Stay and Eat

The Sun's Daughter, 2001

Roasting Between Three Stars

Built by an old sacred cenote, the Mayan town of Vallodolid is, for me, one of the most enchanting places. There’s a small square park in the center of town, with a fountain; a thick concrete maiden, her dress painted traditional white with a flowered yoke, pours out her jar of water in the midst of four big arc spouting frogs, singers of Chac, the rain god. In the evening twilight, when laughing school children walk home hand in hand on the cobblestones, flocks of singing birds stream in from the jungle to roost in the trees of the park. It feels safe in the center of that town.

House painting there is an art form. Every stucco seems signature to a genius of saturated color harmony; an alley wall, textured with 10,000 diagonal slits, each eyed with a single pebble, takes the hue of a melon pierced with dark orange sills; then an azure one with an ultramarine door; cotton candy pink with snow white; emerald green wood with canary yellow trim; maroon rust with cream; and somehow this riot of shades soaks up the sun and is quiet, gentle even, on a street where an overhanging orange bough scatters fruit on the paving like a game of marbles, and hedges are made of three colors of bougainvillea; fushia, scarlet, and cobalt violet dark.

I went in a little shop on a side alley to buy a hammock, and it was my good luck that the shop belonged to Victor Diaz and his wife. Victor, after the business of hammock trying and buying was completed, was dramatic and hospitable. I was working on my own little Mayan dictionary, and Victor was eager to help and tell stories. He had his wife fetch us iced drinks of what I suppose was grapefruit agua fresca. Oh if only I knew how it was made! It was crystal clear and not at all sweet.

Victor pulled out little stumps for us to sit on, and brought out a gourd-half of toasted pumpkin seeds dusted with chili. He pranced about to demonstrate how he hunted an ocelot, and showed us its pelt. He provided an extensive set of obscene entries for my dictionary, with many winks and charming eye movements, all the time his hands executing the graceful rotations and restrained sequential fanning of fingers that I would notice again and again in Maya country; elegant gestures, courtly. It was a lovely evening, one of the best.

And we talked about food, as well as we could without a common language, for it was English to Spanish to Mayan and back. Victor insisted that to taste real Mayan food we must leave the town and drive out into the country, and he gave directions to just the place.

I knew it was going to be good the moment I stepped out of the tiny rented Volkswagon oven; there was a wonderful smell in the hot dry jungle air. The restaurant was a palm-thatched hut close to the one lane road, a whisp of smoke wafting from the thatch, with nothing to mark it as an eatery except a single Mayan word on a handpainted sign. A young man coming out with a stack of lunches to go, beamed at us, and said, in English,“ You will be glad!” It turned out that we were very glad.

Inside there were a few card tables with plastic lawn chairs. The cooking was being done in one corner on a griddle, the comal, made from the metal lid from a 55 gallon barrel, perched on a hearth, the koben, three round stones that are as the three stars are in the bottom half of the constellation we call Orion; Altair and two companions. The cooking ladies were kneeling beside the fire, patting out corn tortillas as fast as they could be eaten. On another part of the comal onions, garlic, and the delicious little milpa tomatos were roasting, sending out such scrumptious aromas mingled with wood smoke that we fairly chomped our teeth in expectation.

First we were served cold beers with lime wedges, (I had noticed the convenient lime and papaya trees in the little stone-walled courtyard.) and wide bowls of black bean soup. The soup was a revelation, smooth as silk. I asked the lady who brought it how it was made, what was in it.

She went to her little shelf and showed me; black beans, salt. No meat? No!

It is easy to make. Pick through the beans to make sure they are clean and stone free, cover them with water and simmer until they are tender. Mash the beans with their cooking liquid and seive them carefully until they are smooth. It should be the consistency of cream, add a little water if need be. Then salt it to taste. This is one of those rare recipes with only three ingredients; black beans, water, salt, which no addition can improve. You must get the proportions and texture right. If you do, there is no better soup to be had. It is called“ Ts’anchak Bi Bu’ul.” (To cook in a light broth, black beans.)

Next came the tortillas, with a plate of grilled strips of pork. Real pork, home-raised, like the hogs of my youth! Some cilantro, more lime, and a bowl of chiltomate; some of the roasted tomatos, roasted onion, roasted garlic, some habenero, melded with a squirt of sour orange juice. If you don’t have any of those rolling down your cobblestones, you could mix some non-enchanted orange juice with lime and pray to your own Chaks.

Everything was fresh and delightful and replenished for as long as one cared to eat, until satisfaction was complete, as in my case it was. As hunger abated and the tempo of chomping slowed, it wasn’t hard to imagine that the three stones were stars, slowly rotating on the great calendar of time, while those who nourish life kneel and pat the little sun-made discs of corn.

A Mayan Recado: Chak Xak’

Toast an onion (in slices) and a couple of cloves of garlic until they are flecked with black and brown. Grind a teaspoon of cloves, a quarter teaspoon of alspice, two tablespoons each of black peppercorns and achiote seeds, a pinch of cumin, and a teaspoon or so of Xaak’che, (Mexican oregano; Lippia graveolens) in a spice grinder.

Put all this in the food processor or blender and grind into a paste, which will keep, in a closed container in the fridge, for longer than it will last.

A teaspoon of this spice paste improves practically every dish made with chiles, corn, squash, and beans…shall we say the four sisters? Try it in salsas, chili, stews, and as a rub on meats destined for tacos and enchiladas, etc.

Victor’s Grapefruit Agua Fresca:

Make a simple syrup by combining a cup of sugar, a cup of water, and the grated rind of a grapefruit (being careful to grate off only the colored part of the rind, not the bitter white pith beneath it.) in a saucepan. Bring this to a boil for one minute, remove it from the heat and cover it until it is cool. When the syrup is cool, strain out the peel and add enough water to make a pleasant drink – in other words, as strong, or dilute as you like.

Victor’s Pumpkin Seed Snack:

Take a cup of pumpkin seeds and toast them over high heat in an iron skillet until they begin to pop and smell toasted. (Stir them constantly to prevent scorching.)

When the seeds are toasted, sprinkle on a half teaspoon of sea salt, a tablespoon of sugar, and a teaspoon of powdered red chile, however hot you like. Stir this all around until the sugar melts and coats the seeds. Remove from the heat and continue stirring until the stickiness abates, then cool and serve. (These are a nice addition to a salad, especially if the dressing includes lime juice.)

image | sound | story | index | home