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Considering the anomic state in which humanity finds itself at the moment (at least for those who have overcome the stage of denial), the way of life that seems most congruent to me is that of a self-sufficient countryside reality where corn grows in the backyard and masa for handmade tortillas is best grinded through volcanic rocks, where cazuelas “cry” to announce a good meal and tamales need to be cross-signaled to cook properly, where vegetables are skillfully cut in the palm of the hand and knowledge, in general, has to do more with daily-life experience and orally transmitted wisdom, than it does with Western-minded illustrated science; it is a world inhabited by a growing community of traditional cocineras who have found through social media, an independent way to share their wit and ancestral sustainable ways of living with the digitalized world, and on the side, provide an alternative income for their families, their extended families, and, to some extent also, to the benefit of their communities. Thanks to a list of “Most Powerful Woman” published by Forbes Mexico a couple of months ago, many people today know about YouTube sensation Doña Ángela from De mi rancho a tu cocina (who has managed to earn 3 million followers in less than a year). But there are more like her; this movement started, to my knowledge, at least eight years ago. And is also not particular to Mexican cuisine, there are many more traditional cooking goddesses spreading their wisdom around the world. I think it would do a lot of good for humanity to start paying more attention to what they have to say.
I didn’t completely understand my abuela, I didn’t really grasp the importance of what she was trying to communicate to me by example until the day I realized how stupid I was for feeling ashamed of her for sneaking tamales into airplane flights. She was right, airplane food sucks, I don’t understand what kind of metamorphosis it has to go through to be eaten on air, but it is mostly horrible. “That’s not even food,” she said, while she extended her hand across the middle aisle to offer me the small bundle of masa, pork, and salsa verde-filled totomoxle leaves, to which I responded: “No, gracias” in a very low voice, rapidly turned away like I didn’t know her, and continue to gracefully ingest my rubber tortellini. To me, or at least to my perception of reality at that time, what she was doing was socially unacceptable, uncivilized. But what did I know about anything and what does civilized really mean, anyway? I’ve asked myself that question many times lately, and my only conclusion is that if anything, it means the opposite of whatever I thought it did back then.
In the context that I grew up in, the idea of progress (an intrinsic characteristic of civilization) was still thought to respond best to the ideals of Capitalism (which implicitly required the exchange of one’s identity for that of the consumer culture). Its failure as an economic system was not as imminent and obvious as it is today. The “free” market economy not only prooved itself unable to elevate the human condition as it promised but, ruled by its insatiable urge to make profits at the expense of nature and human life, it slowly but surely dragged us into our present global crisis.
Tamales —on the other hand— have fiscally, morally, spiritually, emotionally, and ecologically sustained human beings for thousands of years. It is a perfect though-out food, it is continuity, it is progress. Like many other things were before colonization and imperialism. “The ontological shift for an ecologically sustainable future,” says scholar and activist Vandana Shiva, “has much to gain from the world-views of ancient civilizations and diverse cultures which survived sustainably over centuries. These were based on an ontology of the feminine as the living principle, and on an ontological continuity between society and nature—the humanization of nature and the naturalization of society. Not merely did this result in an ethical concept which excluded possibilities of exploitation and domination, it allowed the creation of an earth family.”[1]
Agriculture and food (which, in native American cultures were —and still are— intimately connected) are very good examples of how scientific capitalist-oriented methods have failed to transcend ancient wisdom: monoculture has not proven to be superior to Milpa just like modern appliances and sophisticated Western techniques have not succeeded metates in the preparation of moles.
In Qué Vivan Los Tamales, Jeffrey Pilcher makes a pertinent comparison between what gastronomer François Revel said about Haute Cuisine (the one that was made in the modern cities) being the refinement of Regional Cuisines, based on the fact that it was created by illustrated European male chefs who “to do their art” transcended ordinary methods; and what Author Diana Kennedy made visible through her classic The Cuisines of Mexico (to what New York Times critic Craig Claiborne agreed): that Mexican Regional Cuisine was in itself an elevated art[2] (like so many other ethnic cuisines, I may add).
That becomes even more obvious if we analyze the history of what is considered to be the best Mexican restaurant in the fine-dining sphere, Pujol, led by star-chef Enrique Olvera, who in the process of making his food more sophisticated, underwent a personal search from the California Nouvelle-cuisine of Thomas Keller to a deconstruction of Mexican cuisine inspired by Ferrán Adria, to a period of simplification that followed the school of René Redzepi[3], to finally turning his restaurant kitchen into a cocina de campo, whose preparations are reduced to the use of five basic ancestral cooking instruments: a corn mill, a comal, a grill, and an underground oven.
Doesn’t that tell us that maybe, we have always had the answer to the most essential things in life stored in our matriarchal collective unconscious, and have just failed to accurately interpret them? In hunter-gatherers societies, women’s contribution to food provisioning represented the 80 percent, while men, through hunting, only yield 20 percent. Most of the knowledge around agriculture, food, and its instruments, is attributed to women[4].
I never figured out if my abuelas “le ponían agua a los frijoles” (or “added water to beans”, which was jokingly said to be done by hosts when more people than expected showed-up at a meal) but there was always food in their tables, and uninvited guests were always greeted with a hug and a smile. To me, that perfectly illustrates feminine logic, its inclusive and nourishing nature, it’s ability to imagine, to create, to find solutions to everything, to make everyone feel comfortable and cared for, and loved (along with many other qualities).
Out of the community of women that this series of newsletters is dedicated to, I will talk about four Mexican Cocineras (in the following weeks), that have specially got my attention: Lupita (Oaxaca), Lupita (Guerrero), Tarcila (Michoacán), and Olguita (Oaxaca). These women and their teachings have become part of my conscience: I consult them every time I need to take important cooking decisions, or otherwise; their presence in my mind makes me feel more confident and accompanied. They are like the voices of our collective abuelas, those who carry our connection with Mother Earth, and that sadly, we have not only failed to properly recognize for many years but to quiet them, we sometimes hurt them and kill them, with weapons, and also, with our indifference, and with not wanting to ever be like them.
[1] Vandana Shiva, Staying Alive. Women Ecology and Development, 2010. North Atlantic Books, Berkeley, California. P. 42. [2] Jeffrey M. Pilcher, ¡Vivan los tamales! La comida y la construcción de identidad Mexicana, 2001. Ediciones de le Reina Roja. P.18-19. [3]https://www.revistadelauniversidad.mx/articles/35317081-ed8a-4057-83fe-0a9304db6a5c/la-madre-el-mole-y-pujol [4] (R.B.Lee & I. De Vore. Man, the Hunter, Chicago: Aldini, 1968).
For this newsletter, I will share with you a tamal de cazuela recipe that is based on two recipes that I found in notebooks from each of my grandmothers (below), and some of my favorite tamales recipes from this cooking heroines…
TAMALES DE FRIJOL
Olguita, Teotitlán del Valle, Oaxaca.
CORUNDAS MICHOCANAS
Tarcila, Michoacán.
TAMALES CHOCOS Y CAFÉ DE OLLA
Lupita, Costa Chica de Guerrero.
TAMALES DE CALABAZA CON CAMARÓN
Lupita, Oaxaca/Ciudad de México
TAMAL DE CAZUELA
(For 4 people)
Both of my abuelas had recipes for tamal de cazuela in their notebooks, it probably was a popular modality of tamales in urban homes, since it was easily made on a pyrex in a convection oven. Their recipes are pretty general, what caught my attention about them is that in both cases, the masa is cooked before forming the tamales, which was an unusual method to me. The fillings were left to the choice of the reader: meat or chicken, red sauce, green sauce, or mole. The recipe of my paternal grandmother also gives as an alternative using fresh grounded corn instead of nixtamalized masa, which I did. I sometimes like to buy the corn whole because every part has a use: the leaves (or totomoxtle) serve as individual wrappers or covers to prevent the heat from escaping the vessel; the cobbs (or olotes) can be put at the bottom of the pot to function as a steamer basket, and hairs can be prepared as infusion that’s an excellent cleanser for the urinary system.
Ingredients:
The grounded kernels of 6 whole corns or 600 g of masa *you can buy any brand of nixtamalized corn flour you like an follow the instructions on the package to make masa for tortillas, though this is one of the cases in which I, as a non-strict all-natural consumer, do think that buying the organic version makes a difference, especially if you can source yourself directly from sustainable farmers.
150 g of lard or vegetable oil
½ a teaspoon of baking soda
Sugar to taste *optional
Salt to taste
Chicken or meat (I used leftover roasted chicken)
Red sauce, green sauce of mole (I used some mole almendrado paste that I had on my pantry)
Pre-heat the oven at 180*C.
Cook the corn on a pot with the lard, salt, sugar (if you are using), and baking soda. Stir continuously until it becomes a thick paste.
Put some leaves at the bottom of an oven-proof container. Make the first layer of masa, top with the fillings, and put another layer on top. Cover with more leaves.
Bake for around an hour or until the masa sets and becomes more firm. It can mysteriously take a lot longer than that, so be patient (or… I’m not a very religious person, but to me, the cross-signaling has worked).
Serve hot. You can add a dollop fresh cream on top, and accompany with cooked beans.