Following a Canadian chef on a Mexican gastrotour, Dick Snyder gets the menu and discovers a culinary culture beyond the taco.
I’m staring down at a plate of Mexican food. And I’m perplexed.
It’s the second course of lunch at the acclaimed Sud 777 in south Mexico City, lauded for its fresh ingredients and new-style contemporary cooking. Being Canadian, I’ve never had real Mexican food, as far as I know. Just greasy-cheesy-spicy things and overly sweetened Margaritas. Perhaps the occasional overdose of tequila.
So here I am faced with a plate that has no green sauce, no chilies, not even a crumbling of queso fresco. Nor a tortilla. Not a stitch of guacamole, nary an avocado in sight. And certainly nothing deep-fried.
There’s just a carrot. A single orange spear on a white plate, scattered with some pine nuts and herbs and a smear of something creamy. It’s beautiful and delicious. But perplexing.
As I ponder this carrot’s place in the lexicon of Mexican cuisine as I know it, I reach for my wine glass. But it’s not wine. Chef Edgar Nuñez doesn’t drink alcohol. Never had a taste for it, he says. He’s paired this carrot with a juice of beet and rose. It’s sweet and sour, earthy and vibrant – just like the carrot. Later, he rants against the evils of Coca-Cola, sugar, high-carb Mexican junk food and the poor dietary habits that have been transferred to his people via the United States. He’s clearly a man on a mission.
My first visit to the country took me to Mexico City, Oaxaca and Puerto Vallarta – three significant centres of gastronomy that busted all my notions of Mexican food (carrots notwithstanding). The cuisine here is in transformation – or maybe the correct word is celebration. Several chefs talked to me about the dark period for Mexican cuisine in the 1980s. They say that’s when the food became a fatty, unhealthy caricature of itself – call it the Taco Bell-ization of Mexican food – and young chefs became disconnected from their roots. Times have changed, and all eyes are on the future.
In 2010, UNESCO recognized the significance of Mexican cuisine as part of the world’s global heritage, citing Mexico’s contributions to agriculture, cooking techniques and community. We can thank Mexico for the tomato (pace, Italy) and the avocado, among other delights. But the notion of community is especially important, as Mexican cooking is a family affair, from field to kitchen.
Chefs and foodies around the world took note – and the food scene there is now a flurry of creativity, with chefs delving into the meaning of authenticity and pushing the boundaries of contemporary cooking, often at the same time. This is a great time to visit Mexico – just bring an appetite.
I certainly did. And so did Canada’s Iron Chef Rob Feenie of Vancouver’s upscale Cactus Club chain, who was there on a fact-finding mission. I tagged along with him for part of my trip as he visited chefs, restaurants and markets looking for insight and inspiration to inform his menus back in Canada.
That night we eat at Pujol, a sleek restaurant helmed by chef Enrique Olvera. Pujol made history in 2011 as the first Mexican restaurant with a Mexican chef to be named to the globally influential San Pellegrino list of the world’s 50 best restaurants. Olvera likes his bugs, too. Larvae, crickets, ants, worms – all fodder for the contemporary takes on traditional cooking that he has been spearheading since opening in 2000.
Arguably, he’s helped make Mexican cuisine hip, an achievement that has attracted food-frenzied rockers from Metallica and U2. Bono celebrated his 51st birthday in Pujol’s private 12-seat Champagne Room – and likely indulged in an insect or two.
Chef Olvera is a “Chilango” – Mexican slang for a citizen of Mexico City – but he trained at the Culinary Institute of America in New York. He’s taken one of Mexico’s culinary treasures – the sauce known as mole – and reinvented it as a post-modern delicacy. Moles (moh-lays) are created in almost endless variations, and different regions are known for their own specialites.
Oaxaca, for instance, lays claim to seven very different and particular moles of varied colours, such as negro (black), amarillo (yellow) and coloradito (red). A mole commonly accompanies a meat dish and can have as few as three or as many as dozens of ingredients. Chief among these are chili peppers, chocolate, nuts, herbs and spices.
My taste buds were constantly challenged like this. Familiar flavours were executed so stunningly that I had to take pause. I tasted the best guacamole of my life at Nico’s, a low-key diner in the Azcapotzalco neighbourhood. Chef Gerardo Vazquez Lugo doesn’t use garlic in his; mind you, few Mexican chefs do.
But I was surprised that he also leaves out lime. Authentic guacamole is just fresh avocado, lots of diced tomato, chopped cilantro, and some minced onion and generous salt. Serrano chili is necessary but not a lot – it’s not about heat. Mix everything together but don’t mash. Chunkiness is desired.
Chef Lugo’s parents opened Nico’s in 1957, and he’s been running it for the last eight years. Early advocate of Mexico’s Slow Food movement, he reaches way back for his recipes, studying colonial-era texts and generations of family recipes passed along by his mama. (Mamas are key to Mexican cuisine; it’s that sense of community and family. But more on this later.)
He makes a dry soup (sopa seca), a traditional pasta and tomato “soup” that he renders as a layered lasagna-style dish, Sopa Azteca de Natas. It’s simple perfection.
On an afternoon walk through the centre of historical Mexico City, approaching the Cathedral Metropolitana and the government square, we stopped at Azul Histórico for lunch. This semi-open-air space with soaring ceilings and lots of vegetation is one of several Azul restaurants run by Richard Munoz Zurita, a chef and scholar with 11 culinary tomes to his name.
In the 1980s, he began work on a text that codifies every ingredient and technique of Mexican cooking across the entire country – a monumental task that took more than 20 years to complete. The venerable French imprint Larousse has just released its edition of Zurita’s Diccionario Enciclopedico de la Gastronimica Mexicana, and the University of Texas at Austin is working on an English translation.
Chef Feenie leafed through the book during lunch. “I want to discover more about the chilis,” he says, “and see what I can learn.” Depending on who’s talking, you’ll hear that Mexico is home to between 100 and 300 varieties of chilis. Larousse Gastronomique puts the number closer to 100 and cites their widespread use as the most characteristic feature of Mexican cooking.
And so we set off for the state of Oaxaca, about an hour’s flight southeast of Mexico City, near the Guatemala border. Of Mexico’s 31 states, Oaxaca is particularly known for its populations of indigenous peoples, of which 16 groups are officially recognized. It’s an isolated and rugged land, which has been a good thing for the preservation of culture and traditional ways.
This is the “land of the seven moles” and many other foodstuffs, such as chocolate, chapulines, tamales, Oaxacan cheese and a variety of corn-based dishes.
Over a couple of days, we visited several family eateries, where the women of the household are resolutely in charge of the kitchen. Chef Feenie was put to the test to keep up with them as he learned how to prepare a variety of labour-intensive dishes. At La Azucena Zapoteca Restaurant, we enjoyed a traditional campirano (country rustic) breakfast with Maria del Carmen Mendoza, who cooks a variety of exquisite egg dishes over a wood-fired clay comal.