Mexico Cooks!

Shopping Destination: Michoacán Part II

Wild cosmos carpet the Michoacán countryside in the early fall.

Santa Clara del Cobre
During breakfast on our second morning in Pátzcuaro, all hands voted to head for Santa Clara del Cobre, a small town famous the world over for its hand wrought copper. The town is just half an hour from Pátzcuaro and was declared a national historical monument in 2001. Santa Clara was an important producer of copper ore and copper vessels during the reign of the Purhépecha, long before the arrival of the Spanish conquerors. Although the local copper mines were depleted in the early 1940s, the copper industry has continued and even thrived. Currently, all copper vessels start with reclaimed copper wire which is sent to local foundries to be melted into ingots. Individual seamless copper pieces are hand-hammered from those ingots.

Our first stop was at the Museo del Cobre (Copper Museum), a small repository of historic photographs, old posters from prior years' copper festivals, and some of the finest examples of the local coppersmiths' art. The museum is located just past the town plaza, at the corner of Pino Suárez and Avenida Morelos, Santa Clara's main street.

The individual heads surrounding this museum-quality copper jar are repujado (repoussée), or hand- hammered from the inside out.  The remaining decoration is hammered on the outside.

The value of a copper piece, whether for decoration or for utilitarian purposes, is based on its design, its workmanship, and its weight. I wanted my friends to visit the museum first to see the best of the best so that they would have a basis of comparison when looking at commercially produced copper goods in Santa Clara's shops. After half an hour or so of exclaiming over the designs and workmanship of the copper vessels in the small museum, we were ready to hit the streets and the shops.

Several copper shops are just around the corner from the Copper Museum. The first place we visited was Casa Felícitas, Pino Suárez #88. The owners are Lourdes Paz and her husband, Alfredo García. I've known Lourdes and her family for years. In my opinion, her shop sells the finest copper in Santa Clara and has the best service as well. Our group chose a number of items to take home, and we particularly enjoyed the demonstration of copper workmanship in the workshop at the rear of the store.

The workers explained the copper-making process step by step as we watched in awe. First, the solid copper ingot is heated red-hot in a fire stoked with tree bark refuse from local sawmills. The fire is urged to enormously high heat by a foot-operated bellows. A wedge of copper, sized according to the piece to be made, is cut is from the red-hot ingot. That wedge is then fired again and the actual work of forming the desired piece is begun. Workers use sledgehammers to hammer the red-hot ingot until it is too cool to work further. It's reheated and again the sledgehammers take up their rhythmic pounding.

Eventually the ingot becomes a solid round sheet of copper. At that point, the heating and hammering continue until the copper artisans begin to bend the solid copper to form the shape of the vessel it will become. The day we were at the workshop, the artisans were making copper sinks for kitchens and bathrooms. Sledgehammer strike by hammer strike, the sinks took on the appropriate form.

The surface of every piece is hand finished, wrought using smaller hammers with textured heads. The finished copper pieces range in color from matte reds and deep golds to the brilliant shine that we ordinarily associate with highly polished copper. The maestro (crew boss) explained that the finish of each piece is created by bathing the piece in water and/or acid to give it its color. Each copper artist creates work that is his alone.

As we were leaving Santa Clara, we made a last stop at the workshop of Abdón Punzo. Sr. Punzo, one of the town's most famous copper artists, also creates large decorative objects in solid (.999) sterling silver. Some of his copper pieces are monumental in size and weight and flawless in execution, entirely hand-wrought from a single ingot of copper. He recently finished a life-size sculpture of a Purhépecha woman, complete with a long braid and ropa típica (typical clothing). He has won countless national and regional awards for his copper and silver art pieces.

As we drove toward Pátzcuaro, I noticed that the car rode a bit differently, tilting a bit more heavily to the back: we'd managed to acquire two sinks, ten cooking vessels, and a variety of smaller copper pieces. Alan, Jeanne, Sara and I talked non-stop about the techniques and arts that we had seen in Santa Clara. We all agreed that this fascinating town has to be high on the list of places to visit during a trip to Pátzcuaro.

The following morning, our last in the area, we walked the length and breadth of Pátzcuaro's large daily tianguis (street market). The street market, located just to the west of Pátzcuaro's Plaza Gertrudis Bocanegra, is easy to find and really a must-see. Many of the vendors offer fruits and vegetables similar to those we see at most Mexican street markets, but there are certain items that you'll only find here.

Alan, Jeanne, and Sara wanted to see every variety of dried bean, every variety of fresh regional chile, and every local fruit that they'd never seen before. I was kept busy telling them about what the different beans are used for, helping Alan pick out the freshest chiles perón (an extremely hot bright yellow chile grown in Michoacán), and being urged by many vendors to taste regionally grown fruits such as nísperos (loquats), duraznos blancos (white peaches), and the nanche, a small yellow fruit which has no equivalent name in English. It's the size of a cherry and is usually eaten cooked, at room temperature, with salt, lemon, and a sprinkle of powdered chile. Nanches are a taste that Sara and I haven't acquired, but Alan and Jeanne loved them.

Buy one red, one yellow, and one green: Mexico calls that selection a semáforo: stoplight!

It was tempting to buy bags and bags of produce, but my three visitors from out of the country knew it wasn't possible to import to the States most of what they craved. They consoled themselves with hot out of the oven pan dulce (Mexican sweet bread) from Rivepan, a typical bakery on the east side of the tianguis street. Loaded down with many more freshly baked goods than we could have eaten in a week—and with a long backward glance at beautiful Pátzcuaro—we pointed the car toward Jalisco, and home.

Shopping Destination: Michoacán Part I

Photo courtesy of Susan Nash Fekety.
Glorious springtime jacarandas convert Morelia, Michoacán, into something close to heaven.

Those of you who have been reading Mexico Cooks! for the past few months know that I am a big fan of the state of Michoacán, the state that wraps around the eastern and southern borders of my own state of Jalisco.

I've written several articles about the wonderful attractions in Michoacán. In addition to enjoying the annual events depicted in those articles, it's great spending any weekend of the year there, enjoying the ambience in the mountains around Pátzcuaro. It's all so completely different from my life in Guadalajara. It's an easy four-hour drive to Pátzcuaro on the cuota (toll road); the libre (free road) takes just a bit longer but is beautiful and well worth the extra time.

Last January, three friends visiting me from different parts of the United States (Alan, Jeanne, and Sara) and I jumped into my new car for a weekend in Michoacán. We'd decided this would be a great chance to see several of the towns and villages near Pátzcuaro, especially a few towns which are centers for making certain specific crafts.

Our first stop was for lunch—of course! I wanted to introduce my newly arrived friends to one of my favorite haunts along the libre (free highway), just to the west of Zamora. The restaurant is always packed with people enjoying the specialty of the house: carnitas, a heavenly platter of tender, juicy, deep fried pork meat. We ordered a kilo (about two pounds) to share. Our carnitas came heaped up on a platter and seemed like much too much to eat, but we polished it off, along with freshly made hot tortillas and several wonderful made-in-the-house salsas.

After lunch, we were back in the car for the next leg of the trip. Two hours later, we were checking into our hotel on Pátzcuaro's small plaza. We made an early night of it after making plans to spend the next day investigating local crafts.

Tzintzuntzan

The next morning we headed for Tzintzuntzan, just outside Pátzcuaro on the road to Morelia. Tzintzuntzan means 'the place of the hummingbird' in the Purhépecha language, and if you've ever heard a hummingbird protecting its territory from other birds or from cats, you've heard the onomatopoeic sound. The town is small, charming, and filled with fascinating things to do and see.

Our first stop was the town artisans market. The market is on the left hand side of the main street through town—you can't miss it. Alan was looking for a tall clay pot for cooking beans; once the unglazed terracotta pot is cured using salt and boiling water, the clay imparts its special flavor to the boiling beans. Jeanne wanted a clay comal (round griddle) for making tortillas and quesadillas. Sara got caught up looking at the locally hand-produced straw and wood items and was especially fascinated with the wooden molinillos (hot chocolate beaters). These beaters are carved from one solid block of wood into marvelous utilitarian designs just right for whipping hot chocolate in a cup or pitcher. To make hot chocolate, milk or water (or a combination of the two) is heated to almost boiling, a tablet of Mexican chocolate is dropped into the cup or pitcher and allowed to melt a bit, and then the molinillo is spun between your hands to froth and mix the chocolate with the liquid.

Alan did find just the right bean pot among the hundreds of pots for sale in Tzintzuntzan's artisans market. His face beamed as he stowed the fragile pot in my trunk. Jeanne looked at every comal she could find but finally decided that the thin clay griddles would never make the trip back to Kansas City intact. She bought some straw Christmas ornaments instead. Sara bought seven molinillos, one for herself, one for each of her five nieces and one for a co-worker. I was the cheerleader, urging them to get what they wanted and not wait till later—these crafts, inexpensive in Tzintzuntzan, can cost up to three times the price in Guadalajara.

We took time to visit Tzintzuntzan's two churches, an easy walk since both are in the same enormous courtyard. Although we wanted to visit the church offices, they're currently closed for conservation of their beautiful 18th Century frescoes.

Alan, Jeanne, and Sara took picture after picture of the ancient olive trees in the church garden. Local legend says that these huge olive trees—some measuring as much as fifteen feet in diameter—were planted by the Spaniards in early colonial days. Many of the tree trunks are hollow in the center and their gray bark is gnarled with age, but their branches continue to produce fresh green leaves every spring.

We chatted briefly with an art conservator who was working on restoration of a catechetical mural in the patio. He told us that the conservation effort was funded by the state, by INAH (the National Institute of Anthropology and History), and by a group of interested people in Mexico and that all of the conservators have come from the nation's capital to work on the site.

Our next stop in Tzintzuntzan was on the road heading back toward Pátzcuaro. I was eager for my friends to see the yácatas, the Purhépecha pyramids built above the indigenous temple honoring Curicaveri, god of the sun fire. These pyramids were apparently built around 1200 AD, when the Purhépecha kingdom was the most powerful in Central Mexico. Today, the site has a small museum showing exhibits of pottery, personal items and jewelry that have been excavated in the immediate area.

Outside the museum, the flat land on which the yácatas stand is dense with huge trees. The pyramids are built of individual stones hewn from nearby quarries. The stones were chinked together in round-edged pyramid forms that still stand sentry over the ancient temple below. The scent of pine in the air, the view of Lake Pátzcuaro just to the northwest of the pyramids, and the mental images of long ago rituals make this site a magical place.

We left the yácatas to drive back to Pátzcuaro. Once on the road, I remembered that I had commissioned a lamp shade (a similar shade is at the far right center of the photo) in a village just off the Tzintzuntzan-Pátzcuaro road. We took a brief side trip to pick it up at the taller (design workshop).  The woven reed figure in the foreground is a catrina.  Later this year Mexico Cooks! will talk at length about this traditional folk art form and its origins.

Our next stop was lunch, at around two o'clock.  This gang loved tasting the regional specialties prepared in the Zona Lacustre (Lake Pátzcuaro region) of Michoacán. Our midday meal, the main meal of the day in Mexico, consisted of Lake Pátzcuaro whitefish, Sopa Tarasca (a traditional bean-based soup with chiles, cream, and cheese), and other typical Purhépecha delicacies.

We spent the rest of the afternoon poking around in the many shops in Pátzcuaro, examining the fine crafts made all over the Lake Pátzcuaro region. Textiles, guitars, wood carvings, lacquer ware, and pottery of every kind—from full table settings to highly decorative ornamental pieces—fill every shop. It's possible to buy items for a few cents, and it's possible to buy items costing many hundreds of dollars. No matter what your budget, Pátzcuaro has something right for you.

Next week: In Part II of our Michoacán shopping spree, Mexico Cooks! visits Santa Clara del Cobre and yet another Michoacán market.

Fishing for Seafood in Zapopan, Jalisco

Early the other morning, Larry and Joseph and I piled into the car and set out for the Mercado del Mar (Sea Market) in Zapopan, the municipality that surrounds Guadalajara on three sides. The huge fish market that supplies all of Guadalajara's restaurants, many supermarkets, and tianguis (street market) vendors isn't far from the Guadalajara colonia (neighborhood) where the I live. We'd all heard about the wonderful fish available there and we'd been looking forward to visiting the market.

A parking place materialized right in front of the market and we pulled in. When I opened the car door, I was immediately assailed with the pungent and almost overwhelming smell of fish. Honestly, I was almost put off by the odor.

I soon realized it would have been a terrible mistake to have left. In just a few minutes I no longer noticed the smell—I was totally focused on the fish. The beautiful fish in this market has to be seen to be believed. Not only is every conceivable kind of fresh (and frozen) raw fish and seafood for sale, there are plenty of small restaurants if you'd rather eat there instead of preparing fish at home.

According to the Mexican magazine Panorama Acuícola, the Mercado del Mar is the second-largest center of distribution of fish and other seafood for the entire country of Mexico. Fresh from the sea, millions of pounds of fish arrive in Zapopan every day, ready to be distributed to Mexico's principal cities such as Mexico City, Monterrey and León, among many others. In addition, fish is shipped to tourist destinations such as Acapulco, Los Cabos, Puerto Vallarta, and Cancún. In the Mercado del Mar, over 17,000 tons (more than 34 million pounds) of fish per year are sold. The only market in the country that sells more fish is in Mexico City.

We initially stopped at El Farallón, one of the 50 or so small fish markets that edge the broad, shady walkway. We hardly knew what to look at first. There were so many sizes and varieties of camarón (shrimp): we saw huge bins of large, cocktail, and small shrimp, headless shrimp and those with the head still on. Some were a rusty-red color (called camarón café del mar) others were pale gray.

These workers are shoveling shrimp into bags ready for the wholesale trade.

As we walked, Larry explained the difference between the dark red and pale gray shrimp: rust red shrimp come from the ocean, while the farmed pale gray shrimp come from estuaries and rivers along the shore. He said that the ocean shrimp are much more flavorful than the river shrimp. This was news to me.

In the past, I've only bought pale gray shrimp. That's what has always looked normal to me. I decided to wait and then buy some of the camarón café del mar just before we left the Mercado del Mar. A taste test was in order, and soon.

Until recently, shrimp were caught in the wilds of the open ocean, but today most shrimp are "farmed" in tropical coastal areas where saltwater is available and where waste can be flushed into the ocean.

Shrimp prices in pesos per kilo at El Farallón:

• Without head, large, $110
• Without head, cocktail, $85
• Without head, café del mar, $95

Fish prices (whole, per kilo) at El Farallón:

• Huachinango (true red snapper), large, $60
• Dorado (mahi mahi), $45

Incredibly fresh huachinango (red snapper) are iced and ready for sale.

Parrot fish.  The male is the colorful one.

In addition to shrimp, huachinango, and dorado, El Farallón and all of the other stores we shopped also carry cazón (baby shark), mojarra (grunt), pargo (a variety of barred snapper), robalo (sea bass), pulpo (octopus), lenguado (flounder), corvina (croaker), perico (parrot fish), and marlìn ahumado (smoked marlin). Most of the fish is sold either whole or as fillets or steaks.

Carnivorous fin-fish are raised in large numbers in cages up to 200 miles off the coast. The United Nations estimates that by 2030, less than half of the fish humans consume will come from wild stocks. Aquaculture will dominate in production of fish. Global consumption of fish is expected to reach 110 million metric tons per year within the next five years.

El Farallón also stocks a raw delicacy that's difficult to find in Guadalajara: fresh tuna by the kilo. The whole fish, approximately five feet long, was lying on the fish cutter's work table. Several slabs had already been cut away. Sliced to order, tuna costs $105 pesos per kilo.

Our next stop was at Tenacatita, a shop named for the bay north of Manzanillo. At Tenacatita, we priced filleted fish only. By the kilo:

• Lenguado (flounder), $100
• Robalo (sea bass), $100
• Huachinango (red snapper), $60

Next to Tenacatita is a shop named Hawaii. Most of the stock and prices were similar to those at the other places we'd shopped, but there were a couple of exceptions. Right at the front of Hawaii's display of fish were two good-sized Pacific langostas (lobsters). The lobster price was $185 per kilo. Hawaii also displayed scallops at $85 per kilo.

Just because of its name, I wanted to see a shop called Tai Wan. Prices there were:

• Shrimp, large without head, $96 per kilo
• Shrimp, café del mar, without head, $110
• Jaiba (crab), $35
• Perico (parrot fish), fillets, $100
• Perico (parrot fish), whole, $50

As the three of us walked along and looked at the various shops, we were all struck with one thing: the place is spotlessly clean. Every tile floor, every fish showcase, every wall, every weighing scale, every knife is pristine. Iced cases of fish have individual drains that flow directly into grates leading to underground drains. Workers constantly use long-handled squeegees to keep all floors clean and clear of liquids. The odor of fish is inevitable, but it is not related to lack of cleanliness. It's simply the fragrance of tons and tons of fresh fish.

Larry and Joseph and I continued to walk around the Mercado del Mar. We turned a corner and found ourselves in the unloading areas along the backs of the shops. Some workers were shoveling enormous quantities of shrimp into bags for the wholesale trade. Others were heaving crates of fresh fish out of trucks. Still others were de-heading shrimp or butchering huge fish into steaks and fillets. Every person working wore a heavy rubber apron and a pair of knee-high rubber boots.

We were fascinated by what we were seeing. We stopped at one unloading dock to talk for a moment with a butcher who was filleting dorado. Larry asked him, "All of these fish are female, right?" The butcher looked surprised that Larry knew that the female dorado looks different from the male. He flipped a male out of the crate and smiled. "Here's a macho, all right."

Larry explained to me that the females have a rounded head while the males' heads are squared off. You can see the difference in the photograph of the dorado. The butcher tossed the male on top so that I could take a picture of the two.  These fish are so fresh--look how their eyes bulge and notice the color of the male's gills.

As we walked the length of the unloading area, we realized that each store that we'd seen from the front had its associated truck dock at the back. When we reached the end of the long row of trucks, we turned to meander down a front sidewalk. One fish restaurant after another lined the street. Shops selling fishing nets, lines, and other gear were intermingled with the restaurants. An occasional grocer featured a big array of bottled salsas.

"Well, guys, shall we go buy some fish?" I was pretty sure we were ready to shop seriously now that we'd seen the whole market.

Larry grinned. "You know the cooler is in the trunk."

Joseph nodded. "I think I know what I want. Let's go back to El Farallón. It's the only place that has fresh tuna by the kilo." Joseph is the cook in their household and it was easy to see that he had plans for dinner.

We strolled happily along, still exclaiming over each shop in the market complex. Freshly shucked oysters in bags of their liquid, clams of several varieties, and more and more shrimp caught our eyes. I looked with amazement at a man holding the biggest shrimp I'd ever seen. "Wait, guys, let me take a picture of these enormous camarones."

German Ceja led me into the truck he was unloading and grabbed another handful of even bigger shrimp. From deep inside the truck, I heard Larry say, "She went right in that truck! I know she's in there." I laughed to think of the places I've gone in the interest of culinary adventure. This was the first time I'd been in the entrails of a shrimp truck.

We made our way back to El Farallón, where we'd seen the fresh tuna. Joseph asked for one kilo and a butcher cut exactly the piece he requested. Larry wanted some smoked marlin. I said, "Guys, if I buy some shrimp will you come over to my house later for comida (midday main meal)?" They nodded happily and I asked for a half kilo of headless camarón café del mar. This would be my taste test of these special ocean-raised shrimp.

Joseph opened the trunk and we stowed our purchases in the cooler. We had a couple of errands to run before we got home, but I was thinking of the shrimp and ham fried rice that I was going to prepare for my two friends.

The verdict? There is no question: camarón café del mar is extremely flavorful, even better than farmed light gray shrimp. I'll buy it again any time. And next time, I'll buy some fresh tuna as well. A trip to the Mercado del Mar is well worth the time. There's no fresher fish in town.

Sweet Staff of Life: Mexico's Pan Dulce

Steaming hot café con leche (expresso coffee mixed with hot milk), served with a basket of Mexico's pan dulce (sweet bread).

When my mother, may she rest in peace, visited me here in Mexico, one of her dearest wishes was to visit a Mexican bakery. For more than 40 years, Mother baked every crumb of bread that she consumed: white, rye, whole wheat, pumpernickel, sourdough, French baguette, and esoteric ethnic loaves that she just had to try. Mother wanted to see how it was done in Mexico.  She even arrived with her baking apron, hoping to push her hands deep into some yeasty dough.

In those years, there was a tiny bakery just a block from my house. Shortly after Mom's arrival, I took her to meet Don Pedro, the master baker, and his helpers. For two hours, Don Pedro and my mother swapped bread stories—conversation about oven temperatures, yeast, flour densities, and tales of experiments, successes and failures.

Don Pedro spoke no English and my mother spoke no Spanish, but I interpreted between them and they discovered that they were soul mates. The day before Mother was to leave for home, she went to say goodbye to Don Pedro. They both cried and insisted that pictures be taken before they exchanged farewell hugs. Such is the bond of bread.

Bread fresh from the oven: the evocative aroma brings back timeworn memories of Mom's kitchen, filled with the yeasty perfume of twice-raised, golden-crusted hot bread. Here in Mexico, that redolent scent wafts through the air from bakeries scattered like hidden treasures through many neighborhoods. At certain hours of the early morning and mid-afternoon, barrio ovens disgorge mountains of pan dulce (sweet bread) destined for tiny corner mom-n-pop stores or for sale to individuals.

For a few pesos, an early breakfast of bread served with milk, juice, hot chocolate, or coffee gets Mexico up and off to work or school.  For a few pesos more, the same sort of late supper rocks Mexico to sleep.

In the history of the world, bread has its own record and development. The making of wheat bread has evolved with the progress of world civilization. Particularly in gastronomic Mexico, bread has deep roots in the evolution of the República. The Spanish brought the flavors and recipes of all Europe with them to the New World. The 1860s era of Emperor Maximilian and his French wife, Charlotte, imposed a giddy 19th Century French influence—with puff pastries, whipped cream fillings, and sticky glazes—on the already extensive assortment of Mexican breads.

Tasty sugar-swirled conchas are ubiquitous throughout Mexico.

During the Mexican Revolution, soldiers from every region of Mexico came to know the foods of states far from their homes. When they returned to their own areas after the fighting, they took the recipes and flavors of other regions home with them. The south of Mexico incorporated northern bread recipes into its repertoire, the west took from the east, the north from the south.

Today, most panaderías (bakeries) in Mexico prepare similar assortments of pan dulce, along with a sampling of their own regional specialties.

Puerquitos (little pigs, on the right) taste very much like gingerbread.

It's been said that Mexico, of all the countries in the world, has the broadest and most delicious selection of breads. As a result of the mixture of cultures and regional flavors, today in Mexico you will find more than 2000 varieties of breads, and all will tempt your palate.

Pan dulce is just one variety, but there are hundreds upon hundreds of different sub-varieties. The great mosaic of Mexican bread making, inventiveness, and creativity is such that every variety of pan dulce has a name, usually associated with its appearance. That's why you'll see names of animals, objects, and even people gracing the breads on bakery shelves. Puerquitos (little pigs), moños o corbatas (bowties or neckties), ojo de buey (ox eye), canastas (baskets), conchas (seashells), cuernos (horns), chinos (Chinese), polvorones (shortbread), hojaldres (puff paste), empanadas (turnovers), and espejos (mirrors): all are names of specific and very different sweet breads. My current favorite name for a pan dulce is niño envuelto (it means wrapped-up baby and it looks for all the world like a slice of jellyroll).

If you've never visited a Mexican bakery—a bakery where the breads are baked right on the premises—you have a real treat in store. One of my favorite bakeries is owned by the Rojas family. When the bolillos (crusty white rolls) come out of the oven in the early mornings and again when the roles (cinnamon rolls—they're addictive) are ready at about 12:30 PM, you'll find lines of locals waiting to carry home a bag of hot, fresh goodies.

At the Rojas bakery, the bakers will help you select the breads you want. There are no bakers' shelves at Rojas, and the selection of items is usually small. Most of the breads are delivered to shops and stores shortly after they're taken from the ovens. Larger Mexican bakeries can be a little intimidating when you first push that front door open and enter a warm, fragrant world of unfamiliar sights and smells.

Unsweetened biscochos are very similar to biscuits.

My most recent bakery excursion was to Panadería Pan Bueno, located at Avenida Vallarta #5295 in Guadalajara. The owner, Sr. Roberto Cárdenas González, graciously allowed me to take photographs with the assistance of his employee, Edith Hernández González.

When you go inside Pan Bueno, take a minute to look around first to orient yourself. Right there by the door are the big metal trays and the tongs you need to gather up the breads you want to buy. With tray and tongs in hand, let's take a tour of the racks of pan dulce.

Polvorones de Nuez are an old standard Mexican recipe that many of you know in the United States and Canada as Mexican Wedding Cookies. They're easy to make and are absolutely melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Somehow they always manage to disappear first from any tray of assorted homemade cookies.

Polvorones de Nuez
Mexican Wedding Cookies

Preheat oven to 275 degrees.

1 1/2 cups (3/4 pound) butter (room temperature)
3/4 pound powdered sugar
1 egg yolk
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 cup finely chopped almonds or pecans
3 1/4 cups all-purpose flour

Beat the butter until it is light and fluffy. Then beat in 2 tablespoons of the powdered sugar, the egg yolk, vanilla, and your choice of nuts. Gradually add the flour, beating after each addition to blend thoroughly. Pinch off pieces of dough the size of large walnuts and roll between your palms into round balls. Place the dough balls 1 1/2 inches apart on ungreased baking sheets. Flatten each ball very slightly.

Bake in a 275 degree oven until very lightly browned (about 45 minutes). Allow to cool on the baking sheets until lukewarm.

Sift half the remaining powdered sugar onto a large sheet of waxed paper. Roll each cookie gently but firmly in the sugar. Place cookies on wire racks over wax paper. Allow the cookies to cool completely and again dust generously with more powdered sugar.

If you make these cookies ahead of need, store them in airtight containers, layered between sheets of waxed paper, for up to three days.

Makes approximately three dozen cookies.

As Edith and I made the rounds of the bakery, I asked her if she knew the origin of any of the names for pan dulce. With a charming smile, she admitted that they were just traditional inventos—made up titles. When I asked her if she ever got tired of eating the sweet breads, she shook her head emphatically. "Oh no, señora, we always love the pan"

You will always love the pan as well. And now, if you'll excuse me, a slice of niño envuelto is calling to me from my kitchen. How could I have resisted buying a pan dulce or two as I made the bakery tour? All right, it was four—but who's counting?