Raw agricultural commodity used in making that quantity of beef stew (67 FR 79611)

Recently, TJ and I were invited to weekend family dinner where the matriarch served up homemade menudo and birria. Neither dish is a particular favorite of mine, but her concoctions were so good that I thought I should give them a second chance on my list of foreign recipes to try. In terms of cooking, menudo is not much different than pozole, which I made a while back. But I'd probably be more successful bringing back the Puerto Rican boy band than making tripe edible. Besides, cow flesh is more forgiving -- and tasty -- than cow stomach, so I thought I could give birria a shot. 

Birria is more traditionally a meat stew, but here in Tijuana it is frequently a taco filling. In looking at recipes I decided to pick and choose some pieces from two. For the meat, I already had an eye of round, about a pound and a half, so I decided to simply add 1-1/2 pounds of ribs (left), using the meat combination from the stew recipe but the quantity from the filling one. I ignored both recipes in terms of preparation, opting to slow-cook the meat, for three hours on high, instead of watching a simmering pot all day. Within about 30 minutes, the stock was already beginning to form (right).

While the meat cooked, I prepped the peppers. And here, I made another recipe merge. I used most of the peppers from the taco recipe, except the California chiles, because, surprisingly, I couldn't find them in the store. So I selected guajillo ones, which were suggested in the stew recipe and are said to make a suitable substitute, in terms of their color, size, and heat. The guajillos are long, narrow, and red; the pasillas and anchos are both green, but the anchos are smaller and wrinklier (top left). After stemming and seeding the peppers (top right), which felt like using a letter opener to cut Fruit Roll-ups, the peppers soaked in water for about an hour (bottom left) before they were drained (bottom right), leaving a trail of orange-stained cookware (In the future, I'd suggest using a disposable dish to soften the chiles.)

From here on out, I stuck to the taco recipe, mainly because it simplifies the seasonings by using achiote paste, which contains many of the spices from the stew recipe. Plus, considering I shop at a Latino market all the time, I was able to easily find it, right by the ketchup. The tomato, onion, garlic, peppercorns, cumin seed, and achiote paste all went in the food processor first (top), creating a vibrantly scarlet sauce (bottom left). I thought that the chiles would add most of the color, but it seems the achiote paste is the key because the peppers merely deepened the red of the mixture (bottom right).

While the sauce waited during a work event, the meat rested, leaving it plenty cool to slice. I pulled out all of the meat first (top left), so I could scoop some broth for the sauce and store the rest for future recipes. A knife was on hand, but really the meat was so tender that I could just pull it apart (top right). The bones from the ribs had fallen off long before, so I just strained them out of the leftover stock. A cup (more like a cup and a half) of it went into the sauce, then the sauce and meat went back into the crockpot  to simmer (bottom).

Actually, I was supposed to strain the sauce before putting it into the meat, but I forgot, and to be honest, the sauce was so thick that it seemed a shame to waste so much flavor. Possibly, the pepper skins made the mixture more bitter, but the only really noticeable effect was the occasional surprise bite into a peppercorn. TJ set up a complete condiment station of hot sauces, onions, cabbage, limes radishes, and cilantro (left). Still, I stuck to a common construction with dollops of meat on tortillas, topped with only onion, cilantro, and a squirt of lime.

I have to agree with TJ's assessment that it wasn't the greatest taco we've ever had. But, he admitted, it seemed like real birria, which both of us find somewhat bland (particularly TJ, who uses hot sauce like ketchup). For the leftovers, we plan to drop a good dose of seasoned salt into the meat, in the hopes that it will better suit our sodium-addicted American palates. We have some dignity, though, in that, no matter what, the tacos will not be smothered in shredded cheese.

Our communities have all benefited from the contributions craft brewers have made (152 Cong. Rec. E1088)

Usually, if there is a turf war over drugs, it leads to violence. But apparently, if there is a turf war over alcohol, it leads to parties. Recently, in Tijuana, there was not one, but two, beer festivals in a single weekend. I can't be sure why the organizers would plan their events at competing times (especially right before -- instead of after -- the city's annual marathon), but if you need a narrative, I will suggest that the Cerveza Tijuana, which along with Stone Brewing sponsored one of the festivals, had a falling out with the Asociación de Cerveceros Artesanales de Baja California, the sponsor of the other festival, about how many swear words the entertainment should use.

A significant number of curses poured out of Hollywood Roses, a tribute band to Guns N Roses (left), as the beer flowed at TJ Beer Fest, held in the parking lot of Caliente Casino (right). The mostly-Mexican attendees didn't seem to mind, though, perhaps because the band's banter was entirely in English -- and entirely annoying (incidentally, most of their songs were, too).

 

It was worth bearing the brunt of the bad music because this festival was the better deal. Admission was $10, which included tickets for three samples. Then you could buy more samples for a little less than a dollar, or full pours for $3-$4, depending on the brewer. TJ even got a deal at Cervecería Legion; for just a couple bucks more, the brewery threw in a pint glass with its logo (top left). Some of the other beers on hand were sponsor Cerveza Tijuana, of course (top right); Cerveza Agua Caliente; Cerveza Cucapá; Cerveza Patricia; and Cerveza Mexicali (bottom).

 

Most of the brews we tried for the first time were pretty mediocre, possibly because they got a little skunked sitting out on the sun-soaked pavement all day. From the comments of our fellow suds-sippers, the winner seemed to be Baja Brewing Company, whose Cactus Wheat, which I sampled in Cabo, got good reviews. But in my opinion, the best free sample was the mechanical bull, obviously the most appropriate activity for beer drinkers. I managed to fly off just before the operators shut down the ride for the night.

 

Upon arriving at the Baja Beer Fest, held on Avenida Revolución, I immediately noted that it did not have a mechanical bull. It also did not include any free samples with its $6 admission fee (otherwise, the prices for 4-ouncers and pints were about the same). But what it lacked in activities and cost-effectiveness, it made up for in atmosphere. Smack dab in the middle of downtown, it provided vistas of city's landmarks: the fountain in front of the Jai Alai Palace (top left), the extra-large Mexican flag (top right), and the Welcome to Tijuana arch (bottom).

The lack of a mechanical bull might be because this festival was geared toward a different crowd (i.e. one that includes gringos like myself). Possibly because it was the middle of the day, there were far more families and friends just relaxing and sitting at tables (left) instead of hanging on each other in an attempt to remain standing. But there were some similarities; I did hear the entertainment (right) use the F-word at least once, for example. 

But no doubt, there were differences in the food. As opposed to the bratwurst, which I highly suspect were probably chorizo, at the previous festival, downtown drew some more gourmet establishments, including Don Diego (left), whose choripan and empanadas convinced me I should track down its non-tent location. The quality was so high that TJ didn't even think twice about shooting an oyster from a street vendor (right).

 

Like the food, the beer was better. Many of the Tijuana operations -- including Cervecería Monastika, Silenus Cerveza, and Cervecería Rámuri were much more well-established than the small home brewers at the first festival. And many participants were from farther afield. Old Mission Brewery and Cervecería Marinera came up from Ensenada, as did Blondyes Home Brew, whose offering would pretty much be good only for the beer pong tournament it was advertising. The clear winner here was local favorite Cervecería Insurgentes, whose owl logos will soon be found at Baja Craft Beers Tasting Room, which opens July 27 at Orizaba 3003-E5 (two streets west of Sonora for you Tijuanenses).

So perhaps some other men's beer brawl was our boon. Or perhaps, Tijuana just likes to party. Merely one weekend later, the same casino parking lot was the site of the first-ever Festival de la Brasa, la Cerveza, and el Vino, where not one, but two, types of alcohol would be served up with grilled treats from 16 area restaurants.

I get to eat Thai food and ... Latina and Latino food (147 Cong. Rec. S3070)

Okay, I admit it; I've been slacking on the experimental cooking front. So with a few more weeks off from teaching after my out-of-town work trip, I figured I better get back on the foreign-recipe horse before I lost my motivation to ride. TJ had picked up some great pork loin, and we had leftover shrimp, so I immediately thought of Pad Thai. Clearly, I am out of epicurean practice because I forgot to reserve some of the pork TJ grilled for my noodle dish. So the day of my culinary comeback, I stopped by the store to pick up some boneless pork chops.

The relatively simple recipe required a few other prepwork tasks. First, I had to soak the flat rice noodles, which were surprisingly difficult to find; I could've ventured to an Asian market, I guess, but I was too lazy, which meant that I also had to make my own "preserved radish" by cutting one up and letting it marinate for a day in some salt and vinegar (left). Incidentally, after I went to all that trouble, the instructions never said what to do with the preserved radish (I added it to the wok with the Pad Thai sauce). And I could've used the electric coffee grinder to chop up the peanuts, but after it turned the almonds I inserted into paste last time, I opted for a non-electric hammer instead, to ensure I wouldn't end up with peanut butter (right).

Shopping at a Latino supermarket actually helped with some supplies. Tamarind juice would've been impossible to procure, and although the recipe explains how to make your own, you would still have to track down tamarind paste to do it. Instead, I picked up a bottle of Jarritos tamarind soda, which is as ubiquitous as Coca-Cola in Mexico (left). In another stroke of luck, piloncillo, a form of hard-packed palm sugar, is a staple in the Mexican produce aisle. The "little pilon" I picked up was just less than the amount called for by the recipe (right); I figured the sugar in the soda would make up for the rest.

The most time-consuming part of this meal is the sauce. The ingredients aren't complicated, but you have to stir pretty consistently for an hour as the salt and sugar slowly dissolve into the liquids -- reduced tamarind soda, water, and fish sauce (top) -- then make sure the mixture doesn't overboil and become too hard. I cooked the sauce for the full 60 minutes, until I got a stiff roll that resulted in a solid thread from the spoon (bottom). This was too much heat, as the sauce nearly became the consistency of Bit-o-Honey. Because of this, I used four instead of five tablespoons of sauce for the noodles, and I had to reconstitute the rest with water before I stored it, lest I end up with Pad Thai popsicles.

The time it takes to stir-fry the noodles is inversely related to the time it takes to make the sauce, so I assembled my ingredients in order (top), fully ready to wok and roll (yea, I used that pun; you gotta problem with it?). First, a little oil is used to sizzle up garlic, pork, and shrimp (bottom left), then you remove the shrimp before you put in the noodles and sauce (and the preserved radish, in my case). The noodles only need to be tossed with the sauce for a few seconds before you add the shrimp back in and create a bird's nest in which you can fry the eggs (bottom right).

The last step is to stir in the egg, along with the peanuts, green onions and bean sprouts (left). It's been a long time since I ate professionally made Pad Thai, but mine seemed soupier than what I've had before. Maybe I didn't let the egg fry enough? Or even four tablespoons of the sauce were too much? Nonetheless, it tasted delicious, especially when served with a squirt of lime and eaten with our direly underutilized chopsticks.

Of course, the rich flavor should be no surprise, considering the amount of sugar in the sauce. Did you see the size of that piloncillo? But I comforted myself by noting that the proportion of noodles to bean sprouts was nearly equal, clearly proving that this is a healthy, vegetable-heavy dinner.

Street vendors who do not create a public nuisance (26USC1400E)

I've been in Mexico for almost a year, and yet, I have written very little about cultural differences, as I normally tend to discuss in my blogs. Part of the lack of the observations comes from the fact that Tijuana, being on the border, is quite Americanized. I actually get to speak Spanish a lot, but many Tijuanenses are happy to switch to English when you are struggling linguistically, as I discovered when we had issues with our Internet service. After I spent a grueling 15 minutes talking my way around computer terms I didn't know in order to explain the problem to a technician, he looked me dead in the eye and asked, in accent-free English: "So your computer recognizes the network but won't connect?" Consequently, I still don't know the Spanish word for modem.

Another reason for the dearth of personal insights is that it's only fun if the cultural nuances are worth complaining about, and generally, they're not. Driving in Mexico is drastically different than in the States; in fact, I have to remind myself once I cross the border that I'm "California drivin'." But frankly, I like the way Mexicans drive, and I say that even after being in a fender-bender. Their roadway motto could be: Go, as long as you aren't going to hit anybody or anything. Stop lights and signs are merely suggestions, blown at will when no one else is in the area. Lanes switch between turn and straight depending on the needs of traffic. The only exception is their ability to merge. In low-speed situations, there's no problem -- drivers graciously let other nose in -- but when it comes to the highway, there is no concept of matching the flow of traffic -- they will turn in without adequate space to get up to speed or, even worse, flat-out refuse to accelerate even though cars are barreling down on them.

But to be honest, what is most interesting about operating a motor vehicle in Mexico isn't the other drivers, but the other people on or in the roads. I'm sure most people know that while waiting in the border line, you can buy just about anything from your car window: coffee, clamatos, churros, burritos, tamales, tortas, and respadas. You can even call and place an order for duty-free liquor, cigarettes, and perfume. Of course, the the local "products" are more interesting purchases; frequently seen items include Mexican flags, Xolo jersies, and Last Supper paintings.

But street-side vendors can be found at every mass of cars in the city, not just in the border line. At any given intersection, a woman with a baby strapped to her chest weaves between bumpers to peddle magazines, Trident, and candy. Another crossroads staple is the local produce of the season, including nopal, strawberries, and tangerines. By far, though, the salespeople that most catch my eye are the ones on "puppy row," which springs up on Sundays in whelping season along one of the main roads to our neighborhood. The only way I can resist their pitiful pitches is to avoid eye contact.

Others pound the pavement offering services instead of goods. When puppy row isn't in full swing, the street is lined with makeshift signs advertising all manner of handymen, from electricians to plumbers, willing to follow you to your breaking-down house. Other entrepreneurs know that cars are like home to some people, so hoards of men show up with smudged cloths hoping to wipe the dirt off windshields (or spread it around, at least). But the prize for calle capitalismo goes to the agents at the border who can sell you car insurance and even print out your policy car-side right before you enter the States.

Some services target a less results-oriented consumer. The boulevard buskers comprise diverse nationalities and talents. Backpacking youths from the States and Europe perform dance routines by twirling balls and tossing hoops that go well with their dusty dreads and baggy pants. Hopeful migrants from Central America inexpertly juggle tennis balls and blow fire, to the point that you want to pay them to stop. But the ultimate busker has become a local, if he wasn't to begin with, considering how long he has been known around town. The word on the street, literally, is that he's been busting a move as Michael Jackson, complete with the signature sparkly glove and smooth moonwalk, at the same streetlight for years.

The people who seem to get passed the most pesos, though, are the charity cases. The Mexican equivalents of the Salvation Army (Ejército de Salvación) and Red Cross (Cruz Roja) seem to have the same collectors posted at the border every day. Among the other frontera regulars are amputees and cancer patients, one of whom wears a mask to accentuate the pathos appeal and brings her daughters to maximize the market saturation. But my favorite street-corner charity is the animal-welfare organization that occasionally sets up a drive-up rabies-vaccination clinic near our house.

Some companies can't really get feet on the street so they plaster the thoroughfares with billboards. This type of publicity is no surprise, of course, but sometimes it's shocking which celebrities they manage to convince to endorse their businesses. Did you know that Elisha Cuthbert (top left), who played the daughter of Kiefer Sutherland in 24 and went on to star in The Girl Next Door, supports one of the strip clubs on Avenida Revolución? In a huge stretch of suspension of disbelief, Kim Kardashian (top right), self-promoter extraordinaire, really wants you to attend a local university. But for an Ohio native like myself, the best testimonial comes from LeBron James (bottom), shown supporting a sporting-goods store -- in complete Cleveland Cavaliers gear.

 

Apparently, Mexicans don't hold any grudges about him jumping ship to Miami. So maybe there is a cultural difference I can complain about, huh?

Imperial, Coachella, and Mexicali Valleys into the Salton Sea (25USC1778)

Typically, something during our travels guides me toward a theme for each of our trips, but for our Memorial Day weekend, I am at a loss. The best I can think of -- and it's a definite stretch -- is hot and cold. After I weaseled my way out of riding the motorcycle the four hours to Salton Sea State Recreation Area, just south of the more popular Joshua Tree National Park, I tried to make up for it by planning to drive, in the car, to Mecca Beach to camp in the desert heat for the weekend. 

But despite some temperatures pushing the 100s, it was a pretty chill weekend. Our first full day, we started off staying cool with some famous date shakes from Oasis Date Gardens, in the Coachella Valley (left). Even Sage got in a few licks of what was basically date paste mixed with vanilla ice cream (right).

Since we were so close, we decided to beat the heat by driving up to Palm Springs through its suburbs (Palm Desert, Rancho Mirage, and Cathedral City). We had the dog with us, so we didn't get out and look around too much, but from what we could see in our drive-by, it wasn't our scene. Instead, we headed back to the West Shores of the Salton Sea. We stopped at Johnson's Landing in Salton City for a cold beer (left) and a hot walk along the shore (right).

In nearby Desert Shores, which TJ declared prime real estate for novel-writing seclusion, we picked up some dinner supplies at a little Latino market. We got back to camp just in time to walk along the beach before sunset. Well, "beach" might be too strong of a word. I expected the shoreline to be sharp because of dried salt, but I hadn't counted on a beach made of fish skeletons (left). Apparently, so many fish die that the Salton Sea Authority organizes regular shore clean-ups to clear away rotting flesh. Even the lingering smell of fish wasn't enough to make Sage want to stick around on the sharp "sand" too long (right).

But apparently, the crumbling carcasses didn't bother a lot of people. There were a couple fishermen casting from the coast (left), and we saw at least one guy take his pole out in a raft. Judging by the activity at the fish-cleaning sinks later in the evening, I'd guess they had some success. But for us, we forgot the pisces graveyard we were sitting on as we watched the hot sun go down (right), leaving a cool evening perfect for al-fresco dining.

Poleless, we didn't catch any fish to cook over the grill, but we had brought a good steak, and TJ picked up fajita chicken and shrimp cocktail at the market. I mixed up some guacamole, while TJ tended to grilling onions, steak, and chicken (left). With all the meat and veggies cooked, I constructed most of them into quesadillas, which TJ toasted over the fire. We had a full spread for dinner (right) with plenty of fixings left over for breakfast quesadillas and bean and meat burritos the next night.

The next day, we truly dove into the heat as we headed to the Imperial Sand Dunes Recreation Area, which were pretty impressive at least in terms of providing a sandy vista of crops burning in the Imperial Valley (left) and of macho men revving buggies. In cooler seasons, we might have visited the wilderness area, designated just for hiking, without the noise and exhaust of OHVs. Then we drove west to check out the northern part of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, which we didn't get a chance to see when we camped at Agua Caliente County Park in the southern part of the desert. Within an unprotected pocket in the middle of the park lies Borrego Springs, kind of a poor man's Palm Springs; in other words, another town right up our alley. One of the small community's main attractions is Galleta Meadows Estate, huge swaths of land where owner Dennis Avery has contracted sculptor Ricardo Breceda to build larger-than-life creatures, from prehistoric to modern, from imaginary to historical. My favorite among the 129 pieces was the Chinese sea serpent curving in and out of the desert (right).

After a large loop of driving, we got back in time for TJ to do a short run around the campground (while I did Sudoku at the campsite) before another brilliant sunset (top), which started out with the warm tones of yellow and orange (bottom left) before slowly fading to the cooler shades of pink and blue (bottom right).

Luckily, the hottest day of the weekend was the final one, when we would be mostly on the road back to Tijuana. On our way, we stopped at the Sonny Bono Salton Sea National Wildlife Refuge (left) before we headed due south to Mexicali, where we crossed into Mexico. On the highway west to Tijuana, we passed another salt lake, Laguna Salada, which is now mainly a dry bed (right), the likes of which the Salton Sea community is trying to prevent. 

To get out of the sweltry desert, we had to follow La Rumorosa, a section of highway famed for its dangerous curves. It didn't seem all that scary to me, except for the propensity of Mexican drivers, who tend to maintain shorter following distances and higher passing speeds than I would prefer. At the top of the winding road, you reach the city of La Rumorosa, which actually can be snowy during the winter months. From there, it was a short and fast trip down to Tijuana, where it was almost as hot as our first day in the desert. Since we had no date shakes on hand to cool us off, we settled for a different frosty beverage instead.