March Newsletter - Sarah in Mexico

Sarah's March Newsletter

¡Provecho!
(Spanish equivalent to “Bon Appetit!” “Var så god” or “Forks Up!”)

I’ve heard it said that some people eat to live, while others live to eat. Well don’t waste too much time trying to figure out which category I fit into! Nearly all my favorite things in this world involve food—camping, socializing, traveling, cooking, holidays, etc.—and that remains just as true here in Mexico. So, this month’s newsletter hits on a lighter part of life south of the border, and is dedicated to the culinary beauty of Mexico and some of my most cherished moments in the kitchen.

Simple Ingredients, Countless Entrees, Exquisite Flavor!
Get a bunch of tomatoes, some onion, a couple cloves of garlic, a handful of chile peppers, loads of cheese, a good bit of salt, corn tortillas, rice, and beans and you’ve got yourself the principle ingredients for Mexican cuisine. Despite the fact that the ingredients don’t vary much from meal to meal, I’ve found Mexican food to be surprisingly diverse and wonderfully flavorful. A resourceful and creative people, Mexicans have found myriad ways to embellish their staples and spice up the palate. They make salsas of every color, texture, and spiciness. Sometimes the peppers and tomatoes are boiled and then blended, other times they’re grilled and then mashed by hand in a stone bowl. Rice may be served white, green, or red. Chicken may come to you in many forms—leg, breast, wing, foot, even stomach. Tortillas may be round, oval, oblong, diamond; they can be made of blue, white, yellow, or red corn; sometimes they’re grilled over an open-fire and other times fried in a pan of sizzling oil. Chile peppers appear in every color, shape, and size; some are sold fresh, others have been hung and dried; their spiciness ranges from subtle and mild to off-the-charts hot. Imaginative and delicious, Mexican cooking has yet to bore me! Some of my favorite platters include enchiladas, quesadillas, tinga de pollo (spicy chicken often served in quesadillas), and pozole (a hearty soup of corn and chicken, garnished with lime, chopped onion, dried chile, oregano and avocado).

The blessed tortilla
For Mexicans, no meal is complete without tortillas…I mean several tortillas. In fact, I just read in the newspaper last week that Mexicans devour over 300 million tortillas daily!

One begins to understand how Mexicans consume so many tortillas by simply watching them eat. Instead of using forks and spoons, Mexicans find the tortilla to be equally, if not more, functional. They rip off half of the tortilla and use it as a sort of “mitt” to help them peel off some meat, cut through the beans, or scoop up the broth; then they curl up the edges of the tortilla to keep food from spilling, and quickly lift it directly into their mouths. This may sound like an exaggerated description of the short transport from plate to mouth, but it illuminates the amount of concentration it requires for me to follow suit. It’s an art, I’ve decided, as I rarely get through a meal without refried beans seeping out of my tortilla, or bright, red salsa dripping down my forearm!

My favorite tortillas are those that come straight from the cornfield near Cuentepec, as I’m able to witness the entire process—from plant to plate—every week. During the harvest season, the women and their husbands spend days and weeks in the unyielding heat, hauling bushels of corn from the country to their homes. They scatter the plants out on the roof to dry, and then separate the stalks, kernels, husks, and cobs. Not wanting to waste one part of their produce, they will use the husks to wrap tamales, the cobs and stalks as “kindling” for the fire, and the kernels for tortillas. Soaked overnight in water and a bit of limestone (this limestone powder has, for centuries, been a significant source of vitamins and minerals for the indigenous people), the kernels are then brought to the molino (a machine that crushes the kernels) and ground into masa (dough). It is a lengthy and arduous routine, but the women noticeably take pride in their labor and tradition. I value the opportunity to take part in this custom, as I see in it a great testament to the organic interconnectedness of humanity and earth. I see the fields from which the food comes, I am able to name all of the ingredients, I see the hands that pick and prepare the food, and I know the names of all those who serve and feast with me. It can be tempting to label indigenous lifestyle as behind-the times, inept, and inefficient, but they have something to teach us about love of land, appreciation of and dependence on natural resources, and deliberate, organic living.

Living Local
Though mega-stores and super-Walmarts are starting to spring up all over the city and wipe out local commerce, I’m grateful that many Mexicans are trying to hold on to the way of life they know and love. The idea of going to a giant supermarket to take care of everything on the errand list—fruit, dried goods, shoes, cosmetics, etc.—is so contrary to this culture and these people. Having grown up without refrigeration and pantries, most Mexicans are accustomed to daily (sometimes multi-daily) trips to local markets, little convenience shops, and corner fruit stands. They go to the people’s market to pick out the season’s freshest fruits and vegetables, swing by Maria’s papeleria down the street to find paper or make copies, count on Jorge’s carniceria to provide fresh cuts of beef and poultry, stop by Marce’s next door when they need household cleaning products, and wait for the nearby tortilleria to come out with kilos of steaming, 100% corn tortillas every afternoon at 2. It’s a treat to watch this hustle and bustle come to life—bopping around from shop to shop, or home to home, with carts dragging behind or hefty, canvas bags draped over shoulders, Mexicans stroll from one errand to the next, never passing up an opportunity to greet the neighbors and catch up on the day’s latest news. Though I notice the inefficiency (when the convenience store is out of the one thing I need, when the woman selling bread doesn’t have any change, or when a sign says “Open at 9,” but there’s still no sign of life at 10:15), I also notice freedom, neighborliness, and support of local community. They know each other and each other’s commerce not by sign or advertisement, but through relationship and communal living. Well aware of the influence of international corporations, it’s getting harder and harder for local businesses to make it. It is my hope that Mexicans are able to resist the power of these monopolizing markets and continue to fill their kitchens and homes with the produce and labor of friends and neighbors.


“Ahorita vengo.”
(I’ll be right back…)
It’s just delightful to me how this rhythm of local and communal living does not at all lend itself to planning ahead. Take, for example, a typical Saturday morning brunch at Marce’s. We’ve decided to make scrambled eggs and beans, so Marce will start up the oil in the pan, chop up the tomatoes, onions, and chiles, heat up the tortillas and pour the juice, and then suddenly realize she doesn’t have any eggs—a critical ingredient! “Oh mother of Mary,” she’ll say, “Ahorita vengo,” and off she’ll go with coin purse in armpit to the corner food stand. She’ll hustle back, we’ll finish preparing the meal, we’ll just get seated at her cozy, kitchen table, and up she goes. “We really should have some avocado with this meal, don’t you think?” It’s not really a question, as she’s out the door before we can assure her it’s wonderful as is. This happens at nearly every meal, and though it’s a little strange to rarely begin and finish a meal with everyone seated together at the table, it’s also simply adorable and amusing!

There’s spicy and then there’s spicy
Many of my Mexican hosts were wonderfully gracious in the first months of my being here. They tamed down on the chiles and made it more accommodating to my untrained, Scandinavian tongue. But now that I’m “more Mexican,” as they like to say, and have mastered consumption of spicy food without getting watery eyes and a dripping nose, it’s become kind of a joke to see if they can get me. Mexicans actually use the verb “enchilar,” which I guess I would translate “to be chilied” or “to chilefy.” After a spicy meal, they’ll often ask, “Te enchilaron?” (Did you get chilied or chilefied?) Gives new meaning to the expression, “You are what you eat.”

A sacred place
Aside from these common, often comical snapshots of the Mexican kitchen, I’ve grown to see the kitchen as a profoundly holy place. I’ve always seen mealtime as important and sacred, but while in Mexico, I’ve realized the way in which the kitchen and its simple tasks often generate space for intimate conversation. Let me tell you about my friend Lore…

Lore is a co-worker of mine at CIDHAL. She is in charge of the cleaning and landscape on our campus, and she works harder than anyone else in the office. Over the past months, Lore has shared pieces of her story with me, a story that begins with poverty, abandonment, homelessness, unemployment, and self-negation, and moves toward growth, health, family, pride, and self-respect. Left by her partner with two young daughters, a junior-high education, and no job, Lore began with a house made of cardboard, beds made of newspaper, and meals of rice and corn. Now, after twenty-five years of tireless work as mother and domestic worker, Lore and her two daughters live in a very small, 2-room, cement home in Nueva Morelos, a community about 45 minutes from Cuernavaca. She and her daughters share one bedroom, they wash all dishes and clothes by hand with water that comes from an underground cistern, they shower by heating up water on the stove and pouring it over their bodies, the bathroom is nothing more than a toilet seat and hole in the ground, and the kitchen is good-sized and amazingly-furnished with refrigerator, stove, table, and dishes. Life is simple there. Life is also rigorous there.

It was an honor to be invited to Lore’s for dinner a few weeks ago. When I walked into her home, I was immediately struck by both her compassion and anxiety. It was clear I arrived earlier than they were expecting, as Lore was scrambling around the house, washing buckets and rags, rinsing the corn for tortillas, and sweeping more vigorously than the winds of the prairie. No matter how many times and ways I offered to help, she insisted that I sit and relax. She got me a chair, set it right in the middle of the patio, and told me to stay put. Because she and her daughters were scurrying around the yard, in and out of the house, and up and down the street, they were never in one place long enough for us to really have a conversation. So I sat there. I felt very uncomfortable, but wanted to respect their wish to host and serve me as guest. Never before have I been so aware of the ‘elite’ status I carry in some social situations. Lore was clearly excited to have me there, but overly apologetic, expressing her regrets multiple times that the house was so small and dirty, that the meal was not ready, that she doesn’t have a more comfortable chair for me, etc. I was caught off guard by her unnecessary preoccupations, and wasn’t sure how to respond to such veneration. What could I say or do to tell her that none of that mattered to me? How could I show her how blessed I felt to be invited to her home? How could I say with sincerity and admiration how beautiful I think her home is? How could I start to deconstruct the walls and differences our world has placed between us?

After a couple hours of waiting in my chair, Lore was ready to begin the meal. I told her of my fascination with cooking, and she invited me into the kitchen to help. Perfect! We began chopping onions, washing apples, cleaning the various parts of the chicken (my favorite job!) and pressing tortillas. I think there’s something about these mundane tasks for the way they shed barriers, transcend language complications, permit silence, inspire humor, and invite vulnerability. We began to have wonderful conversation about our families, traditions, and stories. Lore opened up more about her past and entrusted to me stories of past relationships, challenges of single parenting, the realities of immigration, (all but one of Lore’s seven siblings are living in the U.S. as undocumented immigrants), and her aspirations for herself and her children. I remember there being a short period of silence—I was chopping carrots and Lore was frying the chicken—and then Lore turned to me and admitted, “Sarita, pensé que nunca ibas a venir a mi casa.” Translated, she said, “Sarita, I thought you were never going to come to my house.” Her doubt and honesty startled me, and I asked her to expound. She explained, “You are from America, the wealthiest country in the world. And even though you’re living in Mexico, you have been to many nice and big homes in Cuernavaca, and I live here in this tiny and ugly home.” I was spellbound, uncomfortable, moved, humbled. It pained me to know that my being American, white, and well educated made such assumptions completely normal and valid. Our differences in upbringing, wealth, education, and skin color do not carry equal respect and power; rather, history has given power and privilege to mine over hers. It was a vulnerable moment for both of us, as we confronted pride and shame in our own roots. But her openness gave me the opportunity to express so clearly my gratitude for her hospitality, my admiration for her altruism and determination, my belief that gifts of love and welcome transcend all monetary worth. Since living in a foreign country and being so aware of my yearning for familial togetherness, I’ve been moved to deeper thankfulness for authentic warmth and welcome. “This feels like family to me, Lore,” I told her, and she responded with my favorite Mexican phrase, “You are in your home, Sarita, and I’d love to call you daughter.” It was a holy moment. My whole being felt like it had been drenched in a shower of grace and love. I was able to tell her that I—this young woman that society places above her—needed her. There was a powerful spirit at work within and around us that afternoon, as we were taken beyond labels and inequalities to a place of fuller understanding and real connection. To think about where we began—with our differences so palpable and divisive—and where we ended—with our differences acknowledged, but our unity as sisters and companions surpassing any division—still moves me to tears. And it all brewed out of that little, “poor” kitchen…


Thanks again for reading this month! Just as I relish in the flavors and feasts of Mexico, so do I also look forward to sharing a meal with each of you when I return.

God’s peace,
Sarah Rohde

If you feel so called to “get chilied” yourself, give this recipe a whirl!!!

Tinga de Pollo-Spicy Chicken Quesadillas
(from the kitchen of Marcelina Fitz)

4 chicken breasts
4 tomatoes, diced
2 onions (1 whole, 1 sliced)
2 cloves of garlic
2 chipotle peppers (in can)
(*chipotle peppers are very spicy, so add according to personal preference/stamina*)
1 Tbs. oil
Chicken bullion cube

Cook the chicken breasts in boiling water with onion and a couple cloves of garlic. Let the chicken cool and then shred it. Save the broth.

In a frying pan with oil, cook the slices of onion until transparent, then add tomatoes and 2 chipotle peppers (also diced). Sautee until soft. Add a small cube of chicken bullion and a little of the leftover chicken broth. Lastly, add the shredded chicken and bring to a boil.

Fill tortillas with chicken mixture and lots of shredded cheese. Grill sides until chicken and cheese melt together.

¡Buen Provecho!