Breakfast with MexiGeek: more fun with queso fresco

The morning after making queso fundido I found myself with leftover cheese and tortillas, plus my homemade coriander pesto and a bottle of Cholula.

So I fried two tortillas (because one just wasn't enough), then fried an egg over-easy in the same oil.

The tortillas were homemade too, by the way. I had replenished my supply of Maseca on a recent trip to Lupe Pinto's. I pretty much bought everything they had in the shop.

I spread one tortilla with my coriander pesto, put the egg on top, then sprinkled it with Cholula and crumbled queso fresco from Gringa Dairy.

For the record I topped the lot with the other tortilla and sprinkled some more Cholula, but I went for an open-faced presentation for the photo.

The coriander pesto doesn't show up in the photo (drag) but it was still delicious.

Blue Corn Tortillas (tortillas azules)

A basket of fresh tortillas azules

If there's one thing I've been dying to make for years, it's blue corn tortillas.

In the UK (and, to be fair, in much of the US), you get one kind of corn: yellow "sweetcorn". But corn, miraculous mother of life that it is, comes in several varieties - and colours - each with their own individual characteristics.

Yellow corn is high in sugar and water, while white corn (the main variety in Mexico) is less sweet and very starchy - which makes it ideal for tortillas and their "relatives" (like sopes, panuchos, etc).

But while white corn is the main variety in Mexico, it is by no means the only one. A fresh, warm white corn tortilla is a beautiful thing, but a blue corn tortilla is a delicacy.

The only place to get blue masa harina (blue corn tortilla "flour") in the UK is from Mexgrocer.

My Mexican Shop in Dublin occasionally stocks it as well.

I ordered a kilo bag of Maseca Azul (an actual Mexican brand, by the way) from Mexgrocer and whipped up a batch of blue corn tortillas.

I had eaten blue corn before, but I had never cooked with it.

However, I found no indication that it had to be treated differently than white corn, so I used my usual recipe for tortillas (adapted from Lupe Pinto's):

• 250 g (blue) masa harina
• 300 ml hand-hot water

My wife thought it looked like sand

Ever since I read Thomasina Miers' Mexican Food Made Simple I have occasionally added a tablespoon of olive oil to my tortilla dough. It stops the dough drying out and makes it easier to work with.

However, it also imparts a faint olive oil flavour, and I wanted the full-on blue corn experience, so I left it out this time.

Anyway, you mix the masa harina and the water (by hand), knead it for ten minutes, then let it rest at room temp for half an hour.

"It doesn't look like an actual foodstuff" - Mrs MexiGeek

I kept some extra hand-hot water nearby in case the dough dried out too much (which it did; add extra water a spoonful at a time until the consistency comes back to normal).

Then you take a chunk of the dough about the size of a golf ball and either roll it out with a rolling pin between two sheets of plastic or pop it into your tortilla press (which you can also buy from Mexgrocer or Lupe Pinto's), again, between two sheets of plastic.

Either way, you're looking for a thickness of about 2 mm.

Cook the tortillas on a hot dry frying pan for 30 seconds on one side; then flip and cook for 10 seconds; then flip again, press down gently on the tortilla with your spatula, wait for it to puff, and it's done.

Don't worry if it doesn't puff; it will still be delicious.

The first thing I noticed is that, while white corn masa harina has a similar texture to white flour, the blue version is speckled and grainy.

The dough, too, had a grainier texture than white corn dough, and seemed more prone to drying out.

And the uncooked tortillas were more fragile and harder to peel off the plastic sheets in my tortilla press. I even had to reform one or two of them into balls and start again.

But the flavour was well worth it.

Blue corn is sweeter than white corn, though not nearly as sweet as yellow corn. Some people think it has a nutty taste; personally I detect some floral notes.

And to top it off, there's the surreal experience (for most people) of eating a naturally blue food other than blueberries.

Speaking of blue, one thing that took me by surprise was Mrs MexiGeek's reaction to the colour.

She agreed the tortillas were delicious, but found the colour challenging. I guess if you haven't grown up with multicoloured corn, blue tortillas may seem a bit "weird".

My three-year-old daughter, who has fewer preconceived notions about food, absolutely loved the blue tortillas. She had seconds!

Another caveat is that this it's kind of an "advanced corn". I wouldn't make blue corn my introduction to homemade tortillas.

Served with pollo en salsa de cacahuates

If you haven't used "normal" white masa harina before, I'd get a bag of that first.

Make a batch or two of tortillas. Make some tamales. Get used to masa harina as an ingredient. Then, when you feel confident, move on to blue masa.

You'll be amazed at how diverse corn can be.

They make great tortilla chips too!

Sweet Tamales and Champurrado

Tamales are probably my favourite ever Mexican dish.

Like chiles rellenos, they take forever to make. But they are totally worth it.

Tamales (the singular is tamal) are dumplings made of corn dough (masa) and steamed in a corn husk or a banana leaf.

They are usually filled with something delicious and, especially in restaurants in the United States, can be accompanied by a sauce.

The filling can be savoury or sweet, and they can also have no filling at all. These are called tamales sordos, which means "deaf tamales".

Deaf tamales are the classic accompaniment to mole.

In Mexico you can buy tamal dough (masa para tamales), which is like tortilla dough but more coarsely ground. Here in the UK you have to improvise using masa harina.

I first made tamales from the recipe in Two Cooks and a Suitcase, and this is still the recipe I trust most.

Before this post, I had made tamales twice and "tamale pie" twice, going savoury each time, but I really wanted to give sweet tamales a try for two reasons:

• I could have tamales for breakfast

• I could eat them with champurrado (more on that below)

Tamales are at least a two-day affair.

The day before you plan to eat them, put all you corn husks in cold water to soak. Weigh them down with a plate so each one is completely submerged.

You can buy corn husks, masa harina, and everything else you need for tamales at Lupe Pinto's or from the Cool Chile Company, by the way.

Then you need to decide on a filling and make it. For the sweet tamales I just used dried cranberries, so I got to skip this step.

On the day you plan to serve, you need to mix up your tamal dough. This is a combination of masa harina, melted fat, liquid, and a half teaspoon of baking powder to keep the tamales light.

For savoury tamales, you might use melted lard (or butter), and the liquid would be a stock of since kind.

Two Cooks and a Suitcase only gives a recipe for savoury tamal dough, so I had to improvise a sweet version.

I used melted butter for the fat and dissolved a cone of real Mexican piloncillo in some warm water in place of stock.  

Sweet tamal dough

Ingredientes

• 200 g masa harina
• 100 g melted butter
• 250 ml water
• 1 small cone of piloncillo (about one ounce)
• 1/2 tsp baking powder

Preparación 

Put the water into a pan over a very low heat and add the piloncillo. You might want to bash it up in a mortar first so it dissolves more quickly.

Or you could substitute a little less than an ounce of demerara sugar, brown sugar, or caster sugar mixed with molasses.

Also, they sell cones of unrefined sugar in many Jamaican/Caribbean food shops. This is very similar to piloncillo.

Sift the dry ingredients into a mixing bowl.

Add the melted butter and water (once the piloncillo has dissolved) and mix into a batter. Two Cooks likens this to cake batter, but I find it's much stiffer and less pourable than that.

This is stuff you can scoop up with a spoon and spread with a knife.

Which is basically what you have to do next.

Spread a corn husk on a plate, wide side facing away from you.

Take a tablespoon or so of the dough and spread it over the husk in a square-ish shape like this:

Put a spoonful of you filling on the dough (how much filling depends on how big your tamales are).

Fold them up so that the filing is completely enclosed by the dough and the dough is completely enclosed by the husk.

You will find some husks have holes or rips or are otherwise unusable. Tear these ones into thin strips. They tear easily along the grain.

Use these strips to tie up the tamales into little parcels.

Traditionally you leave the wide end of the husks open, but I usually tie them at both ends if I can. Don't ask me why. It's just the way my mother taught me. Presumably she learned it from her grandmother.

Once all your tamales are wrapped, place them in a steamer, wide side facing up (especially if it's open at that side).

Put the lid on the steamer (not pictured).

These need to steam for an hour, 45 minutes of which has to be on full steam. So while you're waiting, make some champurrado.

Champurrado is atole flavoured with chocolate.

Atole is a traditional Mexican hot drink thickened with masa. It is the classic drink to have with tamales.

I stole this champurrado recipe from Rick Bayless so the measurements are in American.  

Champurrado 

Ingredientes

• 1/2 cup masa 
• 2 cups milk 
• 3 ounces Mexican chocolate 
• 2 ounces piloncillo 
• Some aniseed (I used a star anise) 

Preparación

If you live in Britain, you have to make your own masa.

Mix 1/2 cup masa harina with 1/4 cup hand-hot water and you're done. No resting or kneading like when you make tortillas.

Put the milk in a pan and add the masa. Stir it up. Little darlin'. Stir it up.

Next add the piloncillo. About two small cones will do, but weigh them first to make sure.

You'll also need to chop or grind them up so they dissolve better.

Two cones of piloncillo waiting to get bashed to fuck.

Then add the chocolate. I used half a block of Willy's Cacao, ground up with 20 g of toasted almonds and a 5 mm cinnamon stick.

Pop in your aniseed, if you're using it, and bring the whole thing to a simmer, whisking whisking frequently.

When the chocolate and piloncillo have dissolved and the champurrado is nice and thick, it's done. It will look like this:

By the way, the longer you cook it, the thicker it gets. Eventually you will be eating chocolate porridge.

Now your tamales should be done. Remove them to a serving plate so people can help themselves.

A pile of sweet tamales.

Ladle some champurrado into mugs and serve.

The champurrado was so thick we often dipped our tamales into it, sort of like chcolate con churros.

But the tamales were so fecking delicious they didn't really need any accompaniment. The cranberries had gone all plump and moist, and the sweetened tamal dough was delicious even before it was cooked.

An unwrapped tamal. Don't eat the corn husk, whatever you do.

I had been nervous about the tamales, because a friend of mine had recently made them and reported that they fell apart, even though she used the same recipe.

I did some research and found this is one of the ways tamales often go wrong. Another is that the dough is too dense and stodgy.

My friend is an excellent cook, better than me, in fact. So now I was really worried.

But once again, my tamales were perfect. Having now made tamales or a variation of them five times, I can report that they have never gone wrong for me.

I have no idea why. It ain't pure talent, I can tell you. And it ain't because tamales are easy to make (they aren't). It must be luck. Or maybe the spirit of my great grandmother Eva guiding me or something.

If you have a half-Mexican great grandmother, you should really try this; in fact, even if you don't you should. Tamales are one of the culinary wonders of the world.

Hell, if you're afraid of all the work. I'll come over and make them for you. One of my New Year's Resolutions is to make more tamales.

As for the champurrado, it was absolutely delicious. The only thing is, it tasted a helluva lot like Mexican hot chocolate, which is much easier to make.

Therefore I doubt I will make champurrado again. In the very near future I will make a more basic atole to see if I like it (starting with a variation probably wasn't the best introduction to this drink, but I found the concept of masa-thickened hot chocolate impossible to resist).

Once again, you can get everything you need to make tamales from Lupe Pinto's or the Cool Chile Company (if you don't live in Edinburgh or Glasgow).

Also, the restaurant Mestizo in London has tamales on the menu, and as Mestizo is easily the best Mexican restaurant in the UK, I'm sure they are delicious. Have some chiles rellenos for a starter.

Tequila tasting at Lupe Pintos

Tequila is one of those things everyone knows about Mexico. Or do they?

Last Saturday I took my MexiGeek crew (@Book_Love_Sarah and @EdinburghIsla) over to Lupe Pintos, the spiritual home of Mexican cooking in Edinburgh, for their annual tequila tasting.

I have a confession to make: although most of the time I'm enamoured of all things Mexican, my Achilles' Heel is tequila. I'm a whisky drinker, as in single malt Scotch whisky, which I drink neat (or, if it's cask strength, with just enough water to cut the noseburn).

It's really whisky's fault that I don't like other distilled spirits. Whisky sets the bar to an unreachable height. Really, how are you supposed to compete with something that's been aging in a barrel for 12 years or more?

Add to that, my only previous experience of tequila is some rough José Cuervo drunk from a shot-glass perched on the belly button of an inebriated sorority girl with no self-esteem (this is called a "body shot").

But the good news is Lupe Pintos' tequila tasting is just the thing for someone who isn't sure they like tequila.

First of all, Doug Bell, owner of Lupe Pintos, is the original MexiGeek, and really knows his stuff. He's passionate about all things Mexican, and his knowledge and enthusiasm really come through as he takes you from the more basic Casa Casco Viejo to the elite (though American-owned) Patron.

You learn the history of tequila (which is to mezcal what champagne is to sparkling white wine), how it's made, how it's actually drunk in Mexico, and the recipe for the perfect margarita. The tasting comes with some delicious homemade botanas (Mexican tapas, essentially), including the traditional diced fresh fruit and tajín (ground chile and lime salt).

But the two most important things I learned were:

• Tequila can be delicious

• Mexico takes the same pride and care in producing its national drink that Scotland takes in whisky

So did it convert me?

Well, I did buy a bottle of tequila: Don Agustin anejo (meaning it has been aged in a barrel for at least a year).

This was less intense than the Patron, and probably empirically not as good as the family-owned Herradura (Doug's favourite), but it was the one I liked best.

Leave it to me to go for the tequila that tastes like whisky!

The Edinburgh tastings are over for the year, but the Glasgow ones are up next. If you would like to know the truth about this world-famous but often poorly understood drink contact the store to book your place.

I cannot recommend this highly enough.

Other exciting news is that the shop is now stocking tajín and pilocillo (Mexican unrefined sugar). This place just keeps getting better.

Two MexiGeeks and two perfect Margaritas