The Three Culture Kitchen
What an opportunity for growth it has been to inadvertently create a family from three cultures. From left above are Jalisco Huichol Teodoro, center, author Janice Kimball, and right, Maestro Teo's son Francisco.
Gradually, during the past year or so, readers of Living at Lake Chapala have read over my shoulder as I've recorded the twisting and turning details of the evolution of my life since my retirement and escape from the hurried and harried art and home restoration worlds in Detroit.
Once my studio and gallery were completed at my Chapala home, I had everything an artist with a passion for the Mexican culture needed — except a community of other artists and people who understood my work.
I took the only reasonable step to alleviate the gnawing inner void of separation: I began sharing my art, meeting artists and art lovers. Eventually, I found I was not only integrating into Lakeside's gringo art world, but more importantly I was earning the acceptance of the Mexican artists. Much to my surprise, I discovered an opportunity to also open my kitchen and my home to a third art culture — the indigenous Huichols who come to Lakeside to sell their intricate symbolic work.
I found my place when I moved Kimball Gallery, which I'd orchestrated to foster communication between the Mexican and Expat art communities, into the back half of the gallery of Dionicio Morales, the head of the regional ejido (agricultural) community on Colón, in Ajijic.
It was an amazing time for me with the men overflowing into my painting space, spilling the expected intrigue and political posturing as the artists (in a constant state of excitement) worked with varying levels of success with local, state, and federal governmental agencies during the final stages of building and opening Ajijic's Casa de Cultura.
It was time of midday gatherings while munching on pork rinds and peanuts and preparing "nightmare soup" from the day's motley contributions of fish heads and limp vegetables. It was a world where women were not usually welcome. I was excited to witness the theater of it all, but I could not understand a word of their tequila-laced, rapidly running Spanish.
They teased me and laughed at my turned-up nose as they sat in my chairs lapping up their bad soup while I ate my peanut butter sandwich. I valiantly continued painting in my unfamiliar painting style on the shared veranda. Eventually even I noticed attention being paid to my hard work from the corner of other artists' eyes, yet, surrounded by others, I was still alone and left with the longing for dialogue with another artist.
(Left:) Several area Huichols spent a good deal of time at Dionicio's Ajijic gallery. (Right:) Maestro Teo's centuries-old mesquite loom was set up at the gallery to help draw tourists in to see our work.
It was in this setting, and in this mood that I met my two Teos, who brought their art into my life and their two cultures into my kitchen.
Teodoro, a Jalisco Huichol distinguished by his blue tunic and distinctive, wildlife-embroidered trousers that mark him as an outsider even among most of the many other Huichols who come to Lakeside to sell their intricate art. These other Huichols come down from the state of Nayrit, a community in the Huichol nation that sits on the opposite side of the Sierra Madre from the Jalisco Huichols, with whom they warred for years.
Because of this century-long conflict, Teodoro was quite alone here. He lived in the alley in a makeshift tent in exchange for keeping the gallery safe, as Dionicio came and went at will. He spoke Spanish awkwardly as a second language and was, like me, an outsider on the periphery of the gallery's inner courtyard where the tight-knit gang of artists always hung out. He was a young man, still in his teens, and longed for his new wife and baby left behind in the Sierras. With the two of us on the outside, looking in trying to keep up with our halting Spanish, we bonded quickly.
One day Teodoro asked me in his direct, very formal way if he and his wife and baby could move into my now empty Chapala gallery in exchange for them doing my gardening and house cleaning. When I sadly said no, Teodoro quickly followed up with another question, "Can I bring this up again at another time?" I did not have the heart to say no to him a second time.
(Left:) To blend into the crowd while traveling for several days by bus to reach his home in the Sierras, Teodoro donned western clothing given to him by an American photographer. (Right:) Weaver Teo Urzua was a hat wearing, rope twirling Mexican just back from the US when he came into Janice's life.
Before he left for the mountains to bring back his little family, Maestro Teo entered the Ajijic gallery scene. Maestro Teo, a weaver, was returning to Mexico after spending 20 years working in the United States.
As the elder in the gallery roster, he was granted respect among the other younger artists. Since I had a pickup, Dionicio gave me the task of bringing Maestro Teo's loom from his Jocotepec home so he could set up in the front of the gallery. It was a great mystery to Dionicio that tourists walking up and down Colón rarely looked into, let alone entered the gallery. He hoped the remedy to that situation would be the sight and sounds of Teo (equipped with a quick and smashing smile) weaving on an ancient loom would lure them in.
With Maestro Teo's appearance, the courtyard became cleaner and the flowers, again nurtured, began to bloom. Dionicio's daughters were no longer slaves to the piles of dirty dishes after the lunches of nightmare soup. As Teo helped them with their chores, their laughter floated into the courtyard.
The two Teo's began hanging out in the kitchen, and the Maestro set me a special place at the table, and told me there would be no more fish heads in the soup — I discovered that traditional fish soup could be a dream instead of a nightmare.
Teo's Headless Fish Soup
(Traditional Jalisco Caldo Michi)
Serves 6
2 kilos carp, cleaned and cut into thick slices
3 zucchini, sliced
2 carrots, peeled and sliced
1 medium onion, diced
2 fresh yellow chiles, sliced
6 cups chicken broth
1 handful cilantro, coarsely chopped
Fresh or dried oregano
Salt and pepper to taste
Garnish:
Thinly sliced cabbage
Limes, cut in quarters
Additional chopped onion and cilantro
Hot sauce
Bring broth to a boil with the onion. Add the other vegetables and simmer 15 minutes and then add the fish, salt, and black pepper.
Simmer uncovered for another 15 minutes or until the fish is almost done. Add oregano and fresh cilantro, cook another 2 minutes.
Offer thinly sliced cabbage, quartered limes, additional chopped onion and cilantro, hot sauce, and a basket of tostadas.
Note: My "American" spin on this Mexican recipe is to use any ocean fish bought filleted and cut it into chunks to add to the broth. I find it much easier and I do not like the idea of fish bones in soup. Teo buys the carp from a fish farm in Jocotepec, but it can also be purchased in the Jocotepec central market or fish market every day.
Oddly enough, Teo always eats sliced bananas with his Caldo Michi. He does not consider this the least bit unusual.
Maestro Teo appeared at the gate of my Chapala home on a Sunday while I was preparing the gallery for Teodoro and his family. When I invited him in, he wouldn't budge from the kitchen threshold. Hat in hand, he told me he had come to say goodbye. He was returning to the United States because he wasn't finding work here, and he had no money.
I envisioned going to Ajijic every day, not seeing him waiting my arrival at the gallery entrance, warming me with his smile, anxious to carry my things. I remembered the flowers he planted outside my studio door as the others teased him unmercifully about his preoccupation with pleasing me. I thought about how I would have to give up the fantasy of having a gallery where he would be there keeping me company, where I would never have to cook or carry anything again. As I studied him I realized a decision was in order.
"You do not have to go back to the United States," I told him, "You can live here with me."
He didn't need to think about the offer, he only replied, "As your spouse?" When I said yes, he asked to use my phone to call his daughter to let her know he wouldn't be coming home that evening. He was never to speak a word of English, and I spoke only a bare smattering of Spanish and understood very little of his words. We offered each other protection, and that is what mattered.
The Maestro had already settled in when Teodoro returned with his teenage bride Angelica, and their baby. In the beginning he led her into our shared kitchen as if she were blind. She was so shy she sat mute, her eyes cast to the floor as he cooked for them.
From the time I spent in the Sierras I knew that she had cooked tortillas squatting over an open communal fire, had never sat at a table, used utensils, opened a box, seen a refrigerator or a sink. The meat they'd eaten was dried and their other staple food, scrambled eggs, was scooped up with tortillas.
I once watched a Huichol man take a pan to a muddy stream filled with half-wild pigs, chickens and a mule. He pounded the pan against his knee and whopped to get the livestock to give way so he could wash the pan — actually I suspect the washing of the pan was to impress me.
From that experience I knew she would not be the best kitchen helper, as apparently washing dishes is not in the woman's domain. I was right. In time she did learn to cook, but refused to light the stove, and preferred to wrap up food and keep it in their room, to avoid using the refrigerator. She only washed dishes at Teodoro's insistence, when he glared and stood nearby with his arms folded across his chest.
Teodoro's lessons on modern hygiene and their frequent showering together were much better received. Angelica was not pretty, but had a regal quality that I admired. She wore her traditional clothing like a princess, and as the daughter of a powerful shaman, in a way she was.
Maestro Teo set the tone and rules that governed our kitchen behavior, a method that came quite naturally to the two Teo's. Our food was our business and their food was theirs, yet we often wound up cooking at the same time, patiently waiting for an empty burner, and then ate grouped around the kitchen table.
I was uncomfortable on days when they ate only tortillas with salt and envious on days when Teodoro made strange, delectable smelling dishes using cumin and other exotic spices. These he prepared with vegetables bought at a great discount when they were on the verge of being overripe, and from the special deals he arranged with the owner of a butcher shop that catered to upscale restaurants. He bought their discarded trimmings, and along with the fresh chicken necks and tails he bought from the neighboring chicken rotisserie, they ate healthily and well.
Our three languages and the misinterpretations were comical, even to us. We had an incredible comfort level with each other, even Angelica who understood little but sometimes giggled in a melodic jingling way at our laughter at day's end.
We learned a lot from each other, and I learned a lot about cooking on the cheap. I learned that costly ingredients do not always make a better meal. I learned that a first priority is to have bellies full; the second is to be able to savor it.
We loved our snacks at night in front of the TV, watching programs that I insisted on choosing as the others had a taste for blood and guts. We were a content, if unusual family. Teodoro and Angelica insisted on sitting on kitchen chairs behind the love seat where Teo and I sat — as if we were all on the bus. Meanwhile the baby was scooting around us in her Walmart walker.
Here are some of our shared snack time recipes — try them, they are great. Running a three culture kitchen on the cheap often forbids the luxury of soft drinks. I found that instead we drank a good deal of traditional agua frescas (fruit-ades) made with all kinds of fruit, jamaica, and Teodoro's horchata (rice milk drink).
Just a few ingredients combine to make horchata, the delicious cinnamon drink which is refreshing when served cold and soothing when served hot.
Teodoro's Horchata
While many recipes for horchata are made by soaking whole grain rice overnight and then blending and straining the results, adding sugar, water, and flavorings. Teodoro's version uses rice flour and sweetened condensed milk.
For 8 servings
2 tablespoons Harina De Arroz (rice flour)
One half stick cinnamon — about 3" (or an ample amount of Mexican canela (ground cinnamon)
1 tablespoon pure vanilla
1 can sweetened condensed milk
1 cup water
Combine all above ingredients and heat, while stirring, until the mixture comes to a boil. Remove from heat cool a bit and then add 2 quarts cold water. Serves 8.
This drink is good either warm or cold, served over ice cubes. It is also a good punch with orange slices and cinnamon sprinkled on top.
When Angelica prepares the drink for the three of them, she halves the recipe and omits the sweetened milk, and instead adds 4 tablespoons of sugar.
Note: Harina De Arroz can be purchased in most corner stores, or if you prefer, you can buy Uncle Bens rice flour at SuperLake. The Mexican version will be much less expensive.
On days when I feel a little nostalgic for that time and place, and people, I make Teo's Tacos — with my little north of the border touch of sour cream. Instead of putting the mixture into tortillas to make tacos, I use totopos (corn chips or fried tortilla chips) to dip in it.
There are as many variations on this dish as there are meals and families. Here we've added tomatoes and onions, another variation leaves out the tomato and adds mayo. To serve a larger group, add cooked macaroni and crema and serve it on tostadas.
Maestro Teo's Tuna Tacos
1 can tuna, in oil
2 potatoes, quartered
1 large tomato, diced
1/2 cup diced onions
1/2 cup mayonnaise
1 handful fresh parsley, finely chopped
Salt and pepper to taste
Sauté tomato and onion in a little oil until onion is limp and transparent while you boil potatoes in water until overly done. Remove potatoes and chop finely, then squash with back of spoon or potato masher. Combine with all other ingredients.
Serve warm with hot tortillas, accompanied with hot sauce. I use this recipe frequently but add more mayonnaise and a little lime and serve it as a dip for corn chips.
Note: This recipe is a common one for poor folks as company fare. They add a small bag of cooked macaroni and instead of the mayonnaise, they substitute a plastic cup filled with heavy crema (cream). You can purchase the crema at corner stores or supermarkets — it's usually behind the counter with the lunch meats and eggs. It is then served spread on tostadas.
I have eaten this many times, but have heard cautions against doing so, as it is said that the cream may not be pasteurized.
Here's a quick and easy appetizer that starts with the roasted small potatoes from the chicken rotisserie store. Now this is right up my alley.
I can cook, but I don't want to. One of the best things about that time was the knowledge that we would all eat, and eat well, with very little intervention from me. There were times that I did produce some easy to fix treats and staples. This sounds deceptively simple — don't miss trying it.
Janice's Potato Treats
1 bag roasted small potatoes from neighborhood chicken rotisserie store
Scant tablespoon cooking oil
2 tablespoons grated parmesan cheese
Cut potatoes into mushroom size pieces, if they are too large. Spread on cookie sheet. Brush with cooking oil. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese. Brown in a hot oven (375 - 400 degrees) for 6 to 8 minutes. Skewer with toothpicks for easy eating.
Sprinkle with chopped parsley as garnish if desired.
You may not be prepared to open your house and your heart to people as did I. Still, I'll never regret the understanding and knowledge I gained in that time and isn't that part of our lives in another country — to absorb some of the culture and experiences that are different from our own?
