When most people I know (sans culinary classmates) think about Mexican food, they tell me they think of the gooey enchilada, the ubiquitous burrito, and the omnipresent taco. But, the cuisine enjoyed south of the border is far more complex and diverse than the commonly known combination of meat, beans, cheese, and tortillas.

With the passing of Cinco de Mayo yesterday, I thought it appropriate to reflect on the amazing foods of the former Spanish colony.

I mention the Spanish because their influence on the region, harsh as it was, can’t be ignored. For instance, the Spanish introduced pork and chicken to the region, and can you imagine a Mexican restaurant without either of those things on the menu? They also introduced European methods as well, such as roasting, deep-frying (mmmm, chimichangas), and my personal favorite, ceviche.

Separation from the European continent caused development to go in different directions, however. For instance, Mexico developed their own set of “mother sauces”: Rojo — a red sauce based on sweet and spicy chiles, Verde — a sour green sauce based primarily on tomatillos, and Moles — highly complex sauces based on chiles, fruit, nuts, seeds, and sometimes chocolate.

Three major regions of Mexico have had the greatest effect on the cuisine. We start with Vera Cruz, the region north of the Yucatan peninsula (more on that below), extending up to the border with the United States. Foods here are, for the most part, dominated by Spanish and Mediterranean influences. Fish and shellfish are common here, as well as the use of garlic and olive oil. Rice is the most common starch, and the use of spices is less common than herbs, such as cilantro, and epazote. Also, it is not uncommon to find cream-based white sauces in the regional cuisine.

From Vera Cruz we go south, to Oaxaca. Home of the Zapotecs, and meeting place for the Mayans, birthplace of Mescal (known by another name here in the states: Tequila. Mmmm… tequila, sez Mrs D...), and of wonderful coffees grown in the mountains. It is also known as the “land of seven moles.” Oaxacan food is known for is generous use of spices, primary among them being cinnamon, allspice, and cloves. Many aromatic stews and braised items are common. And of course, as mentioned earlier, moles.

Most of the people I know (again, classmates excluded) who even know what a mole is, automatically assume it to be a dark sauce flavored with chocolate. In fact there are seven distinct moles, only two containing chocolate.

Mole Amarillo — a yellow mole based on yellow chiles and thickened with masa.
Mole de Castillo — sweet spices (cloves, allspice, etc), thickened with day old bread.
Mole Chichilo — a dark red mole based on chiles and avocado leaves, also thickened with masa.
Mole Coloradito — flavored primarily with fruits and chocolate.
Mole Manchamantel — known as the “tablecloth stainer” for its use of achiote paste.
Mole Negro — the black, or burnt mole, all ingredients must be charred, fruits and chocolate are common.
Mole Pepian — known for its use of pumpkin seeds.
Mole Rojo — the red mole, based on chiles, also sometimes thickened with day old bread
Mole Verde — based on tomatillos, green tomatoes, and fresh herbs.

Last, but certainly not least, there is the pyramid-riddled Yucatan peninsula. Primarily Mayan in its influences, employing milder flavors; Achiote paste is extraordinarily common, as are black beans, pumpkin seeds, pibil (a stew/sauce used with various meats), pickled onion, sour orange, and hard cooked eggs.

The amazing diversity in Mexican cuisine rivals that of China and Southeast Asia. Personally, there’s nothing better on a balmy spring night than a bowl of my mole negro chili, and a refreshing Corona. Happy belated Cinco de Mayo!

Sometimes comfort food has nothing at all to do with what we all think of as “comfort food” and everything to do with comforting ourselves in the kitchen by diving in, feet first, and immersing ourselves in the comfort of extravagant cooking.

We cook to take our minds off the burdens we carry outside the kitchen. We cook so we can lose ourselves in the near-synesthetic experience of an extraordinary meal. We cook to discover the unexpected.

Thus, with hard times upon us, we’ve taken on Paper Chef #6 with an added gusto that gave us a trio of luscious results.

When our host Owen declared this “the first clearly dessert only Paper Chef,” we knew the gauntlet had been tossed. So, along with our one dessert, we invented two scrumptious savory dishes with the theme ingredients; strawberries, white chocolate, almond paste, and ricotta cheese.

A couple of notes on ingredients: We already had a bag of frozen strawberries and opted not to buy the fresh out-of-state ones that had just appeared at our local market, as we believed them to be too early to have much flavor. Almond paste was not something we could find readily at our local market as well. All we could locate was marzipan (and Chopper hates marzipan), and so we pounded out our own paste, using slivered almonds, toasted, and our trusty mortar and pestle.

Oh, by the way, everything tasted amazing. — miz D.

Let’s get this out of the way first: We’re weird.

Not only are we weird, but we are leaving for the weekend bright and early Friday morning. Now, one would think this departure would mean that we’d given up any hope of participating in either Sugar High Friday or Is My Blog Burning. Or, that at the most we’d pick one of these two events and leave it at that. But since we are, as we said, weird, we believe that instead of ignoring food blogging events when we’re pressed for time, we should embrace them. Both at once. With zeal.

And with (yes, you’ve guessed it by now) weirdness.

And so, with a cupful of grapefruit juice and a sea of aspic (ocean blue, of course), we christen the Sweet Fleet:

Puff pastry barquettes filled with grapefruit pastry cream, topped with white chocolate sails, on a sea of blue-tinted aspic with foamy wakes of egg white and a savory tropical island made of almond meal, oregano underbrush, and a palm of carrot trunk, green bell pepper fronds, and marzipan cocoanuts.

(phew!)

Note for the more adventurous: We didn’t actually eat much of this. Which isn’t to say the barquettes weren’t good, they were just…well, a bit over-the-top.

Other important safety tips (aka Chopper remembers why he hates marzipan…again.):

1. Toothpicks and marzipan can only hold together a palm tree made of sliced vegetables for so long.

(No, it didn’t fall over)

2. When photographing a regatta of white chocolate sails under hot sunlight, move quickly.

And lastly,
3. Making pastry cream on an electric range sucks ass.

For our next trick: A remake of Duran Duran’s Rio video with finger puppets!

Monday update: The round-ups have been posted. To check out everyone’s great entries for Sugar High Friday, go here, and for Is My Blog Burning, go here.

(a brief garden update)

My father watches over the garden from another place now. At least I’d like to believe that, even though my spiritual notions hover in that vague realm between nothing and slightly Buddhist. In the weeks before he died, we’d wheel him out to the deck so he could see the flowers and see what small progress I’d made, weeding the beds, laying tarp on the main vegetable area to rid it of grass and dandelions. Sometimes I’d ask him to identify plants, but it was difficult. His eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, and there were days when just looking up and out, away from his lap, was a chore.

Closer to the end, when he was unable to leave his bed, I described the plants to him:

We’ve got nasturtiums now, I said. Lots of them, and I’ve bought two big half-whiskey barrels to put over the septic lids.

And you’ll never guess what we found between two of the blueberry bushes. A volunteer potato plant! It even has little baby spuds on one of the roots (which I quickly reburied, of course).

These past few weeks, after he left us, I worked like a demon. It became an imperative with me — as if I’d be dishonoring his memory to not end each day with cracked, dirty fingernails and mountains of progress.

I came home from our brief trip to Portland to find more flowers in bloom, the vegetable starts flourishing (except for the onions which have become bird lunch), and a single lily in the fish pond.

I’m not quite sure if all is right in the world yet, but I know all is right in the garden. This one’s for you, Dad.