Fruit

If you’ve ever visited Oaxaca, my favorite state in all of Mexico, undoubtedly you have seen people walking around with cones or cups filled with fluorescent green sorbet. I try to stay away from colorings, especially when it comes to fruit preparations, but if you can get past the scary color, you’ll discover a surprisingly refreshing flavor. The color may not be subtle, but the flavor is, and lime is one of the most popular flavors in Oaxaca. Try to select very green small limes, because they tend to have the best flavor. Be sure to wash and dry them very well. Although the original recipe doesn’t call for fresh lime juice, I find that a little bit balances the sweetness of the sorbet and adds another layer of flavor.

Whenever I crave a cold sweet treat, I always go for the nieves. Ice cream is great, of course, but I am all about the fruit. Anyone who knows me knows that I can eat a quarter of a watermelon in half an hour, that I eat six to ten pieces of fruit per day during the summer, and that I have a particular weakness for stone fruit. The fruit is always the main focus in sorbet, with no distractions. Although the variety of stone fruit is not as diverse in Mexico as it is in other parts of the world, we have some tart and sweet apricots that make an extremely refreshing and silky nieve. Feel free to substitute any other stone fruit that is ripe and in season.

Whenever I visit Pátzcuaro, Michoacán, I always look forward to the ice creams in the main square. During my last visit, as I waited for the crowds to diminish at noontime so that I could interview Amparo Contreras de Galván with my childhood friend Martha Silva, I had a couple of scoops of sorbet. I tend to order the same ones wherever I go, but the membrillo one at La Pancada caught my eye. As I took a bite, without even swallowing it, I knew it had to be in the book. Although the famous ice creams in the town are called pastes, I have to say, this was the one for me. Whenever something so special comes my way, I remember it vividly, taking mental notes of each layer of flavor and texture that at times allows me to re-create things I love so much. I must say, this quince sorbet is pretty close to the one I had. I suggest you make a batch of the Requesón Cheese Ice Cream (page 185) to go with it, in the classic pairing of cheese and quince but in a whole new way.

Milhojas, or “thousand leaves,” is the name given to this pastry because, just as in the fall, when the autumn leaves trickle down and move as the wind blows, tiny pieces of this crunchy, flaky pastry fly around when you take a bite of it. This recipe is one example where the French influence in Mexico began to be very apparent during the rule of Porfirio Díaz at the beginning of the twentieth century, and a love for classic French pastries has remained part of our tradition ever since. Milhojas have remained a favorite dessert and are found all over Mexico in many pastry shops and bread bakeries. As with many other desserts, they are often sold by the slice. Although milhojas are often filled with jams, mousses, and whipped cream, this one is layered with pastry cream, which I find to be the most representative one of all. The addition of mangoes and coconut gives it a nice freshness and tropical flavor. Traditional puff pastry is a bit time-consuming to prepare, so I have provided a quick “mock” version that will work very well when you don’t have the time or patience required to make the real deal.

Capirotada is Mexico’s version of bread pudding and is traditionally served during Semana Santa (Lent). It is made with day-old crusty bread that is lightly fried and layered or topped with various ingredients, such as raisins, peanuts, coconut, tomato, or cheese, and baked with sweetened milk or piloncillo syrup. I had the good fortune to stumble upon this incredible bread pudding in Tlaxcala. Cecilia and I met through my dad and immediately sparked a friendship. She told me her mom’s recipe was the best capirotada ever and that it had to be in the book. She was so right! I visited her mother’s home, where I stayed and cooked for a few days. I had never met her before but was warmly welcomed by her with kindness and sweetness. The day after we prepared this unusual bread pudding (originally from Jalisco), the sweet aroma of fragrant guavas and piloncillo lingered in the air as we enjoyed a slice for breakfast with a delicious glass of cold raw milk.

Niño envuelto means “wrapped baby,” and it is basically a sponge cake filled with some kind of jam, cream, cajeta, or mousse, rolled up tightly, and covered with confectioner’s sugar, cream, coconut, almonds, chocolate, or meringue. It is served as a dessert, but you can also find it in panaderías sold in slices. Although I have always loved sweets, cake has never been my favorite dessert, and I think it’s because I really like crunchy things. The one exception to this rule is pastel de fresas con crema (vanilla cake filled and covered with whipped cream and strawberries). When I think about this cake, my mouth waters and I remember the Gran Via bakery, which has been making one of the best versions of this cake since the late 1960s. When the bakery first started, they sold only two things: this strawberry layered cake and huge meringues filled with whipped cream. So, when deciding what kind of niño envuelto to make, it seemed only natural to blend all of these flavors and textures into one. It is important that the eggs be at room temperature to ensure a spongy cake, so separate the eggs, cover them, and allow to come to room temperature for 30 minutes before whipping.

Brightly colored gelatins filled with different layers—translucent or pastel—and over-the-top gelatin figurines are sold everywhere in Mexico. I couldn’t have a book on Mexican sweets without at least one gelatin, so I picked one that has familiar flavors. Think of it like a Creamsicle in a whole new presentation. This recipe is based on one from a book by Josefina Velázquez de León. Make sure you use fresh oranges for the best flavor.

The coast of Colima, a small state in southwest Mexico, is renowned for many candies, particularly coconut ones. The vibrant candied limes retain a slight bitterness that contrasts nicely with the sweet coconut filling. Eating them will make you feel like you are walking along the beach.

My mother’s friend Yoya Estrada is one of the sweetest ladies I’ve ever met, and she transmits her kindness through her hands. She shared this family recipe from Durango with me a few years ago, and it’s one of my favorites. It lasts awhile if it’s well wrapped. Enjoy it sliced on its own or serve it with an assortment of cheeses, even though that is not the traditional Mexican way.

Guava is one of the most sensual fruits, and it truly shines when it’s cooked. Filled with luscious caramel and toasted pecans, this treat defines sinful. Look for guavas that are soft to the touch and fragrant. You can also find them frozen or puréed, but make sure they’re not loaded with sugar or anything else.

These sweet peaches are used often in Mexican cooking primarily to decorate cakes and to eat with ice cream or pancakes. I thought it might be nice to have this recipe so you can make some at the height of peach season and use them in the colder months when fresh local ones are out of the question.

This is a four-generation recipe that is still enjoyed today by Estela Elizondo’s family in Monterrey, Mexico. I have made these many times and really like them. If you like a little heat, toss them with about 1 teaspoon ground chile, such as chipotle or guajillo, mixed with the superfi ne sugar. To me, that makes these traditional strips of sweetness have a little fun while dancing along on your palate. You can use the leftover grapefruit flesh to make the Red Sorbet Terrine with Hibiscus Compote (page 196).

There are countless sweets made from shredded or ground coconut, called cocadas. Some are cooked with milk and baked; others are mixed with piloncillo, thickened with eggs, and finished with liqueur or simply cooked in their own juice. How to choose one recipe? This was no easy task, but I chose this particular one from a small village in Yucatan, where I found a stand that sold more than twenty different kinds. The fresh lime zest brightens the slightly burnt flavor of the caramel that enrobes the tasty coconut morsels. This could even be used as a sort of jam if cooked a little less. For a little more information on coconut, see page 9.

Crystallized fruit is basically fruit that’s been cooked for a long time in a sugar or piloncillo syrup until it is almost translucent (hence the name). t is customary to presoak the fruit overnight in lime or calcium oxide so hat it retains its shape after the long cooking process. The town of Santa ruz Acalpixa in Xochimilco is one of the best places to appreciate the normous variety of candied fruit, including prickly pears, figs, oranges, cactus paddles, and even chiles. A word of caution, though: beware of bees when making this! The process takes several days, but it’s quite simple and the fruit will fast for a several months and up to a year if stored properly. You can use he same method for many kinds of fruit, so pick some that are in season but slightly underripe so they don’t fall apart.

When we were little, my sister Yael and I would often hang out with our aunts Cucus (her real name is Lina, but I don’t think we knew that back then) and Alex. They liked to take us to the parque España, one of the few parks in Mexico City, and I always made sure to ask my mom whether she needed us to drop off or pick up anything from the dry cleaner, which was only a few blocks away from the park. I was such a good daughter. . . . Truth be told, there was an ulterior motive. Across the street was a wonderful bakery, and I would always get strawberry jelly–filled doughnuts with a sugary topping. Invariably, I would squirt jelly all over myself and get my aunts in trouble, because my mother warned them not to give us sweets too often. The bakery, unfortunately, no longer exists, but my memory of what those doughnuts tasted like still does—even though the last time I had them was almost two decades ago. They are a bit time-consuming to make but well worth the effort. You can substitute the jam for a store-bought kind, but if you happen to be making these during strawberry season, I highly suggest you give it a try because it is quite easy and absolutely delicious!

Legend has it that this “happiness” candy got its name in the middle of the sixteenth century, when Fray Martín de Valencia prepared a mixture of puffed amaranth seeds and honey; when the indigenous people tried it, they were so happy they began to sing, dance, and play music like they did in many pre-Hispanic rituals and continue to do in the yearly alegría festival that takes place in Tulyehualco. Alegría remains one of the oldest candies in Mexico, but it is now made with sugar or honey and piloncillo. In the tropical climates of Veracruz, I tried some incredibly crispy ones, which really surprised me because of the humidity of the region; a man who has been making these treats for more than forty years told me that his trick was to add some glucose. This wonderful nutritious and historical candy is shaped into rounds or blocks and is often decorated with nuts, pumpkin seeds, and raisins, as I have done here.

I know you’re probably thinking, bean candy? That doesn’t sound too good. I was doubtful, too, but I was pleasantly surprised and excited about this wonderful recipe. I am deeply grateful to our dear family friend Amado for getting this recipe that came from his friend. The beans are cooked with cinnamon, puréed, and cooked again with orange juice and sugar. After awhile of stirring, the flavors begin to come together and a wonderful chest nutlike texture is achieved. The paste is then formed into balls and rolled in sugar. I love giving it to people to try and guess what the main ingredient is. Although only one person out of about thirty is able to guess, they all really like it. The original recipe is made with dark raisins, but I prefer to use currants.

You can find all sorts of corn flour (masa harina) in Mexico, and their colors can seem almost fake. The best place to find them is the food mills, and they are commonly found near markets. Whenever I can, I like to make this dish with pink or blue corn because it enhances the color in a natural way and it somehow seems more fun.

Corn tamales have prevailed for at least five centuries as ubiquitous protagonists in ceremonies and rituals such as Día de los Muertos. This preparation is from Durango, and I want to thank Ricardo Gurrola for providing me with the recipe. They go deliciously well with Strawberry Atole (page 29).

For a few years now, my dad and his partner Manuel have made an incredible Día de los Muertos celebration in a country house located near Cuernavaca. They invite friends and neighbors, attempting to preserve the culture that many children in big cities confuse or associate nowadays with Halloween. Hundreds of assorted tamales and hot chocolate are always made to welcome the guests as they come to visit the awesome ofrenda. One year, Mrs. Catalina, the charming woman responsible for the tamale feast, kindly showed me how to make them (although she didn’t let me touch the batter because she said it would separate). The lime zest ones were my absolute favorite and remind me of a very light and airy sponge cake. The bit of shortening helps give it a wonderful texture, but you may substitute more butter if you prefer.