PIXANES, MUKBIL POLLO, HOJARASCAS, AND THE EMBRACING NATURE OF DÍA DE MUERTOS.
Día de Muertos food.
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The cultural diversity of México is well reflected in its Día de Muertos altars and rituals. From Monterrey to Mérida, the two geographically-opposed cities that respectively shape the backgrounds of this week’s contributors: Grace Uriegas and Carla Altesor—, traditions take different forms as they incorporate elements that are particular to a certain town or to a certain family, though there are unifying symbols that keep repeating themselves along the way.
Albeit it is true that the date on which we celebrate this festivity (1st and 2nd of November) was a colonial-religious imposition (it was meant to agree with the Roman-Catholic holiday of All Saints), so is the fact that the Spanish realized that they were not going to succeed in tearing indigenous beliefs from their roots, so they had to make agreements. The dates were not a problem, since in the native calendars they corresponded to the end of the harvest (death) and the beginning of a new planting season (life), and already carried the symbolism of life, death, and the idea of regeneration and continuity. But they were also able to incorporate other symbolic features to the catholic holiday that were inherent to their funerary practices and of the cults to goddesses and gods related to death, like Cihuapipiltin and Huitzilopochtli, in the case of the Mexicas (we can see today that influence in the confection of bread figurines, that were originally made with amaranth and corn, and then incorporated wheat by Spanish influence).
In the Mayan Peninsula, where Carla Altesor’s maternal grandmother, Ana María, was born, this celebration is profoundly attached to the culture and has a preponderant indigenous symbolism (even though it incorporates prayers and catholic images). It is known in Maya as Hanal Pixán that literally translates to “food soul”. All over the area, people prepare themselves to receive their muertitos just like they would prepare to receive any other visitor: they tidy-up their gardens and houses, they prepare a special space for them, they talk about them and to them, and they even dream about what they want to eat. They also perceive changes in the atmosphere that they attribute to their arrival.
The Mayans joyfully invite death into their homes and have a close relation with it because they do not see it as a separation of life but as a continuation of a different one, that takes place in the underworld, where their ancestors pixanes (or “souls”) keep working to make the earth fertile, and where they can also feel hungry, cold, happy or sad (especially if their loved ones do not remember them).
In her second collaboration for Atole (read her previous article here if you haven’t), Carla Altesor dives into the Mayan roots of her grandmother’s past by cooking her recipe of mukbil pollo —the quintessential Día de Muertos dish of the Yucatán Peninsula—, and she writes a stirring reflection about how pixanes (or souls) meet in life under random circumstances and unexpectedly become each other’s guide in the transition to the underworld…
Mukbil Pollo (from the Maya, Muk: Buried; Bil: twist or stir)
Text and photos by By Carla Altesor
The Mayas believed that the gods gifted Pixán or the essence of life (souls) to humans at the time of their birth. They claimed that each pixán had specific strengths and weaknesses that shaped people’s individual characters, and that once our physical bodies died, our pixanes left for the underworld. They believed that the worlds of the living, the dead, and the gods were intertwined by snakelike pathways and that pixanes traveled through them. The transition from one world to another was delicate (at times souls inadvertently remained amongst the living), so the passages between them had to be paved by ceremonial rituals and prayers.
There are people in life who unexpectedly play that transitional role in other people’s existence, they become consequential guides for their pixanes. Souls meet and say goodbye when the time is right. Sometimes it is unclear to us at first the why of when, where, and how, but nothing is in vain in this interconnected existence. Such is the case of Juana García in the life of Ana María Rendón, my grandmother.
My Grandmothers pixán was hefty with independence, steadfastness, and assertiveness although to some she came off as being a “difficult” person. Ana María —or Mami, as we called her— was from Mérida, the lively capital of Yucatán. Even though her family moved to Mexico City when she was very young, she proudly kept her heritage alive through her cooking. Every year, she made the traditional mukbil pollo (or pibipollo, as it is also known in other places of the Mayan Peninsula) for Hanal Pixán, which is how Día de Muertos in called in Mayan. My mother, who is the xtup (word for youngest in Mayan) of the family, remembers her taking over the dining room table to spread the masa over the banana leaves, or tortear, as we call this step; she still craves this dish every November. It was through her that I became enamored with it, but it was thanks to Juana that I learned how to cook it.
Juana García’s pixán is cheerful, earnest, and resourceful. She lived and worked at my grandparents’ home from adolescence up until they both passed away from old age. Nicolasa, her older sister, brought her over to take her place, as she was leaving to get married. After only a couple of weeks, Juana up and left. The reason was that “No se halló” as we commonly say, meaning she “felt lost” or couldn’t “find herself”.
Pushed, perhaps by intuition or just good old stubbornness, Mami decided to go after her. So, with what the little information they had, my grandparents drove to San Miguel, Estado de México, Juanita’s hometown. As it turned out; it was not easy to get there. When the paved road ended, they had to continue on foot. At some point, they bumped into a boy who happened to be Juanita’s brother. He took them to their home, and my grandparents had a long conversation with her mother, after which it was decided she’d go back to Mexico City with them. This history repeated itself two more times and the third one, Juanita finally and happily “found herself” and stayed with my grandparents for 40 years.
Juana kept the house tidy, assisted my grandmother in taking care of her children, lent a hand with personal work-related things, and cooked alongside her. They kept the household running smoothly. One day, my grandmother got in an accident which changed many things around. She didn’t have any critical functional injury, but her face was slightly disfigured and that was a big punch to her ego. Robbed of her confidence, she suffered from anxiety and depression and was at times unwilling to get out of the house. That’s when Juanita became the most helpful (indispensable, really). She nudged at my grandmother to get out of the house for brisk walks, taking her by the arm and convincing her to start off a few steps at a time. Eventually, their “brisk” walks became longer and turned into wandering. When the new metro stations opened, my grandmother and Juana would ride them from end to end. Later, they started to take knitting classes, and drawing classes, and whatever my grandmother fancied. Sometimes, my grandfather would arrive home to find that dinner was not ready, and the house was not tidied up. He would apparently get annoyed, although later, in confidence, he thanked Juana for being there for Mami. He loved my grandmother so much that he just wanted her to be well and happy. And I guess in the end, she was, because, from the dark place the accident took her to, she emerged to discover other parts of herself and the blooming life that surrounded her.
One time, when I straight out asked Juanita if she thought she could have been happier if had not come back with my grandparents that day, she answered: “It’s not really about being happier, I think eventually I would have ended up working in somebody else’s home and I am just grateful it was with your grandparents”. As she taught me how to cook Mami’s recipes, Juanita also talked to me about the many things she learned from my grandparents, and how they enabled her to accomplish other important things in life. From my side, I can only say I’m grateful that their paths met and that her beautiful cooking hands brought me to my roots. Juanita has taught me to make tortillas, tamales, moles, and panuchos, among other things. My grandmother taught Juana to make the mukbil that I learned to love from my mother, and hopefully, I’ll get a chance to teach my daughter, Ana, how to cook it one day. Through this dish, our pixans will remain connected for eternity.
In Mexico, during the Day of the Dead, we cook to remember, to honor those who are no longer with us. We burrow ourselves into earthly traditions in order to find and celebrate transcendence at their core. The array of flavors and smells brings us close together again helping us understand —if only for a fleeting moment— that destiny does not end with death, but that it keeps evolving. And also, that our past allows us to live the present moment genuinely, and that it’s really all about perspective and finding treasures in the ashes. So have a go at it, perhaps this family-style dish, meant for gathering and sharing, will be a meeting point for new souls and lessons in your life.
Mukbil Pollo
Mayas bake the mukbil pollo in a Pib. They bury the banana wrapped “tamal” in an earth oven previously prepared and filled with hot stones. The earth oven is then covered with more banana leaves and dirt to retain heat and steam. Once it is ready the parcel is taken from the ashes and served. Where an earth oven is not at hand, a gas or electric oven can be used. Also, the original mukbil is free-form. It’s made with thicker walls to hold its shape as it cooks, yielding a more rustic but still delicious result.
Boiling the meat
Ingredients:
6 chicken thighs
6 chicken legs
750 grams boneless pork shoulder, cut into large pieces
2 garlic cloves
¼ piece onion
1 teaspoon salt
Place everything in a pot, cover with enough water, bring to a boil, lower to medium heat, and leave simmering.
Banana leaf prep
Ingredients:
5 to 6 banana leaves
Wipe the banana leaves clean with a damp kitchen cloth
Set a burner to medium-low and place the leaf over the fire, moving it around slowly. The leaf will turn bright green and shiny at first. Later on, it’ll turn brown, this is normal. Remove the middle and side stems of the leaves, and set aside. These will be used for tying the mukbil.
Masa
Ingredients:
500 grams of lard
125 grams annatto seeds
2 kilos masa
1 ½ tablespoon sea salt
Place the lard in a small pot and melt over medium heat. Add annatto seeds and cook stirring constantly. When the seeds begin to pop, about 10-12 min, immediately remove from fire, strain, and discard seeds. Set lard aside to cool, it should set and harden a bit.
Mix the masa with salt and lard. Add a bit of lard, knead, and a bit more, and so on. You’ll know it’s ready when the color is reddish-orange, the masa stops sticking to your hands, and the dough is soft (about ½ cup lard per kilo of masa).
Meat prep continued
Ingredients:
40 g achiote paste (Or 1/3 of a 110 g package my grandmother preferred Marin or Yucateco)
¼ cup white vinegar
1 kilo Roma tomatoes, thinly sliced (set 1/3 of these aside to use raw inside the mucbil)
½ white onion, thinly sliced (set 1/3 of these aside to use raw inside the mucbil)
2 Tbsp lard
2 epazote branches
Salt to taste
Dissolve the achiote paste with the white vinegar. Set a pan over medium heat, add lard, and sweat the onions until translucent. Add achiote vinegar mix to the onions. Once it has changed color (it’ll turn reddish-orange), add sliced tomatoes.
Cook stirring from time to time until the tomatoes have cooked, about 5 – 8 minutes. Add this mixture into the pot with the meat, along with epazote and more salt to taste. Turn heat to medium-low and cook until the meat comes easily off the bone. Remove the pork and chicken meat, shred, and set aside. The color and the taste of the broth
should be of intense achiote.
Ko’ol
Ingredients:
200 grams masa
1 cup room temperature pork and chicken broth (from above)
Dissolve the masa with cooled broth, strain back into the pot and bring to a boil stirring constantly until the broth thickens. About 10-12 min. Take off the heat and reserve.
Assemble
*You’ll need a 1 13 by 9-inch pan.
*Whole or sliced habanero chiles can also be added at his point.
Preheat your oven to 250 º C
Set a criss-cross pattern of banana leaf stems over a 13 by 9-inch pan. Two or three stems running along horizontally and vertically is enough. Imagining that the mucbil is a present you want to wrap, place enough banana leaves to cover the bottom sides, and top (when folded over).
Clear a large space. I usually cover my work table with plastic wrap to avoid getting achiote stains on it. To tortear the masa, lay a large piece of banana leaf (shiny side up) over your workspace, take some masa and begin extending it over the leaf. The idea is to form a 17 by 13-inch rectangle that will cover and flow over your pan. You want to have a uniform thickness of about 1 mm so that the masa cooks evenly.
Place the leaf with the masa inside your pan, taking care to push it into the creases as best as possible without it breaking. Spoon a few tablespoons ko’ol over the masa, spread the shredded meat all over, then the raw tomatoes, onion, and some epazote leaves cover with ko’ol.
Do this twice. To make a “lid”, spread masa on a smaller piece of the banana leaf until you form an 8 by 12-inch rectangle that is 1 mm thick. Turn the sides of the bottom banana leaf masa over you filling and place the cover lid on top, peeling the banana leaf off carefully.
If it tears or you end up with a few holes, just take some masa and make repairs as needed. Pinch the edges to avoid spillage. Fold the banana leaf over the mucbil to wrap, (we usually add another layer of banana leaf on top) then tie with the banana stems you placed in a criss-cross earlier.
Place in the oven and cook for about 1 ½ to 2 hours.
Mukbil is usually served alongside thick hot chocolate and is eaten for breakfast, lunch, or dinner
*Achiote comes in two forms, paste, and powder. Made from ground annatto seeds, this bright orange-red spice has a peppery, slightly floral aroma and a subtle flavor that could be described as earthy with a somewhat bitter undertone.
Some people find their way back to their roots through Día de Muertos recipes like Carla, and others have been carrying them for a while everywhere they go. Such is the case of Grace Uriegas, who defines herself as a Chilanga-Regia. Grace was born and grew up in Mexico City but has always been very attached to her Norteña background through food; both of her parents are from Monterrey and both of them taught her to how cook (each in its own particular way as she reminds: “My father was always very precise with ingredients and recipes; my mother was the opposite, she was a relaxed cooker, and a firm believer that sentiments and moods are transmitted to food when you cook”) cause they, in turn, come from strong culinary backgrounds: her grandfather from her dad’s side had a restaurant in Montemorelos that served regional food with a Spanish twist, and her mother’s father had a coffee shop called El Plebeyo that served Northeastern traditional food.
Like other Northern states of México, Monterrey didn’t originally have a strong tradition of celebrating Día de Muertos, but it does now and it incorporates its own regional elements. In the case of Grace’s family, it is hojarascas. These addictively-delicious bite-size pieces of shortbread that collapse into sweet and fatty crumbs as you put them in your mouth are very traditional in the north of México, where they are also known as “wedding cookies” since they are mostly made for special occasions. But in Grace’s family, hojarascas have been baked traditionally all the time with no special reason; this year, they are a central piece to her altar, which she managed to put together beautifully (as she always does, I’m a fan of her altars) under limited circumstances, since she is temporarily living in San Diego, California.
Gracie Uriegas worked as a model when she was young, then she studied drama, became an actress, and worked for a while in Mexican telenovelas. She has food in her veins as well as creativity and has pursued them permanently in different ways. Apart from being an amazing mother and cook, she’s a photographer and makes ceramics. In fact, she made the plate where the cookies are photographed below and also the images to this collaboration where she shares with us her family’s recipe for hojarascas and her altar…
HOJARASCAS (or wedding cookies)
When living outside Mexico, sometimes it is a little complicated to follow the Día de Muertos tradition since it is not easy to find all of the basic ornaments to display the altar. For this reason, I decided to learn to make everything by hand this year: paper flowers, sugar skulls, candles, and skeletons with paper marché. My ancestors were coffee lovers and loved to bake hojarascas to drink with it, so this year, I also included both things in my altar instead of Pan de Muerto to honor them. This recipe comes from my grandmother, Lucila, who taught my mom to make them when she was a child, and then she, in turn, passed this delicious knowledge to me. Hojarascas are best enjoyed when surrounded by friends and family (and paired with coffee, obviously).
Ingredients:
250 g of shortening or lard at room temperature
1 tbsp of butter or margarine
1/2 cup of sugar
1 teasp of ground cinnamon
500 g of flour
¼ cup of water or milk at room temperature (add more if needed )
½ teasp of anise extract
½ teasp of vanilla extract
1 egg
1/4 teasp of baking powder
Cinnamon sugar mixture
1 cup of sugar
3 teasp of ground cinnamon
Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F.
Measure ¼ cup of water in a measuring glass and add the anise extract. Stir to combine and set aside.
Using an electric mixer fitted with the paddle attachment beat butter, shortening, sugar, the egg, and cinnamon together at medium-speed for about 2 minutes. *You can also the ingredients by hand.
Turn your mixer to low speed, then, starting and ending with the flour, alternatively add 1 cup of flour, half of the anise water, 1 cup of flour, and the remaining anise water. The dough will begin to pull away from the sides, but if the dough is still sticky, add more flour (a little a time). Do not overmix or add too much flour or your dough will be tough and crumbly.
Let the dough rest for 30 minutes.
Using your hands, shape 1-inch balls of dough and transfer them to a baking sheet or directly to your tray.
Bake for 12 to 20 minutes, or until the cookies turn slightly brown on the edges.
In a small bowl, add 3 teaspoons of cinnamon to 1 cup of sugar and stir to combine. Once you remove the cookies from the oven and let them cool enough to handle them, toss them in the cinnamon-sugar mixture and transfer to a bowl to let cool completely.
Serve with coffee or milk.