SpiceLines

I am in Veracruz, and ever since I landed in this sultry port city of 500,000, I have been peeling off my clothes. Veracruz lies in the embrace of Mexico’s Gulf Coast curve, just above the crook of the elbow, backed by the flat palm tree-dotted coastal plain, lapped by opaque grey green waves rolling in from Cuba and maybe Spain. It is hot and sticky, I am down to a filmy dress and very little underwear, and I badly want an ice cold horchata.

Luckily we are at El Bayo, a sunny, palm-thatched seafood palace, and horchata—a sweet rice drink flavored with delicate Mexican cinnamon--is the first beverage our slightly harried waitress offers us. We are four: Susana Trilling, the vivacious owner of Seasons of My Heart, a Oaxaca cooking school (and author of a cookbook by the same name) has plotted an alluring culinary expedition, which will take us from the lively seafood markets of Veracruz to the vanilla plantations of Gutierrez Zamora and Papantla, and then to the cities of Xalapa, Coatepec and Xico,to sample molcajetes, organic coffee and a dark, sweet mole enriched with almonds. On the Spring Equinox we'll greet the sun at the ancient ruins of El Tajin and with incense and prayers receive limpias, or cleansings, with from the curanderos or healers who gather at the base of the pyramids.

Mysteriously only two of us have joined the expedition—Deborah, a retired banker from Houston, and myself. But Susana’s trips are always high energy and already the atmosphere around our table at El Bayo is frenetic. This popular restaurant started small, but now encompasses two open-air dining rooms on facing street corners. Our local guide is Silvia Lagunes Troncoso, a pretty Veracruz native and recent CIA graduate who at this moment is introducing us to the city’s bounteous seafood. “What do you like?” she asks. “Octopus? Conch? Sopa de mariscos?” “Bring it on,” we say. And they do.

First up are crispy tostados, quartered corn tortillas fried in manteca or lard and served with a thick, searingly hot, yellow habanero salsa. OK, let’s get the lard business out of the way: Lots of dishes in this part of Mexico, from black beans and thinly sliced plantains to tamales wrapped in banana leaves, are enriched by a hearty spoonfuls of soft, caramel-colored pork lard, which makes already great food into seductively delicious fare. If you go home and try to duplicate these dishes with canola oil or some other heart-healthy substance, you find that you are missing most of the sabor, or flavor. Unless you plan to render your own pork fat, you'll just have to enjoy it here.

Oh, yes--and the tortillas are nothing like the mass-produced flour ones that clog our supermarket shelves. All over Veracruz, we devour earthy tasting tortillas made of masa or cornmeal, stone ground, patted out by hand and cooked until blackened in spots on a blistering hot comal. They are so irresistible that even the most determined non-carb dieter will succumb to their rich, toasty flavor, especially if they are fried in a little of that lard….

Of course there is a price to pay. I glance at two fleshy senoras at the table next to us, heavy ropes of pearls around their necks, hefty arms and ample bosoms bursting from frilly blouses. They are picking daintily at plates of gigantic stuffed camarones (shrimp), but picking is clearly not their normal modus operandi. Is it worth the extra heft? Hmm, let's think about it while eating a few more of those tostados...

Fortunately our own orders begin to arrive. There is ensalada de caracol, a luscious salad of conch, sweet and tender, simply tossed with chopped tomato, onion, serrano peppers, and lime juice. But there is a secret ingredient, a sea-sweet, slightly musky flavor that we can’t identify until our waitress tips us: It is the juice of cooked sea urchins. This in one master stroke tells us a lot about the Veracruz approach to seafood: Take the freshest fish and shellfish, season with aromatic vegetables, chiles and herbs, but never excessively, cook just enough to bring out the flavor, then stir up a little mystery with a local ingredient—an herb such as the hoja santa leaf, or in this case the sea urchin juice--that transforms your dish into something extraordinary,

The ensalada is superb, and we all exclaim over the tenderness of the caracol. “It is simmered for over one hour, until it becomes soft,” explains Sylvia. Pulpo, or octopus, also cooked until tender, then chopped and simply sautéed with yellow onions, has a rich, almost nutty flavor. An aromatic cazuela de mariscos, seafood stew served in a clay pot, combines succulent crab, shrimp and and chunks of fish, in a lightly spicy tomato-infused broth enriched with a touch of cream and melting cheese.

There is more, so much more on the menu—especially those gigantic camarones our neighbors have polished off—but we are too full to eat another bite. There's always tomorrow..

But first we must go for dessert.

Contact: El Bayo, Carmen Perez No. 31 at the corner of Netzahualcoyolt. Telephone: 178-1333. Web:
www.elbayo.com.

Recipe: Horchata, or Cinnamon Ricewater Drink

Adapted from Maria Elena Serena, Coatepec

On a hot day, this sweet, milky, cinnamon-scented drink, poured over ice, is surprisingly refreshing. We drank it across the state of Veracruz and it was unfailingly delicious. This recipe has been adapted from one given by Maria Elena Serena, a remarkable cook in the town of Coatepec. In days to come, you will hear much more about our cooking lesson with this cheerful, meticulous woman whose home boasts the ultimate luxury: two kitchens, a detached one for frying or“smelly” cooking,” and an indoor one for finishing up.

Be sure to use crumbly Ceylon cinnamon. which may be sold as canela or Mexican cinnamon in the international section of your grocery store. (You can also order it from www.penzeys.com.) Ordinary cinnamon, which is really a stronger tasting cousin known as cassia, is too hard to pulverize in a blender. If canela is not available, use powdered cinnamon to taste, adding it to the rice milk 1/4 teaspoon at a time.

Makes 3 to 4 cups

Ingredients:

3/4 cup white rice, soaked in 2 cups of water overnight
1 1-inch piece of Ceylon cinnamon, or to taste
1/4 cup sugar
Ground Ceylon cinnamon, if desired

Method:

1. Drain the rice and place in a blender with the cinnamon and 3 cups of fresh water. Blend at high speed until the rice and cinnamon are pulverized. Taste, and add more cinnamon if desired.
2. Place a large strainer lined with cheesecloth over a bowl and strain the rice milk, pressing on the solids with the back of a spoon. Then pick up the cheese cloth and squeeze the solids to release the last drops of liquid.
3. Return to the blender and froth at high speed. If the horchata is a little too thick for your taste, add 1/4 to 1/2 cups more water and froth again. Serve in a tall glass over ice. Sprinkle with powdered cinnamon if desired.

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