A few years ago, I realized that my deep love for Mexican food was underserved by my rather shallow understanding of it. That is, I grew up eating Mexican food in Los Angeles, and that food was a certain style tailored to the pallid tastes of the non-Mexican Los Angeleno, even ones who sought out good Mexican restaurants as my family did. For instance, cilantro didn't enter my world until I discovered it in the salsa of the first upscale Mexican chain restaurant to blanket the area, one called El Torito. Pico de Gallo was also an El Torito discovery. And Carnitas.
El Torito eventually brought blue corn and the fresher flavors of the Southwest in an iteration called El Torito Grill. And briefly, they toyed with a very high end concept in Costa Mesa called Copa D'Oro. The food was incredible and so was the bar scene--it was the best pick-up joint in Orange County. I would know, I was single at the time. But other than those experiences and some at Santa Fe's higher end Southwestern style Mexican, all of which had temporary influences on my cooking at home, for the most part I have remained in the culinary equivalent of a suburban cul-de-sac because Mexican remains, for me, comfort food. And I have been cooking the Mexican food of my childhood, without recipes, all my life. But it's east Los Angeles Mexican based on standard, inexpensive ingredients. But not necessarily true Mexican.
While staying with a friend not long ago I picked up her copy of a book called Truly Mexican by one Roberto Santibañez who apparently has three New York restaurants called Fonda. I opened the book to a recipe and picture of meat braised in a bright red adobo. I hate to admit that until I picked up this book I didn't understand this definition of adobo--a sauce made from dried chiles, water, vinegar and garlic. Maybe other things too, but taking Roberto's recipes literally, this at it's most basic is an adobo. The word adobo to me has always been a Filipino dish or the word on canned chipotles, which I don't use. The only things
these have in common are the Spanish language and a vinegar component.
I ordered the book. (While I was at it I also ordered a couple Rick Bayless books, but I have yet to get into those.) This book is changing how I think about Mexican food because it's not just recipes to create this taco or that enchilada, but it's more fundamentally about the sauces and salsas (I realize that 'salsa' is Spanish for sauce, but I'm differentiating based on practical culinary use) that make Mexican food tick. Things you can braise in--definitely not the Mexican food I grew up with. And besides the recipes there are a lot of words, the stuff that explains not just what, but why. It's an excellent read. There's also an eye-opening chapter on guacamoles, which reflects some of the creative things Roberto's restaurants do with avocado (how about avocado topped with crumbled blue cheese and chopped smoked almonds?)
Anyway, yesterday, while nursing a hangover and desperate to feel useful, as well as come up with a meal plan for tonight, I got out Roberto's book and stared toasting dried chiles. Fortunately, I got cocky and didn't double check the vinegar for the first batch. I actually thought it said 1/2 a cup and thought that sounded like way too much, so I prudently added only about a quarter of a cup. Well, turns out he only called for 1 1/2 teaspoons. So I then made a second larger batch to blend with the first which is still more vinegary than he intended, but I like it, and I now had 1 1/2 quarts of adobo.
While pondering what to do with all this, I rummaged the fridge for thoughts about what I had on hand that might be useful in tonight's meal and discovered a baggie of fresh tomatillos. I bought them so long ago I can't recall now what I intended to do with them, but it sent me back to Roberto's book and a recipe I'd seen for a sauce featuring both tomatillos and red chiles. So I blackened the tomatillos and roasted them until soft, then put them in the blender with a pint of the adobo, six additional garlic cloves, and two big chipotles (not the canned stuff, the big brown dried/smoked ones you can buy in a Mexican market), and whizzed that into the most intoxicating salsa I may have ever tasted.
I'm hardly someone tied to convention, but without this book it would never, ever have occurred to me to put green tomatillos and red chiles together in the same sauce. I'm changing tonight's dinner plan just to be able to feature it.
Anyway, I'm just in love with this book. High recommended!
Tongue firmly in cheek. But had to import some of the ingredients and then make friends with a local grocer to find chilis that seemed to line up.