Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Stillness bordering on cool, for the first time in months. Skunk, pine, the dryness of the needles compressed by a tropical storm edging its way upland from the coast. Meat and onions, morning prep for comida and a merciful absence of cologne. A few middle-aged men out to stave off the premature heart attacks and various ailments plaguing their generation. Mostly women, youngish mamas and older, with remarkably few babies in strollers. The deep green of dry trees awaiting the imminent rain matched by equal amounts of the dusty ochre of the season, both punctuated by bougainvillea, lilies and the bright, tight tee-shirts sported by the park's visitors. Joggers among the younger set, speed-walking among the older crowd and those too top-heavy, by choice in this town, to handle the rigors of a run. Quiet, without the weekend crowds and children and chaos, the clouds cushioning the dull crush of the city beyond the trees.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
The school year is winding down, with just a few days remaining for Iris and another week beyond that for Ruby. Today was Ruby's last lonche, which in my opinion is real reason to celebrate. Mike was up at six making 48 dinosaur turkey cheese sandwiches and I had made my Costco trip earlier in the week to round out the meal with with baby carrots and because it was her last time this year, juice boxes and chocolate chip muffins for a treat, in direct violation of the "suggested guidelines." But I figure we had already violated school policy by having a father participate, as the school handbook specifically tasks "mamas" with this not so small job (update to the 21st century, please, bc I know someone out there from our lovely school will read this!). I've been on the fence about this piece of school life all year, especially once Iris started attending too. The idea is to have each mother (and yeah, I know the reality is that it is the mamas, but c'mon, let's at least set the expectation for fatherly participation--which has happened quite a bit in our household) provide lunch for the children in your kid's classroom once a month. That's 25+ kids in Ruby's class, and in Iris's case, because she is in a smaller classroom, it's twice a month for about 15 kids. We don't have a cook, as some of the families clearly do, and I only farmed it out once when I felt the pressure of actually providing the dish that we had been assigned and I of course had no idea how to make it. It was, in short, a lot of cooking. But making lunch every day would have been a ton of work too, so I'm not sure the grass is greener. We made lots of soup and veggie mac and I occasionally tried to approximate what I had been assigned but I always worried that Ruby might feel the sting of sending food that was just a bit weird. By the end of the year, the school had recognized the cultural challenge and often assigned me things like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which ironically, I resisted sending because out of my own gringa paranoia, I didn't want to be responsible for sending some child into anaphylactic shock. It all worked out though, and both girls are better and more adventurous eaters for the exposure to others' cooking and I hope the other children's parents would say the same. But I'm glad for the break now and we'll see how a little summer school daily lunch-packing feels in comparison.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
A large Mexican family (extended version, of course) goes through a couple kilos of tortillas a day. No meal is complete without them, no matter the hour of the day, and most people will tell you they prefer the corn ones, which are indeed healthier. But as much as I love a steaming fresh tortilla, sometimes those Euro-peasant roots kick in and what I really want is a crusty, holey, yeasty baguette. Folks in this town eat a fair amount of bread, mostly the bolillos sold in the stores and out of baskets on street corners, and the larger supers have bakeries where the bread at least looks appetizing. However, most of it is made with the most extraordinarily refined flour, often with a large helping of lard or margarine to keep it from turning into a brick within the day. It took us a good half a year to find a not just good, but great bakery. We went out for a huge St. Patty's day dinner at Lula Bistro (the chef, Darren Walsh, is an Irishman) and they served little rolls that had us back a few weeks later to investigate their origins. I was happily shocked to learn they were not made in house, and that a mere citoyenne like myself would be able to get her hands on them at Oh la la! (Av. Sebastian Bach 2074). Of course, there's a Frenchman involved. In addition to some rather dangerous chocolate croissants, you will find the crustiest baguettes in town there, along with a very respectably chewy pain de campagne and whatever else they felt inspired to make that day. Bon appetit!