We had some friends from Xico over a couple of nights ago for cena, or supper. Who came: our hostess from the first communion party, Doña G., her absolutely delightful daughter who is studying to be a teacher, her daughter's novio who works for the government, and his parents.
I am learning to adapt, and I find it really a relief. In the past, when we had guests for a meal, I set the table with all the plates, silverware, glasses, etc that I could think of. This time, I know I sinned, but I got small divided plastic plates and spoons and tortillas. I cooked a stir-fry of sorts of poblano peppers, turkey breast arrachera, black beans and a kind of cole slaw. The arrachera was a mix of American and local: I bought these marinated breasts at Costco but I cooked them with all local veggies. The black beans, definitely local, the cole slaw in an oil and vinegar sauce, definitely not local, though people ate it, politely I thought. People here are used to having their food already on the plates when they get them. I'm more accustomed to having people pass dishes around unless they are too big or unless carving is involved. We compromised. I brought the big pots of stuff out and then Jim ladled it onto our plates.
We also had a bottle of Mexican brandy and a bottle of tequila on the table with a bottle of orange soda. Actually, we had discovered to our surprise that Mexican brandy and Fresca made a lovely combination. Unfortunately, the tienda across the street was out of it. I think I feel less guilty having lime juice, and since we have this kind of stunted, unhealthy-looking lime tree that nonetheless produces limes ceaselessly, that's what we mostly use.
We had a discussion about Costco meat: Mexicans don't like it, el señor told us. It's too fatty, too filled with chemicals. It's too soft. It's scary. Jim and I pretty much agreed, although the turkey was from a local company: Bachcoco. One could get into a discussion about large poultry outfits here, but I won't. I told him I got my carne de res, my beef, at Carnicería Suárez, which my friend Kris recommended, here in Xico. A good place, he agreed. People in Xico are used to eating local beef, and isn't it better? I had to agree. But it is definitely not what I grew up liking. It is very lean. It is darker in color. It is hard to get it to stick together for hamburgers, for instance, or meat loaf. I buy carne molida sometimes. I watch the butcher make it. He takes hunks of beef and shows them to me first, then cuts off gristle, and gets a couple of hunks of fat and puts it in the grinder, an electric gismo. He pushes the meat down with a giant pestle. Then he shows me the results. What I notice is that the fat isn't really mixed with the meat. Ribbons of white dots thread through it. But it really, really makes for yummy eating.
I always ask for bones for my dogs, and he gives them to me for free. A bunch of them. We have decided that there is nothing the dogs like to do better in life than lie on the ground chewing those bones. It is quiet in the house when they do it, except for the soft sounds of teeth rubbing against them.
Anway, back at our dinner, we discovered that El Señor is from a town in the State of Michoacán, his wife from Mexico City. They live in Mexico City for thirty five years. Their son as an infant had many sicknesses and allergies and they took him all over to try to cure him, but to no avail. El Señor has a sister who lives in Xico and she suggested they move here, so they did, some 17 or so years ago. Their son is now a strapping, healthy man. He loves living here, loves animals, has two horses. He also loves Doña G.´s daughter and she loves him, which is lovely to see.
We also talked about how once you were ripped from your roots, he from Michoacan, I from the northeast of the USA, no place else is quite like home, so you might as well live where you like. We agreed we are all doing that.
El Señor and la Señora worked for the Mexican version of Goodyear Tires in Mexico City, for the distributorship. Here they have a shoe store in Teocelo which is a town that is also, I think, a part of the Municipio de Xico. It is STUFFED with shoes. They are on rows of shelves which make me think of library stacks. I am going to get a pair to bring with me to Boston.
Doña G. was quiet throughout the evening. Her husband died last year, and I think it still makes her sad to be without him.