The van carried the group of us through the streets of Oaxaca, leaving the more affluent center with its luxury hotels and expensive restaurants, and into the parts of town normally reserved for the locals. We careened past places where dirt, debris, and all sorts of litter lay along the edges of the unkempt roadway and turned down a quiet alley, where a stray dog lurked and an unassuming gate was cut into the rough brick wall.
We were at our destination, and one by one stepped into the dusty driveway. The door opened, and within we found a well-manicured large green garden with atent and table at it’s center (and perhaps a guard tower). We all took our places at the table, sipping chocolate or coffee, while Miguel, our host, sat above us on a stool holding a cup of coffee talking of the local cuisine.
I assessed the group during our introduction, clearly being the oldest of the 9 of us who had signed up for this day of cooking. Most of the others were from different parts of the US, but one couple had come all the way from Australia.
He asked what we wanted to make, and my request was simple. I wanted to learn how to make great tortillas. Tortillas are a core food in Mexico, and the stuff we get in Michigan just isn’t very good. Miguel promised that would be easy.
As the conversation moved around the table I felt bad for the two vegans who were slightly pressured to be vegan-ish for the day and eat chicken broth. He stated he would accommodate them, but clearly wanted flexibility, and they both gave in.
Off to the side of the garden was the kitchen, with wood fired stoves and comals, where we would all be put to work on one task or another as we assembled the meal.
Miguel told us tales of his time cooking in famous European restaurants, and returning home to cook real Oaxacan food, the food of his parents and his homeland. The moles that are foundations of the food here. This is the food of his heart.
We went first to the market to buy our ingredients, then to the garden. Finally we moved to the kitchen he spoke of technique and the importance of different approaches. We would later make 4 salsas with the same ingredients: tomatoes, onions, and peppers. They were fresh, boiled, roasted, and charred. All the same, but incredibly different
And we all made our own tortillas, grinding nixtamalized corn on a metate and cooking them on a comal.
Later, we would use the same corn, ground, to make empanadas for lunch.
As the afternoon lengthened, Miguel pulled out nerf guns for some play while sopa (soup) cooked on the stovetop. Some of us fired at each other, but mostly I lounged at the table sipping on Mezcal and savoring the moment.
Eventually a second meal was served, and a dessert.
In this hidden refuge, in the warm afternoon of a Southern Mexican day, I just enjoyed my time, because it had been a fun day. As cooking classes go, it probably wasn’t really my favorite. I think back sometimes to the times I spent cooking with the ladies in Bologna and my cousins in Sicily, and I learned so much from them. Here, there were many tasks that I didn’t get to do and the recipes they later emailed weren’t exactly what we made, so I’m not truly certain what I’m taking home from this day.
Except for tortillas. I think I will be able to make a great tortilla when the time comes.
Later that evening, back in town I went back to the market for a bit in search of some street food. I perhaps overscheduled this trip and haven’t done enough of this, but it has been a great trip nonetheless. I’m off back to Michigan tomorrow, my friends, where the weather has been cold and snowy in my absence.
But tonight, as I wrap up this voyage, I am warm, sated, and renewed in Southern Mexico.
See you in February, my friends!
With Love,
Butterblogger
butterblogger 