around back into the bedroom. I froze for 2 seconds, screamed at Alan, who was working in his pyjamas at the computer. I quickly closed the door of the bedroom. I was in a dressing gown, barefooted. Alan was in his pijamas, no shoes or sleepers, all our gear was in the bedroom and neither had the guts to go into the room to get stuff out!!! -What if the mouse come out again?! What if it goes downstairs? or into the kitchen?!!!- totally hopeless we are!
While I hysterically rang a bunch of pest control numbers on a Saturday morning (hoping beyond hope one would be open). Daili and Alan built a barricade against the door frame to prevent the mouse from coming out into the landing (coz this mouse cannot climb tiny barricades I'm sure!). She then went into our room, stripped the bed, took everything off the floor surfaces (not sure why) and got our shoes and a change of cloths for us. By then I had gotten lucky and a pest control company had actually answered. Monday came and torrential rains with it. I sat in Localise's office looking up at the velux windows being pounded with what could only be described as a monsoon!! I was sick with worry. By the time I got home, the whole in the roof was leaking like mad, the house was freezing and I was still terrified of the mouse. I was seriously considering abandoning ship by then!
Two days later, the rain sort of stopped enough for the builder to come in and do a proper job. Hole in roof got sorted, hole in bedroom closed and wardrobe repaired. Mouse? still at large but I have hopes he found a way out of the house or into one of the humane traps! There was abosolutely nothing, nothing glamorous about the happenings, and if it wasn't for the fact that Picado got featured in the Food issue of LeCool Dublin Magazine and in an article in the US Magazine, Conde Nast Traveler as hotspot 9 in Dublin, it would have been the week from hell. All in all, by the end of it, I was completely and utterly exhausted! But hey, how was your week?
A Life Less Curated...
Wednesday, 29 October 2014
Recently, I took part in an amazing retreat organised by the industrious Imen McDonnell, you can read about it in her blog. The few days in Connemara were beautiful and the experience made me think a lot about who I am and where I'm going and I sincerely hope Imen organizes a few more of these... perhaps using some of our local talent too.
It will surprise you to find that this is my third attempt at writing this post. I genuinely didn't know how to start it. The first draft was quite intense (I write like that when I feel strong about something). The second draft was more measured... but although I was saying EVERYTHING I wanted to say, it felt wrong... and I wasn't sure why... I talked to Alan a lot about it for a few days, then I spoke to Imen too (who I cannot begin to thank for being so understanding with my crazy feelings and for being ok with what I'm sharing here) and then my blog got hacked and I couldn't get at it... but this post was constantly on my mind...
Today, when I'm finally publishing it, I feel a great sense of relief. It's out there now. I've said my piece and I've come to terms with it. While all I wrote in my first two drafts was true... it felt like bashing something that was, in its whole, good. It also felt like I was leaving all personal responsibility outside the door and I was not ok with it. I was writing from that hollier than holy place we all go to when we have a guilty concious. So, today's final post is, at least, honest and true. It's been written in the hope that my experience enlights someone else out there and with a sense of gratitude to all of those involved in the retreat. Thank you for the company.
The days in Connemara were lovely. When I arrived, everything was as I had imaged it to be: the beautiful surroundings of Ballynahinch Castle helped a lot. The castle's uber charming manager, Patrick O'Flaherty, and Patrick's lovely wife and blogger, the energetic and down to earth Cliodhna Prendergast were at hand to welcome us. Cliodhna even opened her beautiful home so we could have a whole day of workshops there. They were such wonderful hosts and I think if the reputation of Ireland as a tourist destination is left to these two, the island of the thousand welcomes would have nothing to worry about. They made my stay truly magical and it will be a while before I shake the terrible view-from-sitting-room envy I have after seeing their place in Connemara.
The food styling sessions were really interesting. I found the stylist really good, she was approachable, took time to chat with everybody, gave very constructive criticism delivered gently and she was candid. I found it fascinating to hear about the work behind a big cover shoot for a magazine or for an ad campaign. She was very honest and charming and I picked up a lot of ideas from her. I am genuinely glad she was there. Her lovely partner was a calm presence, always willing to help and chat. You could tell they are both used to work with teams.
I was impressed by how much detail and thought went into making us feel welcome; a lovely goodie bag with some super chic and thoughtful gifts for us on arrival, the sumptuous meals on long tables, the drives, the locations... I know Imen went through a lot of trouble and hard work to make this happen and I hope she does another one of these soon. Imen's organisational skills, her impecable taste and her attention to the beautiful detail was second to none and I truly respect the fact that she put herself out there by organising this workshops. I take my hat off to her.
I loved the locations and the activities prepared for the workshops. As I was coming down a very long, slippery, ladder attached to the pier in Roundstone, into a boat that was taking us to Inishlacken island, I felt my bravest ever; when we walked through the castle's autumn forests in the hunt for mushrooms I was content... when I saw the house in the lake and its surroundings I was completely enchanted, finding out my hand-made gallette was picked by a top stylists as the best of the lot and worth a photograph was very flattering...
And yet, I came home unsettled and with a heavy heart. A wierd sense of inadequacy and disillusion in me. After much meditation and pondering about, I realised that this feeling could not be entirely attributed to my experience at the retreat. It's been a long time coming. For months I've been feeling irritated, tired, overworked, undervalued and demotivated. It feels like it does not matter how much work I put into things, I'm never getting anywhere (some people might ask me to man up and get a grip, and they would be right to do so, but that it is easier said than done).
I've been feeling frustrated and angry at seeing a lot of blogs succumbing to the general laziness and group thinking that seems to permiate every other part of printed media. Reguterated press releases, infomercials and general nonsense written on behalf of PR companies and brands for a small amount of money, in exchange of a product sample or an invite to a party. 'Food' blogs with nothing but infomercials. We are the darlings of the PR companies: free advertising in exchange for an invite, a small gift, a mention or a free sample. There seems to be this general feeling (hey I am guilty of this too) that unless you're getting these offers of, let's face it, free work, you're not a sucessfull blogger. The value of our work as bloggers seems to be based on how many freebies we get... nobody seems to care about content any more; blogs, and let's face it a lot of print media too, have become a series of photographs with captions... we've become completely visual with no time/desire to actually read text.
When all these realities were exemplified and amplified by the American Photographer imparting the workshop, all wheels came off my wagon. She did not mince her words and told us how it is in America. We found out what drives the creative process of a professional blogger in the States. Although this was not entirely new to me, It was a shock to hear. I would be a liar if I'd say I don't wish I could get paid to cook and write, but I am not sure I can do it. I am not prepared to become a curator of only the picture perfect moments in my life.
The blogging scene has changed a lot since I first started... I can only imagine how it must be for people here who have been blogging for over 10 years! But despite all my bitching about freebies, etc, compared to what goes on in America, we still have close ties that bound us to certain standards... I wonder how long will we be able to hold on to those.
Most of my creative process starts with a single hungry thought! I don't think about monetary value or about increasing my following... I coudn't help to feel terribly common for sharing my dinners here with you and for calling myself a food blogger... after all, I don't have a five grand camera with a 19 hundred euro lense and loads of vintage food props, including a custom-made white marble kitchen island. If I go by those standards, my recipes and my silly little photos are not worth sharing!
So needless to say that I found the photography end of things challenging, apart from my lack of basic skills, I found very difficult to connect with the photogrpaher. I also found myself really not interested in taking pictures identical to those of others; my food is vibrant and colourful and playful... shooting moody, low light scenes perfectly crafted for maximum buck is ok for a certain type of following, but it's not alright for my blog. My blog is entirely instructional, definitely not for the design concious. At the end of the day most of my modest following is only interested in cooking some good Mexican food.
So the photography end of things was not great for me. I was not there to adore or join a cult, I was there to learn. Talk to me about creative process based on light, composition, feeling, emotion, not on how many dollars per click a picture is going to generate, or what campaigns or agencies pay the most. Most bloggers in Europe make no money, I could count with the fingers of one hand the people there who had an interest in knowing any of that... and then it hit me, for someone so clued into what her following wanted, the photographer had completly misjudged what us, her paying audience, wanted! And then I thought what if this was it?! What if every blogger, writer I follow or admire is just looking at numbers?
The more I thought about it, the more convinced I became that this perfectly curated persona thing was not for me... carefully placed linens arranged in a certain way, vintage plates and pots, at an idyllic window sill overlooking the sea... it is all too perfect, all too beautiful... definitely not me at all... I am not beautiful like that... I am not perfect... and come to think of it, NOBODY IS!!!!
I enjoyed my time at the retreat. But it opened my eyes to this phenomena of perfectly curated moments. A lot of us follow these curators of moments.... a lot of us base our aspirations and goals on these perfectly curated lives... and the sad part is that such lives are unattainable because they're not real!! These lives are carefully orchestrated beauty thought through to maximize following or profit. It's a marketing ploy to make us want more, emotionless beyond the image... only caring for the numbers. I don't know if I could have taken Diana Kennedy not being as awsome as I had imagined her to be. That would have broken my heart... when I'm done with my blogging/writing, I want someone, even just one person, to feel the way I feel about Diana's work.
Like many of us, I do sucumb to status envy every now and then and I compare my stuff to that of more successful people. It's a rubbish habit I know, but I haven't found a way to kick it off. I'm sure I'm not the only one doing that, so I've been using it as a consolation and disguising it as a drive to improve my blogging skills. Rationalising it like that helps; I am just trying to be better and improve myself, that can't be bad, can it? but wait, it actually IS very, VERY bad!
It drives us to see beauty where there is none and it sets us into a path of inadequacy and torment. The escapism provided by these curated moments is short lived; and then we are left wanting, wishing, aching... it also leaves the curator devoid of any contact with reality (but hey at least he/she is being paid). When I look back at the hashtag of the course, all the photos are very similar... with a few exceptions, all 15 of us ended up taking the same shots, again and again... a real pity when there were so many talented lovies in the group.
I took a lot out of this experience and I am truly grateful I did it. I had a chance to meet old friends and made new ones, I also learned a lot. After a few days back home and in a calmer mood, I realised I took in a lot more than I had originally thought and the experience was totally worth it. Perhaps the biggest lesson I came out with is the certainty of knowing that I don't want to create a perfectly curated persona for myself. Life is imperfect, it is not an eternal series of perfectly curated moments... life is raw emotion: sadness and happiness and all that comes in between and I've decided it's time for me to embrace my offensively imperfect self, be different and stop apologising for it!
