After a hard long week of couple trouble, we finally sat down for a well-deserved meal of…
Raven poop?
Well, to be fair, I didn’t insist that Hippo accompany me to actually try raven excrement. I wouldn’t do that. I only forced her to try corn rot. “Raven’s excrement” is just the transliteration of “huitlacoche.” I believe the proper euphemism is “corn fungus.”
Earlier today, I was sitting in on my anthropology of food course listening to a bunch of crap about food politics this, structuralism in meals that, economics of “foodways” this – you know, the usual “let’s not do any real political science, linguistics or economics” nonsense – blah blah blah until one of the teachers asks, “Have any of you tried huitlacoche?”
Intrigued, I finally listened. Wait, Mexicans take the fungus off or molding corn ears and just eat it?! Awesome!
The professor suggested that you can’t find it at “run of the mill” Mexican restaurants, but you can find it at “higher-end” places such as Maya in San Francisco, so I immediately began trying to remember if you need a reservation to get into Dona Tomas (I’ll stay in Oakland, thank you very much).
To my disappointment, both Dona Tomas and Tamarindo weren’t serving it; higher-end, my butt. Luckily, I recalled that I tried a Oaxacan joint way back when…Huarache Azteca! I had previously tried their huarache (sandal-shaped thick tortilla with steak, cheese, etc.), but wasn’t a fan – everything was too dry.
This time, I was prepared. I dragged Hippo over to Fruitvale, nearly killed her crossing the street, sat down, snapped a few pictures of the decor and ordered my huitlacoche quesadilla – only $3.50…what a steal!
And whoah. It had a different, pleasant, almost sour taste to it. If you smelled too carefully, it smelled like…let’s see…what’s a sophisticated way to describe it? Oh, I know. Rotting veggies! Delightful!
My only regret is that I really wanted to try a big chunk of the stuff by itself, like in the form of a cheese block.
The huitlacoche quesadilla at Huarache Azteca
Before I let Hippo tell you how she feels being dragged around by me (and also what else we ate), let me just say two things.
First of all, the key to a man’s heart isn’t his stomach – it’s putting new, weird crap into his stomach until he can’t budge and then shoving your own tummy till you match! And for that, Hippo is my one and only.
Second of all, even if you’re not interested in corn mold, you should take a quick visit to Huarache if only for the following reason. On their mural-covered walls, they have a few things written in English, or written in both Spanish and English. For example, they have a nice little phrase that reads: “La vida es corta – deja tu huella” (Life is short – leave your mark). The only thing left untranslated were two paragraphs on the front wall, above the door. Here’s one of them:
I’ll let you translate that.
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It’s been a tough week for me. Driving in the Bay Area under the scalding-hot September sun, working in over three gigs, and dancing to my vastus lateralis‘ breaking point — these things can ferment the wrong type of excitability in a Purple Hippo. Of course, my dear Blue Elephant takes that literally and takes me along for the ride.
What, pray tell, can be the antidote to bad fermentation (mood)? Why, good fermentation, of course, especially James Beard Foundation-approved fermentation — namely, huitlacoche.I was intrigued as soon as the idea of such a food was proposed. This was my comrade in arms — my mental state in the form of corn fungus — made into a delicacy. I would have never been able to expel my smoldering stress had I not been comforted in the discovery of this dear black-spored friend. Where else can I find myself so unusually motivated as a human being but within the blooming, cream-and-blackened galls of this (usually) uninvited pest on garden-variety maize? I mean, even huitlacoche can be good food. I, in my sorry state as a lost-in-her-thoughts individual, am not such a failure after all.
We shared a “Mexican truffle” quesadilla and agreed that “not enough of the best parts of the fungus” was used in its filling – a shared gastronomic judgment which was, in my opinion, an unspoken milestone of perfection in our relationship as a foodie couple. To its credit, however, I found the taste of the huitlacoche to be generally unrepulsive, even a bit tantalizing. It wasn’t pungent or woody-flavored like Belachan (fermented shrimp paste used in Southeast Asian stir-frys and curries) or other similarly fermented flavors – rather, it teases the palate after a few bites, like how one would grow to sense the acridity of Fu Yu (fermented tofu) after eating it with rice porridge. The smell and look of the black, pasty texture on your plate (reminiscent of something gone wrong after weeks in the fridge) could eventually deter most first-timers though, and I would recommend having huitlacoche made fresh, hot, and under the best circumstances (ie. pick a good restaurant).
We also had the Alambres Especial – a sauteed plate of suadero ham, juicy steak, bell peppers, pineapple, and onions served over thick Aztec-style tortillas and smothered on top with Oaxacan cheese and avocado slices. I actually quite like the chewy, substantial texture of the thick wheat tortillas and found them flavorful, absorbing much of the oil and juices from the meats and vegetables (this was good for the only first 5 minutes; afterwards, it was more like an old sponge).
The alambre especial - suadero ham, steak, bell peppers, pineapple and onions.
I think food continues to be the redeeming factor in our lives. My only sources of stress now concern the mind-boggling choice of an appropriate digestif and the occasional heartburn one experiences after such a quick-and-heavy meal. Every time I see and feel the rotund protrusions that are our abdomens, I am reminded of the Oaxacan cheese during our unique soul-lifting culinary adventure.
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