FOOD : Recipes of Memory : A Banquet Resurrects an Almost-Forgotten Mexican Culinary Tradition

THE FEAST began with a blur of wings.

Days before, my grandmother Delfina had decided to get rid of the pigeons crowding the coop that leaned against my aunt’s back-yard fence in Canta Ranas (Singing Frogs), one of the older Southeast Los Angeles barrios. The pigeons roosting in the tall, battered coop had become too fertile, and when I looked up into the coop’s feather-tufted plywood boxes, I saw that they squirmed with plump, young birds. It was the late ‘50s. I must have been 8 years old.

My grandmother set our feast in motion by calling her sons and nephews to slaughter the innocents. My cousin and I were assigned to clear out the large abandoned grocery store next door, where the meal could be served more easily. A confusion of smells--overripe fruit, dust, cilantro--lingered amid the store’s clutter of old furniture and splintered sawhorses. Next door, under my Aunt Estela’s patio, my father and his brothers had their hands full--literally--of gray down as they plucked and dressed dozens of birds.

DELFINA, I LATER discovered, had turned to the past for the day of the feast. She had unearthed the sopa de pichones (loosely translated, squab on saffron rice) recipe from a collection recorded in an elegant, elliptical script by my great-great-aunt, Catalina Clementina Vargas. The recipe is one of 109 dated June 7, 1888, and it has little to do with today’s notions of nouvelle Mexique or the Tex-Mex fare we’ve come to associate with Southwest cookery. Instead, Catalina’s old recipe typifies the cuisine of Guadalajara, which is roughly comparable in function and complexity to provincial Cantonese or French cuisines. Unfortunately, in Los Angeles, history conspired to drive this aspect of Mexican cooking underground. But it is part of a rich, 400-year-old urban tradition that endures in the private kitchens of families like mine.

My grandmother simmered the squabs with parsley, onion and garlic in her large, weathered pot. She cooked the rice in the broth of the squabs, adding freshly ground cloves, cinnamon and saffron. Finally, minutes before serving, she returned the squabs to simmer again in the broth and rice suffused with paella-like spices. The trick, my aunt recalls, was leaving enough broth to impregnate the squab with the spices without leaving the rice too dry.

In the meantime, my cousin and I had cleared enough space in the empty store for a long row of tables. By early evening, when everyone had arrived, my grandmother and my aunt proudly made their entrance with platters of squab on a bed of fire-orange rice. Garnishes of raw, sliced onion immersed in vinegar, salt and a hint of oregano, and gallon jars of iced, sweetly sour jamaica (hibiscus tea) also were brought to the table. My grandmother took her customary pleasure in serving my uncles, cousins, aunts and eldest sister, who wasn’t quite sold on the idea of eating baby birds. Midway through the meal, Estela says, Delfina probably made everyone laugh by telling how her first try at getting rid of the pigeons failed when the birds returned to their old coop, flying all the way back from her brother-in-law’s house a dozen or so miles away in Artesia.

I’m not sure what else Delfina prepared. My aunt says she’s certain the meal would have opened with steamy bowls of puchero, a hearty soup swimming with carrots, turnips, zucchini, parsley, beef bones, some chicken and garbanzos or rice, which Delfina cooked in the pot tea-bag-style by placing the grains in small cheesecloth sacks. A simple lettuce salad dressed with olive oil and vinegar might have preceded the main course. The whole affair would end with a sancocho de guayaba, a typical Mexican dessert of halved guavas stewed in cinnamon and piloncillo , an unrefined, flavorful sugar.

It is the taste of squab and saffron that stays with me. I found the faintly bitter, smoky intensity of saffron, made bolder with cinnamon and cloves, intoxicating. Between bites of pickled onion, I sucked the dark meat from diminutive bones and probably stained my shirt. Afterward, the tables were pushed aside and our parents began to dance. I lay my head on my grandmother’s lap and fell asleep as she smoothed my forehead.

But my great-great-aunt’s squab recipe wasn’t the only source of my grandmother’s culinary inspiration. A year before she was married, my grandmother and a cousin had copied another 141 recipes from Catalina’s mother, Trinidad Vargas. All of these recipes, in their own curious way, open windows to another time.

For example, Catalina’s c onsume violento (violent consomme) is as much an elegant, subtle soup as it is a proclamation of romantic sentiment. The recipe gets its name from the manner in which an egg yolk and Jerez (Spanish sherry) are briskly whisked into a steamy tureen just before it is served to admiring guests. Delfina kept the memory of Catalina’s time alive by preparing her soups for both her immediate and extended family.

MY GRANDMOTHER’S culinary influence also followed me home. Besides the typical recipes from her home state of Jalisco, Delfina taught my mother how to prepare a delicate, aromatic stew that has a poetic title--c onejo en huerto meaning “rabbit in the garden.” This stew, fragrant with quince, plantain and Spanish olives, was derived from one of Catalina’s recipes with substitutions for hard-to-get ingredients such as tejocotes , a pungent, apple-like fruit from central Mexico.

“I believe she (Delfina) was a superb cook,” my mother, Lilly Valle, told me recently. “If she taught anyone, she wanted them to learn to do things her way. Like the recaudo (a puree of roasted tomato with onion or garlic added to soups or sauces), which is a basic part of Mexican food. To me, some of these things seemed like minor details. But she would get angry if you didn’t do it her way.”

I’m convinced that for Delfina, the recipes were nothing less than formulas for invoking cultural and culinary values as well as personal memories. They reminded her that she was both Mexican and a daughter of Guadalajara’s mestizo (racially mixed European, Indian and African) petit bourgeoisie.

After doing some culinary archeology, I realized that many of the recipes represented a distinct Guadalajara cuisine. The recipes that follow, for example, don’t appear in 19th-Century Mexican cookbooks, such as “El Nuevo Cocinero Mexicano,” a dictionary of Mexican cuisine that was published in Paris in 1872 and is only available in rare-book collections, or, to my knowledge, in any texts published since then. This isn’t surprising.

Recipes in 19th-Century Mexico were usually passed from mother or aunt to newlywed daughter or son. A middle-class Mexican kitchen was more likely to contain an updated 18th-Century version of a Spanish cookbook than a Mexican cookbook. It would take a revolution in 1910 and its convulsive nationalist aftermath for Mexico to take greater pride in preserving its mestizo art forms.

For me, these recipes have more than a strictly culinary meaning. Knowingly or not, my great-great-aunt, my grandmother and my aunt passed along to their descendants a tradition of recording family history while preserving Spanish as a written language in a sometimes hostile English-speaking world. Despite the stereotyped peasant image of Mexicans, these recipes are reminders that a huge portion of Mexican cultural history was written in cities, which still shape artistic styles and gastronomic revolutions. These recipes spring from a rich urban cuisine that predates fajitas or nouvelle experiments to elevate comida casera (home cooking) to haute elegance. More lie buried in all the places where memories are hidden. Estela and my wife, Maria, by reviving the following recipes, have merely indicated a way of excavating this culinary history in our midst.

CONSUME VIOLENTO

(Violent Consomme)

4 cups Puchero 1small white onion, or braised or roasted and quartered 1 medium tomato, roasted, peeled and seeded 3 teaspoons olive oil 1/4 teaspoon nutmeg 1/2 teaspoon finely cracked white peppercorns 1 bay leaf 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 egg yolk, slightly beaten 1/8 cup Jerez Sherry 1/4 cup Italian parsley, coarsely chopped Croutons Grind roasted tomato and onion in a molcajete (basalt mortar and pestle) or place in blender at high speed for 5 seconds. Tomato and onion should not become frothy.

Heat olive oil in skillet. Fry tomato-onion mixture for 2 minutes. Add nutmeg, peppercorns, bay leaf and salt. Simmer for 5 minutes.

Add tomato-onion mixture to soup kettle containing four cups of preheated Puchero stock. Simmer for 10 minutes. Bring to boil, then transfer to serving tureen.

Whisk beaten egg yolk into soup at the table. Stir in Sherry. Serve with chopped parsley and Croutons. Serves 4-6.

Puchero 2 quarts cold water 2 pounds sliced beef shank bones 1/2 pound chicken 1/2 cup precooked garbanzo beans 1 medium white onion, halved 1 clove garlic 2 medium carrots, cut in pieces 1 medium turnip, halved 1 small parsnip, cut in pieces 1 bay leaf 1/2 teaspoon whole white peppercorns 3 or 4 stems Italian parsley 1 small summer squash, cut in pieces String beans, potatoes or corn, optional Place beef shank, chicken and garbanzos in cold water. Add onion, garlic, carrots, turnip, parsnip, bay leaf, peppercorns and parsley. Slowly bring to a boil. reduce heat and cook covered for 1 1/2 hours. Add squash and optional vegetables 15 minutes before serving.

Remove vegetables and meat and strain stock. Skim fat if necessary. Makes 5 1/2 cups of stock.

Save four cups of strained stock for Consume Violento.

Croutons 2 teaspoons butter 1 teaspoon olive oil 4 slices sourdough bread, cut into small squares Slowly melt butter in skillet with oil. Add bread and brown.

TACOS DE CREMA

(Cream Tacos) 1 quart water 1 1/2 pounds whole tomatillos, husks removed 3 cloves garlic, peeled 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 or 2 Serrano chiles, optional 1 pound longaniza (see note) 1/4 cup olive oil 1 dozen corn tortillas 1 white onion, finely minced 1/2 cup cilantro, minced 1 cup sour cream, lightly whipped 4 fresh Poblano or Anaheim chiles, roasted, peeled, seeded and cut into 1/4 inch stripsCilantro sprigs Boil tomatillos in water for 3 minutes. Drain and save 1/2-cup cooking water. Set aside and cool. Place in blender with garlic, salt and Serrano chiles, if desired. Add 3 to 4 tablespoons cooking liquid and blend at high speed for 10 seconds.

Fry longaniza in 1 teaspoon olive oil until completely cooked. Drain and set aside.

Simmer tomatillo sauce 5 minutes in a pan wide enough to dip tortillas.

Heat remaining olive oil in skillet large enough for tortillas. Dip tortillas in hot oil; then dip them in tomatillo sauce. Place on plate and fill with 1 tablespoon longaniza, 1 teaspoon minced onion, and 1/2-teaspoon minced cilantro. Roll up in the shape of an enchilada. Repeat with remaining tortillas. Top with additional tomatillo sauce.

Spoon sour cream over tacos. Top each with 3 to 4 strips of chili verde and cilantro sprig. Serves 6.

Note: Longaniza is available at Mexican supermarkets.

TORTE DE GARBANZO (Garbanzo Torte) 1 pound dried garbanzo beans 1 1/2 cups vegetable shortening 1 1/2 cups granulated sugar 1 tablespoon grated Parmesan cheese or queso seco 1 tablespoon ground cinnamon 1/2 cup raisins 3 large eggs, separated Sliced almonds Powdered sugar Place garbanzos in a saucepan with enough water to cover. Boil for 25 minutes, adding water if necessary. Drain, cool and remove skins by rubbing beans between hands.

Put beans back into saucepan with water to cover and boil for an additional 50 minutes, adding more water if necessary. Beans must be firm.

Drain beans and run them through a grinder twice or mince finely in food processor. Place warm beans in a large mixing bowl. Mix in shortening, sugar, cheese, cinnamon and raisins until completely blended. Blend in egg yolks. Whip egg whites until stiff. Fold into mixture.

Pour mixture into a prepared 8x8x2-inch cake pan. Sprinkle with almonds. Bake at 350 degrees for 50 minutes.

Sprinkle powdered sugar onto torte through paper doily. Serves 6 to 8.

SOPA DE PICHONES (Squab on Saffron Rice) 4 whole rinsed squabs or Cornish game hens 2 quarts water 2 teaspoons salt 1 medium white onion, chopped 1 clove garlic, minced 1 ounce fresh Italian parsley, chopped 1 tablespoon olive oil 2 cups long-grain white rice 1 cup water 1/4 teaspoon whole Spanish saffron 1 1/2 teaspoons ground cinnamon 1/4 teaspoon ground clove 1/2 teaspoon salt 1 large white onion, sliced into thin rings 1 cup white vinegar 1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon dry, crumbled oregano Place squabs or game hens in a large kettle with water and salt. Cover, bring to a boil, then let simmer over moderate heat for 20 minutes.

In another pan, saute onion, garlic and parsley in olive oil for 2 minutes or until onions are transparent.

Turn squabs over in kettle, add onion, garlic and parsley; simmer for another 15 minutes or until squab is tender. Remove squabs, strain broth and set aside. Allow squabs to cool for 5 minutes before cutting into halves.

Rinse and drain rice. To 1 cup of water add saffron, cinnamon and clove. Let soak for 3 minutes to release saffron color.

Pour reserved, strained squab broth, salt, spiced liquid and rice into large kettle or 13-inch paella pan with tight-fitting lid. Bring to a boil, lower heat and simmer covered for 15 minutes.

Place halved squabs over rice. Add more broth if rice looks too dry. Cover and simmer another 15 minutes or until rice is cooked.

Place onions in bowl with vinegar, salt and oregano. Allow to marinate a few minutes before serving. Serve a half squab per person. Garnish with marinated onion rings. Serves 6 to 8.