Mexican Food Customs House

[Edco Haglund]

Likegenerations and generations of women before and since, we know very few of their names. Still, we prepare and eat food we can trace to the dishes these women in medieval Spain made either daily or for Shabbat and for holiday celebrations. Via mothers and daughters, mistresses and maids, the foods of the original Sephardim have endured for hundreds of years, and have influenced cuisines around the world.

When I moved to New York in the late 1980s, I started to explore my Sephardic heritage and to learn more about the history, culture and the wonderful variety of Sephardic cuisines. I read books and took classes in Ladino. I became active in Sephardic organizations and met women who cooked all kinds of Sephardic foods, women from Turkey, Greece, Italy, Syria, Morocco, Mexico, Yemen, Israel, Argentina and more.

Homes had gardens where women grew the leeks, eggplant and chard favored by Jews, along with lettuce, lavender, purslane, edible flowers, radishes, parsley, cilantro, fennel, garlic, citron leaves, mint, thyme and the bitter herb called rue. Vinegar made from leftover wine was combined with olive oil for dressings. Often verduras, cooked green vegetables, were sprinkled with the wine vinegar. Honey, almonds and pine nuts were favorite ingredients along with spices like cinnamon, cloves, cumin, ginger and nutmeg.

The chickpeas, garlic and onions that are so important in Sephardic dishes were considered lower-class foods and were not found in many Christian or Muslim recipes. Yet chickpeas, grown in Iberia since the days of the Romans, were an important source of protein, especially when there were problems getting kosher meat.

What differentiated Jewish cuisine from that of their neighbors in medieval Spain was much the same for Jews throughout history: how meat was prepared so that it was kosher; how unkosher foods were avoided, including fish without scales and the pork so beloved by Christian Spaniards; the separation of meat and milk; and special foods for the observance of the Sabbath and festivals.

Life for Sephardim started to become very difficult in the 11th century with the advance of the Christian Reconquista, literally the reconquering of Iberia. There were anti-Jewish riots and mass killings of Jews, mostly in the 14th and 15th centuries, in Toledo, Granada and many other cities. In some places, Jews were forced to live as separate political and social entities in Juderias, Jewish ghettos.

There are detailed decrees related to food and customs around food as a way of revealing if someone was Jewish, even if the person had converted and was living as a secret Jew. These telltale decrees about what to suspect in your neighbor or employer included keeping the Sabbath by slow-cooking food on Fridays to be eaten on Saturday; cleaning meat of fat, nerves and sinew or soaking it in water to remove the blood; avoiding pork, rabbit, cuttlefish, eel or other scaleless fish popular among the Christians; and even eating hard-boiled eggs and olives after the death of a parent.

The more I learned the more I realized that the testimony of the Inquisition often turned woman against woman; it was hard for a Jewish woman to hide food preparation from a maid. In another well-known testimony of a maid, a simple salad of lettuce and radish was used against Juana Nuez at her trial in the early 1500s, because she would serve it to her women friends who came to visit nearly every Saturday afternoon. Not only was Doa Nuez serving only uncooked food, but all the women were relaxing and not working to take care of households at that time, as was customary when observing the Sabbath.

The following is Irma Eguia's account of thewedding traditions of Mexico. She was kind enough to let me publishit as a point of comparison with the wedding songs of Sappho, inwhich happiness is often mixed with sadness. The Greek weddingfocused on the transfer of the bride from one home and family toanother, making Irma's observations all the more relevant.

The wedding has three parts. First there is the civil wedding, and I am not sure if I have it exactly right but I think that is the same as getting married by court here. That takes place at the bride's home and the family has to prepare food to serve to the guests. A judge comes out and performs the ceremony and the witnesses and bride and groom sign the legal papers. Then the church ceremony takes place at whatever church, and finally the reception.

All of that took place on a Saturday. We were there with the bride's family and guests. Then on Sunday what is supposed to happen is that if there is any food left over and cake the groom's family has to go and give it away before it spoils. So anyway my point of this whole story is that that on Sunday of course by the time we got to my grandma's house my uncle and his new wife were up and ready and on their way to her parents house to take cake and leftover food from the night before. I made the comment that it must be weird for the bride - one day she is at home with her parents and the next day she is in a totally different house with people she doesn't know. I thought about how I would feel if it was me going through that and I made light of the moment saying that when I get married after the wedding night i would tell my boyfriend "OK im going home, we'll see each other tomorrow!". Everyone laughed. But my point is I can see why the old women would lament for the bride leaving her home and having to wake up the next day in a different environment, in someone elses home.

Last year, I documented the indigenous Wixrika community of San Andrés Cohamiata. Located nine hours north of my hometown, in the heart of the Sierra Madre Occidental mountains, TateiKie is well known for both its singular cuisine and its historical resistance to westernization.

When I arrived in Washington, D.C., last year as a student intern, I noticed a fervent online debate within the local Mexican community: where could one find the most authentic taco? I noticed that in D.C., one could find the bourgeois taco, the gentrified taco, the American taco, the party taco, but could one find the authentic taco?

In a backyard of the suburb of Hyattsville, Maryland, fried tacos toss in the bubbling oil of a fryer. A woman in constant motion flips quesadillas in a flat, round pan, a comal, while another crushes corn dough balls in the tortillero. Vapor rises from huge pots of atole (traditional corn drink) and champurrado (the chocolate version). Another cook heats shredded pork, carnitas, in a copper pot. Serving dishes sit on tables covered in plastic tablecloths decorated in the floral patterns and fluorescent colors common to Mexico.

They began by spreading the word among the community. They were so successful that, when their landlord asked them to leave because he was selling the house, they were able to buy the home across the street. There they installed the business in the basement, where it remained for several years.

The heat emanating from the pots was so overwhelming that they moved to the backyard. That is where they make fried and barbacoa tacos, carnitas, quesadillas, gorditas, atole, tamales, and now even shrimp cocktails. The line for tacos is endless. They are served in small portions, so eaters can taste a bit of everything. The customers are mostly Mexican workers.

As he cooked, Francisco compared the colors of the Mexican flag to the colors of taco: green for cilantro, white for onions, and red for sauce, referring to both as strong elements of Mexican identity.

Within the community of this popular suburban pop-up, the taco is neither gentrified nor exoticized. The fonda (informal restaurant) is laid out in the same way as those in Mexican neighborhoods. The result is an authentic and unpretentious taco experience.

It is common for the natives of a country to maintain a certain skepticism when they learn a foreigner will prepare their national dish. Even before the plates arrive, he may inquire how it is possible for a chef to extract the essence of a recipe when he is not connected to the food through the sentimental ties of family stories and childhood memories. At Taco City in Southeast D.C., Juan Jimnez shows that no matter who prepares it, or where, a taco remains authentic when it keeps its playful essence.

Before, in Mexico, she had started as a secretary with aims to move into administration. But in the United States, because of her immigrant status, it was difficult for her to be formally hired. Instead, she found work in one of the few places available to undocumented immigrants: a restaurant kitchen.

Away from home, and disappointed by the Mexican food available in the United States, Irma longed for the food of her mother and grandmother, and of mercados and taquerías. She dedicated herself to learning the recipes of her homeland.

Irma gained resident status when she married a U.S. citizen. In 2000, she was employed as a meeting planner, returning to the administrative field. But by that time, she had fallen in love with cooking.

Cooking is a game of chemistry, where love and commitment are essential ingredients. With this in mind, Irma began cooking and bringing beef tongue and fried tacos to her office for special occasions as a gesture of empathy and gratitude. Her co-workers, fascinated by the flavor of true Mexican cuisine and how it differed from the popular Tex-Mex, began to ask her for cooking classes and hired her to cater important events. Inspired by the support of her community, she won the MGM City Recipe Showdown contest at National Harbor and went to compete in the Final Recipe Showdown in Las Vegas in 2018. She now runs a catering business.

Now, Irma, herself a role model within the D.C. Mexican community, represents hundreds of women whose migration stories have a close relationship with the kitchen. She feels free to tell her story, having gained legal residency, but understands that unlike her, many women are silenced. Her purpose, besides opening a restaurant that recovers the Mexican gastronomic tradition, is to empower immigrant women by forming community through cuisine.

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