On Food July 20, 2023
“Oaxaca cheese is tasteless, it feels like ‘rubba,’” says Brid, my Australian neighbor. Kangaroo man has a point. This cultured dairy blob, the pride of Oaxaqueños, possesses the fibrous density of American string cheese, or maybe a less creamy mozzarella, but, unlike the latter, it does not seem to melt appreciably or otherwise integrate in cheesy dishes. It forever keeps its knotty, chewy, tasteless texture. “Like rubba.”
Atop popular street foods like Memelas, the beloved Oaxaca cheese is referred to as Quesillo. This is not to be confused with the coarse, crumbly “Blanco” cheese, which is ubiquitous throughout Mexico, and which is simply referred to as Queso. “Blanco” is best spread over frijoles, which happens to be the primary topping of memelas. So when ordering a memelita, 20 pesos, I am always careful to request Queso, never Quesillo, as Quesillo ruins a memelita in the same way that the equally dense and stringy Oaxaqueño chicken do. I have no idea why such fibers are so desirable unless diners are trying to combine eating with flossing.
The truth, of course, is that Oaxaqueños have little money, so cheap local ingredients are favored. In a semi-arid alkaline landscape of limited resources, local poultry and meats, and the dairy products they produce, all suffer; the only available fresh pepper is the caustic Chile de Agua; fruit and basic greens wilt by the time they make their way from the lower altitudes; and, never forget, insects are widely used in salsas, moles, and more. It is a land of relative scarcity. The people make do with less, which is a wonderful thing—except outsiders are left with less. It is my own fault, although, at a certain age, I must report the capacity to adapt to new conditions perhaps calcifies.
All of this is to say that the hype surrounding OaxaCuisine is rather overblown. This is something my son Oli pointed out to me over a year ago. The tortillas, for instance, called Blandas, may be slightly larger than typical tortillas, but they are vastly tougher to chew, almost like leather, and they must be re-heated to even become digestible. This would seem to be a major flaw in a fundamental food delivery vehicle. I may be exaggerating, but I do miss soft corn tortillas.
And yet the hype continues to grow throughout the world. Indeed, next to the classic architecture and rich indigenous traditions, food is the number one draw to Oaxaca. And the tourists do find it here and love it. This is because an entire promotional industry has developed which invites chefs from Mexico City, Guadalajara, Buenos Aires, and Los Angeles to come to high-end restaurants, like Casa de Oaxaca (one my favorites), where they create fusion delicacies based loosely around traditional models. Aggressive advertising created the demand, which attracted the talent to fulfill the promise. Everyone wins.
For breakfast, a marvelous high end meal can be found at the Catedral Restaurant, featuring in-house dark moles and gourmet tamales as moist and light as a baked-stuffed potato. But who wants to wait in line for a 120-pesos tamal? Claro que no. Rather, most of us find one of the local cafes where entire breakfasts and coffee go for under 100 pesos. These feature bizarre egg dishes in broth, chilaquiles, chicharron and nopales, dry tamales in cheap mole negro, memelitas, and, of course, frijoles.
Oaxaca frijoles are made of medium-dark bean and cooked with epazote, a beloved plant in the region, with a bitterness that tastes less like cilantro than like nightshade. I try to avoid the plant. Tejate—a corn-based beverage with cacao and ground mamey seed—is what the Zapotec and Aztec called “the drink of the gods.” If so, the gods did not have much to work with. The optimal word may be chocolate, but only because the sweet drink has the consistency of colloidal “choc” (chalk). Cafe de Olla, or “coffee in a pot,” is a weak brew flavored with cinnamon and too much sugar, but locals drink it up. It reminds me of camp coffee, in which, grounds are simply thrown into a boiling pot of water and allowed to settle. Cups always come with endless free refills. Cinnamon is a must.
Lunch occurs after one and continues throughout the afternoon. It is frequently the big meal of the day downtown. The smokehouse stalls at Mercado 20 de Noviembre prepare grilled seasoned flat meats for pizza-sized Tlayudas, folded in half and seared until the Quesillo finally almost starts to melt. American-Style hamburgers can be found at Quinques, with homemade ketchup and mayonnaise, but most us settle for the 40-pesos Mexican hamburgers, sold on street corners, with grilled Cebolla, too many jalapeños, baloney, and a beef patty as thin as a Blanda tortilla. Most problematic is the bun, which, alas, is made in Mexico. The dough, or Masa, is of such a strange consistency everywhere (some trace the flaw to the Mexican wheat flour, others to the lard used) that all products, from sweet pastries to breads to hamburger buns, are dry and crumbly. Moreover, in the presence of any fluid, decomposition begins, as the bun instantly dissolves in your hand. In short, these burgers, like tacos, are designed to be consumed immediately and in just 1-2 bites, copious jalapeños and carboniferous air be damned.
No critical review of OaxacCuisine would be complete without acknowledging perhaps the biggest 3 draws in the ubiquitous promotional literature—Chapulines, Mescal (neither of which I shall do), and the Seven Moles. The moles, I must report, are somewhat interesting, but given the same flavor-colors I have sampled in Cuernavaca and elsewhere, they are a bit underwhelming: a Verde without the requisite squash seeds or pistachios, a Negro that is too sweet and chocolatey, a Rosa without piñon nuts, a Yellow without flavor or substance. The Coloradito stands out for its chile selections, and the Rojo for its tomato zest and guajillo, but the overall selection underwhelms, and most family recipes in the city seemed to vary, based largely on the struggle to find affordable ingredients. So I decide to finally settle on Coloradito as my favorite. Muddy red like the mesozoic river itself, and versatile to boot, it draws me like no other.