Pozole

Every Mexican family has its Pozole tradition, or even ritual. Recipes are always different, some are prepared with a combination of chicken and pork, some just chicken or turkey, some are religiously 100% pork; from head to tail, and seriously, sometimes you can see a pig's head floating in a cooking pot at the market, a horrifying scene, but that's something you learn to respect, because every pozole recipe has its own family DNA, families brag about it, and that's why you will never get an accurate recipe, you will never eat the same pozole, and you should create your own pozole, but always use whole hominy kernels, that's the only rule.

Spanish Conquistadors believed pozole was a stew made with human remains, that according to ethnographer and evangelist Bernardino de Sahagún, who considered Mexicans (not Aztecs, but that's another story) not to be humans, or to be a different race without souls, sadly some people still think Mexicans are some sort of inferior race 500 years after colonization, but whatever, it was more than one Spaniard, a whole group championed a smear campaign against Mexicans, taking this debate all the way to Valladolid, between ultra-racist Juan Ginés de Sepúlveda and condescending liberal Bartolomé de Las Casas. They did not debate whether pozole was made with human meat, but to start viewing indigenous population as human beings, artistically and mechanically capable, and adroit of learning when properly taught; however, Mexicans DID know, just differently, and that's why condescending, but I still respect De Las Casas' efforts.

Before Spanish conquistadors put a foot on America, MesoAmerica was as problematic as it is today, Tenochtitlan (Today's Mexico City) was the richest and most powerful city-state, controlling different nations around, from Michoacan to Nicaragua, starting an agricultural revolution, genetically modifying corn and other crops. War was inevitable, imagine a powerful country trying to "educate" and bring, lets say, democracy to a foreign region in exchange for natural resources. That was basically Mexicans before the conquest, against Azcapotzalco, Tlaxcala, etc. Tenochtitlan always tried to intimidate other nations with psychological warfare such as: we eat humans, or even surrounding their island-city with walls made out of skulls, mostly stone, and yes, when war occurred, soldiers dismembered humans. This graphic violence horrified the already barbaric Spaniards, and I'm probably just trying to justify why Mr. Sahagún was wrong about pozole, because also, he was wrong about everything else he wrote and drew on Florentino Codex, an ethnographic research work trying to describe Mexico and its traditions to Europeans. The only fact we know about pozole is that it's been around for centuries, always a ritual, always controversial, always different from each other.

My tradition begins in the 1980s, I don't know exactly when, but I'm pretty sure I was 5 when I started helping my grandmother Rogelia and other cooks make a pozole, because there's always a neighbor, aunt or cousin trying to learn your family recipe, so there's usually more than one person involved, plus you need to clean a mountain of hominy and that's where my brother and I helped, that was our at least once a month Saturday-Sunday job, while Mexican soccer league was on channel 2 or 13, and my dad was always preparing other appetizers like guacamole, chips and salsa or cheeses, because part of the pozole ritual is eating more food while preparing it, and seeing your favorite soccer team being irritatingly forgettable. My dad's favorite team is ironically the team I like now, Pumas (National University) but my brother and I rooted for rich, glamorous but always mediocre America (owned by biggest TV network in Latin America) the only time we enjoy soccer together is during a World Cup, and we always get frustrated because our team usually sucks, not all the time.

My grandma's pozole recipe changed when I started talking to adults. She took me to the market and one day I saw this butcher shop with dismembered pigs, including a wall of heads, since my father is an anthropologist and ethnohistorian, you can imagine the sorts of stories he told me when I was a kid, I mean, my first children's books was Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse, but his stories about the conquest, the ambiguity of Florentino Codex, and all of that, made me beg my grandma to make a pozole, pork free, so she started cooking a chicken pozole just for me, I was a pain in the ass, I requested no chicken organs in the soup at all, or skin, just white meat. Somehow my own tradition survived, now new cousins eat it this way too. A huge element of eating pozole is Chile de árbol sauce, made with dried chile de arbol, sesame seeds, pumpkin seed, garlic, oregano and cider vinegar, most of the time you can get this hot sauce in the market, or if you need a decent equivalent, I can recommend Salsa “Valentina” or Crystal Sauce… if it was spicy enough.

Another thing I remember is my grandma unplugging the TV most of the times because she didn't like soccer, and she was more like me, we need music when we cook, her favorite was Pérez Prado, Carlos Gardel, Celia Cruz, Willie Colón and Rocio Durcal. But she was OK with other music, but my grandmother dancing in the kitchen while “Cherry Pink and Apple Blossom White” was playing on vinyl is a classic scene in my family. Pozole is more than one recipe, I have none, it's a ritual, experienced in different ways, every home has its own secrets and rites, but I do recommend fresh chopped oregano, avocado, fresh radishes thinly sliced and lime juice as garnish. I think you should start your own tradition, celebrating the importance of corn in America, collective knowledge and diversity.

Clairvoyance

Cooking is a universal compilation of knowledge, it's the continuous debate of which technique is better and why, it's chemistry and physics, it's survival. Cooking brings people together, whether it's your grandmother forcing you to clean a monumental pile of corn for Sunday's pozole, your friend trying to be all "manly" telling you how to grill a steak to perfection while being completely intoxicated with PBRs, or cooking for people in need. Cooking can also be a form of art and a way to express the way you feel.
Cooking is knowledge, and you never stop learning.

That's why I dislike celebrity chefs in pop culture, sharing recipes and procedures of public domain for a grotesque amount of money, copywriting the evolution of food and with it, erasing basic skills of survival. It's knowledge, not magic.

When we are kids, he have a powerful curiosity for food preparation and where does food comes from, then we develop some sort of culinary clairvoyance, full of tabus and lies, but we are kids, I'll just call it "magic" then we find a sexist world, were each gender has a role, and of course I'm talking about Macho-Mexico, the kitchen is not for the man. But, my curiosity never went away, to the contrary, this gender-bullshit made it even more exciting, because now, every time I grabbed an onion or garlic and peeled it for my mom, I felt I was in fact creating something magical, underground. I would have to basically camouflage or something in order to retain my "manhood".

Acquiring knowledge is always a challenge, and so is getting fresh food nowadays. I witnessed the decline of Mexican Family-owned farms and everyday-local farmers markets, I saw miles and miles of fertile lands being redeveloped in order to supply not just (or at all) the local market, but our hungry USA, instead of free range chickens, and seriously, they were as free as seeing chickens eating next to you while waiting in the bus stop, but instead of that, now I saw enormous buildings with thousands of animals with no freedom. All of that farming know-how went to huge corporations, profiting with knowledge, making it harder to even get a share of it. I saw farmers leaving everything behind for a dream, I saw them abandoning entire towns, the most cruel diaspora of modern times. Something most rural Mexican immigrants have in common, they still have that knowledge with them, and also, a dream to maybe one day, start all over again.

Life is ironic. I was studying to maybe one day work in politics, but my love for food never went away, I decided to tell my parents about my decision, I wanted to go to a culinary school and become a chef. My mother got all excited, we talked for hours about how I helped her in the kitchen when I was a kid and stuff, but now it was time to face my dad. Well, that was one of the most unpleasant moments of my life. He was so upset, so confused, so full of passive-aggressiveness. I remember one of his lines "Is that why you don't have a girlfriend?" I did answer in my head (No, I don't have a girlfriend because I'm the biggest antisocial nerd in the classroom and nobody invites me to parties) So again, gender roles. He said, "Then you have to find your own path"

We left Mexico City and moved back to small town living, Mazatlan. Without my dad. My mother and I started a small restaurant with Mexican food (no, not the "FOR REAL, THIS IS THE MOST AUTHENTIC ONE) but we needed more money, so I was looking for a second job, so I walked to a restaurant couple blocks away from my mom's business, saw the "Hiring" sign and talked to the owner, she hired me immediately as general chef helper, whatever that means. That was the most exhausting experience ever, from going to the market for both, my mother's restaurant and my new job, cleaning grills and fryers, chopping cases and cases of tomatoes and onions, cleaning fresh seafood, making handmade tortillas, etc, etc, etc. I was working 18 hours a day. No time for school, no time for friends, no time for family.
But I was doing what I wanted to do, I was finally cooking, acquiring knowledge at a very high cost, intense labor but how much I learned.

Sadly, my mother's health was not the best at that moment, my income was not sufficient and her business was not doing that well.  My brother had a car accident. I was completely overwhelmed, so I decided to  buy a plane ticket, take my US$50 saved in the bank, which I thought it was a lot, said goodbye to my girlfriend and friends, to my mom and brother, to my two dogs and turtles, to the ocean. I left everything behind because I wanted to save my mother and I wanted to learn more and to become a chef one day, again.

My first job in the US was not food related, I was painting houses in some Wisconsin suburb, I think it was Watertown, but I'm not sure, at that time, I knew a little English, such as: Elephant, Apple, Thank You.
So, for months I was just sending money to Mexico, and looking for a kitchen job. Finally found one, for pantry/prep. My first night at this restaurant, I cut my finger while chopping tomatoes, never been that embarrassed in my life.

Knowledge is a fascinating trip, I chose food, and I owe everything I know to many people that had the patience to teach me, to people that made me feel like shit, but I learned anyways, to my mother and grandmothers, to street vendors in Mexico City, to amazing coworkers in Mexico and Wisconsin.

So, I just want to share the recipes and techniques I've learned over the years and share them with you. This is of course just a long "Hi, this is me" letter and I will now write recipes in the next posts.

PS, My dad learned how to cook, however, his food always looks brown, but it's pretty good stuff, he also learned how to respect my profession and he's proud of me.