Our Wedding Anniversary

Esperando was out of town in Washington, D.C. on our wedding anniversary. Bummer! And that was the day I thought I had discovered that I had—worms! The thought that my body might be infested with an alien life form was almost more than I could handle. It made my skin crawl. I told Esperando on the phone that I didn't want to live here anymore. I made a doctor’s appointment for 11:30 am and sat in his office waiting until 1:00 pm for him to arrive. I stifled the urge to cry.

Street food vendors are always suspect

One of the hazards of living south of the border, or anywhere where the food or water can be suspect, is parasites. To avoid this problem, one is encouraged to soak any raw vegetables in a microbial water solution, don’t eat street food, drink only purified water, wash your hands after going to the bathroom and before eating, etc. Which of these I failed to do properly is hard to say, except that I did eat sushi made from yellowtail that was freshly caught here in the Sea of Cortez by The Cowboy several months ago. At the time it was delicious, but afterwards I read you could get roundworms from ocean fish and you wouldn’t be able to see them in their flesh.    

Ascaris--it said that an adult female may measure 35 centimeters

 in length and lays up to 200,000 eggs per day.

The doctor finally arrived, ushered me into his office and asked what was wrong. “I think I have gusanos,” I said. “No, here we call them ascaris,” he said. That he seemed inclined to agree with my diagnosis and confirm my worse fears was devastating. After checking me over he said that my intestines were inflamed and that I needed to follow a bland diet he gave me: lean meat, eggs, no pork (but ham was ok), white bread, plain pasta, clear fruit juices, no sodas, fruit purees and cooked vegetables, none of it with any salt, pepper or any kind of seasoning at all. Ghack! Then I was to take a poop sample each day to the laboratory for testing, because I might have more than one kind of worm. Double ghack! He told me to come back on Monday at 11:30 am and we would figure out what I needed to do next.

Stargazer Lily carries a heavy perfume but are poisonous

to humans and cats if ingested. Who woulda thunk it?

I drug myself home. When I walked in the door there was a big bouquet of pink roses and Stargazer lilies sitting on the dining table. Those were in my wedding bouquet. The room smelled wonderful from the lilies. But I was so stunned that all I could do was wallowed in self pity. I looked up ascaris on the internet and found out it comes with living in unsanitary conditions and having poor hygiene. That made me feel like I was the scum of the earth.  Then I saw a photo of a young African boy with worms coming out of his nose and mouth. That made me gag. I decided after reading over the symptoms that I had had worms for a really long time, like maybe ever since we moved down here. (Did I mention I have hypocondria in my genes?)

For the next several days I dutifully followed the diet and took my samples to the laboratory. The diet was extremely dull and I didn't even lose any weight, but in the next few days I began to feel better. Then yesterday, Monday, I went to the lab with my last specimen and told them I had a doctor’s appointment at 11:30, since they normally don’t have results until 1 pm. I didn’t know how they would handle that. They said, come back at 11:00 and we will have your results to take to the doctor. Sure enough at appointed hour I showed up and they folded up a little piece of white paper and stuck it in an envelope for me to take to the doctor. Unlike the U.S. I was to carry the report to the doctor, and unlike the U.S. the envelope was not sealed. When I got outside the clinic I opened the envelope. It said:

1– negativo
2– giardia lamblia
3– giardia lamblia

Giardia lamblia-If the organism is split and stained, it
has a very characteristic pattern that resembles a
familiar "smiley face" symbol. Is that a peculiar or what?

Aha! I did have a parasite, but it was not worms! It wasn’t a serious parasite. I’ve had it twice before when I was out of the country. It made me feel sick then too. It comes from bad water. We don’t have bad water in the guesthouse, nor in Casa Abeja as we have filters to treat the water in those places and we drink bottled water. Our ice is also made from bottled water. I must have gotten it sometime somewhere when we went out to eat. Maybe ice cubes—who knows? At 11:30 am I trotted over to the doctor’s office. This time the office was crowded with patients. Bad sign, now I would be waiting forever. The receptionist said, “What are you doing here?” “Well the doctor told me to come on Monday at 11:30.” “I don’t have you down,” she said, “He never told me. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Today I went back. The waiting room was even more crowded. It appeared all these people had been waiting a long time as one woman got up and left and told the receptionist she would call to make an appointment. The doctor arrived and the whole group raced into his office. The receptionist called out to them, "no wait the Señora here has an appointment." Ah, all these people were waiting without an appointment but me. It didn’t much seem to matter because they went in and I was left out in the cold. After about 20 minutes they all came out (it seems it was one large family) and I finally got to see the doctor. He said you have a protozoa, not worms. He gave me a precription and said I would have to be retested in 15 days. He told me it was a hard parasite to get rid. Great, but I’d still rather have that than worms.

I hestitated to write this blog about such an indelicate subject, but Esperando said I should. He said this is part of life down here and you should tell people. If you don’t live here and just visit as a tourist you are far less likely to contract these weird things. It’s the daily grind that gets you.

How I spent my Easter Vacation

Esperando and I just got back from a 4-day fling to celebrate Semana Santa. This holiday is to Mexicans here in Baja what the 4th of July is like for USA folk: a holiday with beaches and partying, it's a true spring break. The Mexicans crowd the beaches to camp and just before they arrive all the remaining gringo snowbirds in trailers flee. We crammed in as much as we could in four days. First we drove to Playa Santa Inez to see how our favorite beach fared. It was still mostly empty. Where our truck was parked a lot of big ugly beetles had aggregated to feed and mate. They were scary looking even though they showed no interest in us. I never could find them on the internet.

These ugly beetles were about an inch long with red heads.

We continued on to La Serenidad Hotel in Mulege because we wanted to eat dinner again at Ray’s Place; it is always so welcoming and magical. After another swell dinner we drove back to our hotel. It was vastly under occupied with about five big Mexican families and just us. The children were relatively well behaved and it was very quiet at night. We were pleasantly surprised as we expected loud partying late into the wee hours.

The whole scene changed when we drove into Loreto for a 3-day stay at the Inn at Loreto Bay. Although the hotel wasn’t full, one entire wing of at least 100 rooms was occupied. We were probably one of about two other gringos couples staying there. We went into town that evening to eat at Mediterraneo. The town was alive. All the locals that weren’t tailgating on the main drag were cruising in their vehicles, mostly with beer. Our waiters watched all the action from the second floor balcony.

Back at the hotel we quickly discovered that our room was badly situated. It was under a Jacuzzi and a passel of children who ran it at warp drive and dragged the patio furniture around making loud scraping noises on the ceiling continuously. Outside the teenagers were cruising around in the golf carts and playing bumper cars with them. The grownups were in full party mode by the pool. It was very noisy. When the noise finally died down at 1 pm and peace reigned, I thought they would sleep until noon and we will be able to get some rest.

I don’t know what possessed the restaurant staff to start playing loud rap music the next morning at 6 am; it was totally uncalled for. Of course it got just us gringos out of bed as teenagers, children and party animals can sleep through any kind of noise. Esperando went to the front desk to organize a golf cart to move the scuba gear from the parking lot to the beach for a dive, but was told they were only available for golfers. We commented on the children we had seen driving them the previous day and were told that would not happen again. They would be happy, they said, to drive the scuba equipment to the beach for us. The murky water from the high wind the previous day put Esperando and Flaming Mike off the dive until the next morning. In the meantime a large aggressive looking black dog I will call Devil Dog raced around the beach going from palapa to palapa. When he approached our palapa, Dash acted like he wanted to tear his throat out.

This little boy in oversized shoes wandered into a group of people and took their towels away. No one stopped him.

We were able to change rooms to something more quiet. That night we went out to eat in town at the restaurant 1695 (so named for the arrival of the first missionaries to Loreto). Their food is excellent. We hadn’t intended to spend so long at dinner, but we were having such a good time that we shut the restaurant down. When we entered our new room at Inn at Loreto Bay, we discovered one of the dogs had torn a gaping hole in the sheer drape. Now that we were on the ground floor they could see everything through the sliding glass doors. Our guess was another dog or person got them excited. Surprisingly it was extremely quiet all night, we hadn’t realized that so many of the party goers would be leaving during the day.

Is this the beginning of curtain demolition?

The next morning Esperando took the dogs out and Devil Dog showed up again. It turned out yesterday’s doggie disagreement meant nothing now because all the dogs liked one another. When we took our morning walk Devil Dog reappeared and Dash ran off with him. Another large dog joined them and little Lupita started jumping on my legs to be lifted to get away from them. After that the big dogs began to rough house and she got bowled over a few times, then tried to bite one on the nose repeatedly but with no effect. I finally took pity on her and started to carry her. Devil Dog and Dash were inseparable. But when they started mounting each other trying to establish who was dominant, we decided Devil Dog needed to go elsewhere and Esperando drove him off by throwing rocks. Now Lupita was horrified by even small dogs that approached us on the beach.

Devil Dog - coming and going, just plain trouble

By the time we got back to the palapas it was time for the dive. Esperando and Flaming Mike struggled into their dive suits like a couple of seals trying to put on their skins. Then they waded off into the calm water and disappeared. When they finally surfaced an hour later neither of them thought was the dive too exciting. Because the time had changed to daylight savings that day (we are still on the old U.S. daylight savings time here), it was now time to check out. We went to our room and gathered up all our belongings to hit the highway home. The dogs were completely worn out from their beach frolics and slept all the way home. The torn curtain added another $30 to the bill, but it was worth it.

Wherein Winnie gets Found by Lost Friends

Frida watching Winnie search for visitors. 'Don't you love me anymore?' she wonders.

Sour Pickle has been screaming his lungs out for the last four days, “MRAO, Mrao, MRAO, MraO, MRAO, Mrao-OOWW,” in a very loud strident wail that means ‘I-am-bored; this-place-is-too-small; I-miss-my-old-house; where-are-my-friends?’

I have been trying to move the feral cats over here to eat and have been slowly moving their feeding place closer and closer to Casa Abeja so that now they are only separated by a block wall. Yesterday while Winnie was screaming around, Carmen heard his wails from outside and discovered him sitting at the back door of the house—with only a screen door separating them. Immediately his wailing moderated. He was overjoyed to see her and they spoke in soft endearing murmurs. The conversation went something like this:

Carmen: “Hey handsom, where you ben? You nefer in the weendow at the White House anymore.”

Winnie: “Yas, terribly so. We moved up here last week. Originally, I liked it rather because it was new and different, but now it seems a trifle small and I am sooo bored. Almost no one gives me the proper adulation. It’s only Mother and Father here. Father’s at work most of the time and Mother’s too busy playing boring computer games and making curtains. Where have you been? ”

Carmen: “I weent to London to see the Queen! Ha, ha, not rally. Well, no one tol me you hat moved. I ‘spose now that you’re leeving in an antique house you’ll be putting on airs seence I only leeve under a trailer with mi mama.”

Winnie: “Tut, tut. Don’t you know I have such strong feelings for you? You have the most beautiful eyes. No really. Have you seen our new dog, the small one? She chases me all over the house. When I get really bored I go and bait her, then beat her up. It’s rather entertaining. We race around the house together.”

Carmen: “Yes I deed see her out in ze backyard once early in the morning. I wasn’ sure but what she was a raton, she ez so leetle. I hid in ze bushes and watch her, she was right uner my nose and deedn’t even know I was zere.”

Carmen and Mrs. Moustache inspect the block fence going up between us and the abandoned house next door.

Winnie: “Are you liking it since Mother threw you outside?”

Carmen: “Et’s ze high life! I get fed twice a day. I can go wherever I wan to when I wan. And I gets to catch and eat birds and mice as well. They have these great round tubes they put up for ze little birds and it makes it rally easy to catch them. Rally I wouldn’t trade for where you are for the worl. Latly my skin itches alot though. ”

Winnie: “Ah--you've caught a hopping case of the fleas, poor gel! Ha, ha. I do rather wish I could go outside, but Mother doesn’t want me to get in fights —or to get run over, she probably wouldn't approve of fleas. She says the vet here is wretched.”

Carmen: “Well, you rally stuck then. I get mi mama to come up later for a veesit.”

By that afternoon Mrs. Moustache and Carmen were sunning in our backyard on the bricks for the construction of a new fence. Last night they were there too. Pretty soon I will be able to feed them over here. That clever Winnie—he really knows how to sweet talk the 'gels'.

Mrs. Moustache peering out at me from a ditch

La Duena de la Casa Learns More Spanish

Today I went to Marla’s, the fabric/craft/hobby store in Santa Rosalia. It is small, but surprisingly well stocked and would be our version of New York Fabrics. This is where I buy Styrofoam balls to make into ornaments covered with shells, seeds and beans. My friend Don Diego’s mother taught me how to make these last year and she told me to go there for my supplies. For such a small town, I never would have suspected that Santa Rosalia could have such a fine store.

Today my mission was to buy curtain fabric for our bedroom as I have been busily making curtains for our little house. I ordered some lace fabric on the internet which we brought back with us from the States, but I wanted heavier fabric for one of our windows that has a motion detector light outside it. Periodically during the night the light goes on and lights up our room, waking us. I hoped to minimize its offensive glare by hanging a denser curtain.

So my plan was to buy the fabric, more Styrofoam balls, and straight pins. I meant to look up the word for pins before I left the house, but I forgot. Esperando came by to pick me up at noon. The stores are all open then, but the streets are really crowded and parking is the pits by then. He needed some chicken wire from the hardware store. He had already tried several other hardware stores with no luck and one of them recommended that he go to this one. So he would drop me off at Marla’s and drive around the block until I was done, then we would change drivers while he went for chicken wire and I drove around the block.

We got to Marla’s and I went in to survey what my fabric choices would be. I had really never checked out their fabrics before other than to realize that they had lots. I found colorful knits and lots of satins, some printed cottons, some upholstery fabric, colorful plastic tablecloths by the yard--and chose a mod pink floral pattern that wasn't really me because it was the only one that had colors that would go with our hot pink bedspread. While the girl was cutting my 6 meters of yardage I said in Spanish to the owner, a man whom I will call Mr. Marla, and the other girl at the counter, “I need an item but I don’t know its name in Spanish.” Then I thought, aha, maybe they know this word in English—so I said, “Straight pins!” I got the deer-in-the-headlights look.

So I tried again in Spanish, “this item is like a nail but skinnier and you use it to fasten two pieces of cloth together, but you don’t sew with it,” (thinking of a needle which I couldn’t remember the name for that either.) When I spoke to him, I confused the word for nail (clavo) with the word for hook (gancho). What I really said is ‘this item is like a hook but skinnier.’ Mr. Marla gave me a puzzled look. “No, we don’t have anything like that,” he said. Then I said, “Oh yes, you do, it’s not really a hook and it is really common. I just know you have it here.” I cast my gaze all around the wall, covered with various merchandise and swept my glance over the counter, missing the one critical spot.

I should mention here that neither of the girls even remotely wanted to participate in this guessing game, it was only Mr. Marla that would play, and not with much amusement. Finally a lightbulb went on for him and Mr. Marla said, “Ah, do you want peens?” “Oh yes, yes,” I said, “that is exactly it!!” I was very excited and then I saw under my very nose as he reached into the glass counter, heaps of safety pins. If I had only seen those first he wouldn’t have had to spend the last ten minutes trying to read my mind. I could have said, just like this but not bent. Fortunately I was the only customer in the store. “Alfiler,” said Mr. Marla, sniffing slightly like a disapproving professor. “Here we call those, alfiler, with the head on them like this they are alfiler de cabeza and a safety pin is alfiler de seguridad.” Ah, I said, “Alfiler. Muchas gracias.” My bill came to
US$40, the fabric was at least 54" wide, plus the pins, an embroidery hoop and the Styrofoam balls--the fabric cost less than $6/meter, a real bargain!

I got back to the car and by then Esperando had found a place to park. We traded drivers and I told him about my transaction. When we got close to the hardware store, he walked a block over and by the time I got around the block (I had to drive seven blocks further before I could turn back as there are so many one way streets here) he was coming out of the store with chicken wire in hand. I am sort of embarrassed to go back to Mr. Marlas—no doubt he’ll remember that crazy gringa if I ever get up my courage to darken their doorway again.

Dust in the Wind

Let’s talk dirt. Here in Santa Rosalia we have lots of it. Water is scarce and so therefore are lawns, instead we have: sand, dirt, rocks, cactuses and trees that people have planted. When the wind blows, as it as for the last 6 days, so does the dust (but not the cactuses). It is like having a sandstorm everyday. The sea becomes covered with whitecaps, but that doesn’t diminish the dust blowing around town any.

You see in the photo our fine house is surrounded by dirt as are all the other homes in Santa Rosalia.

This dust comes in the house under the windows and the doors and settles on everything. It gathers in pools on the floor at both sides of the door where the edges are. It tracks across the floor leaving dusty footprints. (We have learned to take our shoes off when we come inside the house). It coats the outside of the house and the windows, impregnates window sills, puddles on the porch and stains the white cotton hammock hanging on the porch a soft gray. If it were snow, we would say, ‘oh how pretty.’ But, no one ever says that about dust.

It means that every day I have to vacuum, some times twice a day, not to mention dusting all the furniture. One of the biggggg mistakes I made was buying a glass top coffee table. Every day when the sun moves across the room to where the table stands a visible layer of dust becomes evident, more so than on the wooden furniture. So everyday it has to be dusted. I now appreciate even more my Mother’s story about how my grandmother, who moved to the arid desert of New Mexico in 1907 from the damp and wooded vales of Washington State, bemoaned the dust that filled her house when the wind blew. In wet places where grass grows the wind doesn’t carry the dust around like this. Is this what we mean by the sins of the fathers (or in this case the grandmother) are visited on the children? Do we subconsciously choose to repeat the toil of the lives that have come before us in some mysterious way?

What To Eat With Tamales?

My earlier blog tells about the origin of tamales and how to eat one, but if you want to make a supper party featuring tamales you might need some guidelines for a menu. A traditional meal in here in Mexico, the ancestral homeland of the tamale, is an accompaniment of Pinto beans (frijoles). Black beans would work well too. Where I grew up in New Mexico this meal would also include a simple tossed green salad with tomato, lettuce, a chopped avocado, some onion and oil and vinegar dressing. You would want to have a tomato salsa on the side to put on the beans. I would add a loaf of garlic bread as well. Lemon meringue pie would be my Mother’s pick to serve for dessert; I would probably have brownies with ice cream.

Pinto beans are to the Southwest what Boston baked beans are to the East Coast. In the 1930’s when my Mother taught in a one-room schoolhouse in Rocky Arroyo, New Mexico, she boarded with local ranchers. Their supper every evening was Pinto beans (without the tamales), served with fried salt pork, blackstrap molasses and sourdough bread. The beans were topped with canned tomatoes and fresh sliced onions. It is a simple meal and quite nutritious as well. Someone who didn’t grow up eating this kind of food might think it sounds awful or boring, but for me it is comfort food.

Colorado is lucky to have Adobe Milling, a grower of Pinto beans and Anasazi beans. When we are in town we bring back lots of bags of Anasazi beans that we get at King Soopers Market. They are also available from Adobe Milling on the internet. These beans have an interesting history. They are a 1,500 year old variety: the popular story behind their modern origin is unusual. In the 1980's a member of an archeological team from UCLA was looking for remains of Pygmy elephants that roamed the earth thousands of years ago in New Mexico and came upon these beans. The beans were in a clay pot sealed with pine tar and were determined by radio carbon dating to be over 1,500 years old, yet some still germinated and it is from those that we today can share the harvest of heirloom beans of ancient Americans! The beans are a beautiful splotched brown and white that taste a lot like Pinto beans but more buttery. When they are cooked they look alike.

I grew up eating Pinto beans at least once a week. My father always cooked beans with salt pork, and some people like to use ham hocks, but I tell you if you have never had beans cooked just for themselves you are missing out on a fabulous low fat meal. I consider Esperando to be a master bean cooker. Here is his recipe (--first a word of caution, we like our beans really garlicky so cut back on the garlic if that is not for you).


Esperando's Pinto Beans

2 c Pinto beans
1 bay leaf
1 T epizote (available at specialty Mexican markets and maybe Whole Foods)
1 T oregano
1 T thyme
1 can stewed tomatoes
1 T coarse ground black pepper
1 medium onion, chopped
6 cloves minced garlic
2 T salt

Pick over the beans (now and then a rock gets in there, great for tooth cracking!) and rinse them under water. Put everything except the salt together in pot, bring to boil and simmer for 3-5 hours until done, add salt at the last. Beans can also be prepared the night ahead by covering with boiling water and letting sit overnight shortening the cooking time the next day to 2 hours. They can also be cooked all day in a slow cooker. Beans should be cooked until they are completely soft and a few are showing signs of falling apart. This same recipe works for black beans as well.

Side Salsa
2 large ripe tomatoes
1 yellow onion
1 c packed fresh cilantro
1 serrano chile, stemed, seeded and finely minced
1 tsp salt
1 T olive oil
Juice of 1 lemon or lime

Put in food processor and process until pieces are bean sized.

Now you can have a tamale party! Buen aprovecho!

Flying out of Santa Rosalia--and Gingerbread

It is very blustery today. I’ll bet Winnie-the-Pooh knew nothing about rattling windows and blowing sand in the face! I hope the wind doesn’t affect Esperando’s flight. He is flying on Aero Califia out of Palo Verde today (airport 45 minutes south of Santa Rosalia) to Hermosillo to wing his way to meetings in Los Angeles. I am ‘batching’ it until Friday in our new house. Esperando had been waitlisted on the Aero Califia flight and also on Alaska Airline’s flight out of Loreto for the last month. The Aero Califia flight finally just cleared last night, Alaska Airline’s still hasn’t. We are finding it really difficult to get flights on Alaska out of Loreto anymore. Alaska Airlines flights have been solidly booked as far ahead as three months ahead with few cancellations recently. We don’t know why they haven’t added additional planes or brought down a larger one like they did last year to accommodate an obviously greater demand. I don’t think they realize how much revenue they are missing out on. Why would he want to drive 2 ½ hours to Loreto instead of 45 minutes to Palo Verde, you ask? Ah there’s the rub. Well if he gets to Loreto he will have a direct flight to L.A. When he goes the Palo Verde route he has to make a connection in Hermosillo to get to L.A., and the Aero Califia flight can often be several hours late arriving here to make the return flight back across the Sea of Cortez.

Down below at Casa Boleo, the guesthouse is full of guests from one of the engineering companies. So I voted not to have dinner with the guests but cook for myself this week. I am loving have the more privacy up here, even though Sr. Jueves is constantly knocking at my door. And I am not forgotten in the way of meals. Oh no, the cooks insist they must bring dinner up to me when I am alone. Talk about spoiled! Last night they brought a delicious meal of several new recipes including ropa vieja (shredded seasoned beef in a rich chile sauce) and a divine new recipe for gingerbread that I found online. One of the things Esperando and I were looking forward to was cooking our own meals so that we can stay skinnier. Without a lot of hurt feelings I don’t see that happening anytime soon.

Here is the a delicious recipe from the San Francisco Chronicle

Very Gingery Gingerbread Bundt Cake with Caramel Glaze
Serves 12

This is a deep, dark, moist, spicy cake that's loaded with fresh ginger and coated with a rich caramel glaze. Dark baking pans retain the heat and can cause the exterior of a cake to get too brown. Watch baking time and if sides and top brown too quickly, reduce oven temperature 25°. Thick, heavy baking pans retain the heat more than lighter ones. If using a heavy pan, begin to test for doneness after 45 minutes. I find this is better served room temperature, rather than warm, with a dollop of whipped cream on top of each slice.

The cake
1 cup vegetable oil (such as canola oil)
1/2 cup granulated sugar
1/2 cup golden brown sugar, packed
1 cup mild molasses
3 large eggs
3/4 cup peeled and finely minced fresh ginger (about 4 ounces)
2 1/2 cups all-purpose flour + more to flour pan
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
1/4 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
1/2 teaspoon sea salt
2 teaspoons baking soda
1 cup boiling water

The glaze
1/2 cup golden brown sugar, packed
1/4 cup (1/2 stick) unsalted butter + more to grease pan
1/4 cup whipping cream
1/4 teaspoon sea salt

Preheat oven to 325°. With room-temperature butter, grease a 12-cup Bundt pan with a paper towel, smearing butter into all the pan's crevices as well as the center tube. Add spoonfuls of flour and holding the pan over the sink, rotate it to coat it with flour. The inside tube will not be completely coated. Knock excess flour into the sink by tapping the pan lightly. In a large bowl, whisk together oil, sugars and molasses until combined. Add eggs and whisk until smooth. Whisk in ginger to incorporate. In another large bowl, whisk together flour, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, mustard and salt. Whisk in molasses mixture until combined. Stir baking soda into boiling water and whisk into batter until blended. Transfer the batter to the prepared pan. Bake for 50-60 minutes or until sides begin to pull away from pan and cake tester inserted into cake comes out clean. Remove to a rack and cool in pan for 15 minutes.

For the glaze: In a small saucepan, stir brown sugar, butter, whipping cream and salt over medium-high heat until mixture comes to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low and stir until smooth, about 1 minute. Remove from heat. Invert cake onto rack over a baking sheet. Using a small skewer, pierce holes all over top of warm cake. Very slowly pour glaze over top, allowing it to be absorbed before adding more. Cool cake at least 1 hour. Serve warm or at room temperature. (Cake may be stored at room temperature well wrapped overnight.) The cake may be baked in a 91/2-inch springform pan. Grease the pan and line the bottom with parchment paper.

Per serving: 505 calories, 5 g protein, 67 g carbohydrate, 26 g fat (5 g saturated), 70 mg cholesterol, 391 mg sodium, 1 g fiber.

More on cookies

This weekend I spent baking more cookies while Esperando spent the day climbing up and down a ladder to caulk up the slits in the wood planking on the walls and ceiling in Casa Abeja to prepare for our moving over there in January, both kinds of messy undertakings. Guess who lost more weight?

OR






On Friday I had asked Sr. Jueves to get me some walnuts, which are called nuez here and which is also the word for nuts in general in Mexico. I showed him some pecans and said the nuts I want look similar to this, but the nuez is bigger and paler. I also said to him, before we had pecanas you used to bring me nueces, which is true. When we first arrived a year and a half ago the store carried big bags of shelled walnuts. Nobody seemed to even know what a pecan was here 6 months ago. Then I kept asking for pecanas and finally pecanas arrived. The stores are now chock-a-block full of pecanas, but no nueces. I seem to have influenced the local nut economy in ways that are a mystery to me.

I went to a different store and found one small bag of walnuts still in their shells. I snatched them up, took them home and cracked them in my molquetera (what we gringos know as a mortar and pestle) that was given to me by my friend, Don Diego’s mother. It is the first time I had ever used it and Esperando chided me for chopping nuts in it, but I have to tell you it was the perfect tool. The curved bowl held the nut from rolling away and the pestle was heavy enough to easily crack the shell. I was in love with it before I used it, but now I am even more so. Look at its cute little piggie face.

By yesterday morning I had a vast domain of some really great cookies: frosted and unfrosted biscochitos, chewy walnut squares, the Neiman Marcus $250 cookie, and lemon squares, all baked over the weekend. I bundled them all up and gave them as gifts to the guesthouse staff and my husband’s co-workers in the office downtown. That left us with just a handful of cookies. Good, I thought, we can start getting skinnier before Christmas—no temptations.

Then, I got curious about the Mexican wedding cookies that we made the first day and which had evaporated into thin air. Why was it that none of the Mexicans here knew of this cookie? I looked it up on Wikipedia and didn’t get an answer to that, but I did find an interesting history. It seems that variations on a simple cookie made of nuts, flour, egg, sugar, vanilla and anise or caraway seed used for flavoring, and called a Jumble, has been around since the Middle Ages. It is the basis for our modern cookies known variously as Russian Teacakes, Sand Tarts, Polvorones Sevillanos and, yes, Mexican Wedding Cookies. Apparently this cookie originated in Arab cuisine, spread to Spain and from there to Europe. Yesterday afternoon, looking around at my empty larder and curious about the Polvorones Sevillanos, the little devil on my shoulder caused me to try that recipe. It was a little different as it included cinnamon in the dough. The recipe I made was far too dry to stick together and so I had to add a little brandy (which was a component of a different recipe for the same cookie). Well we’ve all read the joke about making the fruitcake and sampling the liquor, and how the recipe goes to hell. And no, that didn’t happen to me, but the result is sort of the same as we have a whole new batch of temptations to sample now. Esperando informed me he doesn’t like them so I will have stuff them down my gullet alone—such a loathsome task. Hiccup!

What a piece of work is man

Oldest Maid washing a puppy foundling

Oldest Maid is my best employee, she is always on time or early, she never forgets to make sure fresh towels are in the room, that the garbage can gets emptied, that the windows are polished and the furniture dusted. She loves her job and she loves to work here. When she had vacation this last summer she came back a day early because she missed being here so much, but the rest of the girls sent her home. She is a hard worker and I trust her completely.

It seems she has developed a uterine cyst which in and of itself can be treated. Her sad odyssey is that she has to rely on the Mexican healthcare system. Mexico’s healthcare is nationalized, that is good for people that live in Mexico City where doctors earn good salaries, but not so good for those that live in remote places like Santa Rosalia where the healthcare is substandard. Oldest Maid has gone to the doctor here several times in the last 8 months and has had her healthcare delayed by postponed appointments due to holidays, hurricanes, and the whim of the scheduler. She was told she needed an operation the first time she went, and that has not changed. For some reason she keeps getting sent to place after place such as La Paz and Guerrero Negro, both some distance from us always with the same diagnosis—she needs surgery. Her cyst is as large as a grapefruit and she is in a lot of pain. This last time when she went to Guerrero Negro they told her not to bother coming back or trying to make another appointment. They will not operate on her.

Oldest Maid is a Jehovah’s Witness. It is against her religion to have a blood transfusion which she would need if she were to have the surgery. She signed a paper for surgery stating that she did not want to be transfused. Her daughter is a Jehovah’s Witness and has just married another Jehovah’s Witness. They are well entrenched in their church. If you have a transfusion it is likely the church will excommunicate you. Her sister works for me, and her other sister has worked for me before—none of them are Jehovah’s Witnesses, of her five siblings she is the only one. She 52 and his been separated from her husband for many years (they do not believe in divorce.) She lives with her son, (her daughter lived there until her recent marriage), her mother and one of her other sisters. When her mother and siblings have birthdays or Christmas celebrations in the house she either stays in her room or leaves the house. It seems so sad to me.

The doctors told her to limit her activities, minimal walking or lifting (surely no housework!) When I found out she was refusing a transfusion for surgery that would save her from a slow and painful death, I had to talk with her. I told her that I wasn’t anyone to tell her what she should do, but then I proceeded to tell her just exactly that. I told her she needed to accept the transfusion regardless of what her religion was telling her do. I told her lots more besides, about living to see her grandchildren and God’s love for his all his creation; she just told me that she loved me. I don’t know what she will decide to do. I see her daughter standing beside her but her thinking is brittle, she believes her mother needs to follow the rules. When you are young and follow the rules you don’t see them in the same perspective of those who are older and have gained some perspective on life. Would her daughter shun her if she had the transfusion? If she has the surgery and does not get the transfusion it is likely she will die from blood loss. If she does not have the surgery she will be in much pain. Her hemoglobin is really low and they were concerned about the surgery for that reason too. I feel have never been confronted so closely by human tragedy. What we chose to believe channels our lives and those around us in ways we can never know.

The Christmas Tree

Yesterday we put up the Christmas tree. Before it arrived the conversation went something like this and underscores the finer points of female logic:

Me: I want to put up a Christmas tree this year.
Esperando: But we won’t be there for Christmas.
Me: I don’t care, we are there for two more weeks and I want to have the feeling of Christmas before we leave.
Esperando (knowing after so many years it is hopeless to argue): Ok, so I will send Javier over to help find a Torote. You can go with him to pick out a Torote (a wild shrub which is used for a Christmas tree in much of Baja that has a resinous pine scent).
Me: No, this year I want a U.S. style pine tree. Moreno’s Market will have them.
Esperando (wishing to economize): Well just get a little one.
Me (making a non-binding commitment--i.e. Charlie Brown I promise to hold the football): Yes, I will get a really small one. The smallest one they have.

Sr. Jueves came by to get me and off we went to Moreno’s. Sr. Jueves told me yesterday that Sr. Moreno would have small, medium and large trees. We have a rather cavernous room with high ceilings and I began to think a very small tree was not so great an idea, maybe medium size is better. This morning he told me the large trees and the small trees were about the same, except one costs less. When I got there, they were all the exact same size, about 6 feet, and although they had been offloaded from the truck only several hours previously, half of them had names on them already and had been sold. I am sure in a couple of more hours they would all be gone.

I had been concerned that the tree could be rather dried out, after all it was cut in the U.S., where I don’t know, and came down on a truck via Tijuana. It was so fresh with so much sap that Sr. Jueves could barely saw 2 inches off without the saw blade sticking constantly. The fragrance filled the room.

Last year we had a Torote. Not knowing much about them, it was way underwatered and died 2 weeks into being a Christmas tree. (Iwas told not to water it at all.) At the time I wanted to buy white lights for it but none were available. We bought two strands of colored lights, and when I asked for another colored strand that afternoon they had sold out. This year I tried to buy more colored lights but all they had were strands of white and strands of red. So I bought a strand of white to mix in with what I already had and they still barely covered the tree. I sent Sr. Jueves back to buy more strands of any color but they had sold out again. New Cook went rushing off to the second hand store her sister-in-law runs and came back with two more strands of colored lights. She saved the day.

Then having made a batch of Mexican wedding cookies twice (the first batch lacked flour and became on giant very flat cookie), New Cook joined in and started making a wreath from the leftover greens and glittered shells that I used last year. Then she went home and brought over her Christmas ornaments to add more to our tree. Although I tried to insist we could buy them from her, she wouldn’t hear of it, it was her donation she said. She has a very generous spirit. Everyone commented on how wonderful the fragrance was from the tree.

Sr. Jueves told me he now understood about the kind of base you need for a fresh tree, that when I was trying to describe it before it made no sense but now it did, it was sort of like becoming a convert to a new religion the way he waxed on with light shining in his eyes. The tree is beautiful. We all ate Mexican wedding cookies and were happy . This morning only six cookies were left and we are starting on a batch of biscochitos.


Decorated sailboats in the harbor at Santa Rosalia.

Making Christmas Cookies

A pan of cookies gone wrong!

One of my complaints about sharing my gringo recipes with the cooks is the way that things turn out, often they bear NO resemblance to how they are when I make them, and NOT in a good way. I have some wonderful sweet bread recipes which we used for a brunch here. Cook-with-an-Attitude followed my recipes and I thought they were horrid. The following weekend I made the same bread and it was exactly as I remembered. I don’t know where she went wrong, but I have decided that the first time they try my recipes I need to supervise. It has been a surprise to me in doing so how often I have averted tragedy caused by our mutual language barriers.

This morning after I had a little talk with the devil on my shoulder about losing weight and eating cookies, we started to bake Christmas cookies. I was going to start with biscochitos, a traditional Christmas cookie from New Mexico that uses anise and cinnamon. Since you need cookie cutters which we didn’t have, we put those off to make until tomorrow so we can go buy cookie cutters today. In the meantime I decided we would make Mexican wedding cookies—Esperando's very favorite cookie in the world. The muchachas had never heard of them before, which all goes to show that they must be a mainland thing and not an all of Mexico thing.

New Cook lived for a while in the U.S. and so can read English a little bit. I didn’t translate the recipe but kind of walked her through it. She pointed out that the T for tablespoon could be confusing to Spanish speakers who would think it was a T for taza (cup), and then we almost had a disaster when she wanted to do exactly that—put in a cup instead of a tablespoon of vanilla!

It took a while to get the cookies mixed properly as we had continuing issues with the measures, she would not fill the measuring cups up to the proper mark, undermeasuring a lot of the ingredients (maybe this is how we started to go wrong on other recipes). But finally everything was ready and I left her to roll the cookies into little balls, round I said. She came to show me round, but her round was flat besides. Ah no I said, round like this and demonstrated a little ball. Oh she said—pelotitas (little balls), then she corrected herself—albondigas (meatballs)! She stuck them in the oven and I left—in 15 minutes they called me back—the cookies had melted into one giant flat cookie. Oh no, I said, what went wrong? Since I had copied the recipe off the internet some time ago I didn’t have the source anymore, but figured I would just looked up Mexican wedding cookies and any recipe would reveal where mine was off. Señora, señora—called from the kitchen by New Cook—I know what is wrong, I forgot to put in the flour. We had been so busy getting sugar and vanilla measures mixed up and laughing, me supervising to make sure nothing went wrong, that we both overlooked the flour! These cookies do not brown except on the bottom, so the cook was sure they were underdone when they ready.

The Best Ever Mexican Wedding Cookies
Yields about 3 dozen

2 c flour
2 sticks cold butter, cut into pieces
¼ c powdered sugar
1 T vanilla extract
1 tsp almond extract
½ c almonds
½ c pecans
1 1/2 c powdered sugar, sifted (to roll baked cookies in)
1 tsp anise seeds (optional)

Preheat oven to 325F. Grind almonds and pecans in food processor, then add butter and continue to grind until smooth. Add 1/4 cup powdered sugar and vanilla, then mix again. Add flour and anise seeds (if using) and grind mixture until blended. After flouring hands, roll the dough into small balls. Place about an inch apart on an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake 15-20 minutes, or until brown on the bottom. Cool for 15 minutes, then roll the still warm cookies in the remaining powdered sugar. Let cool again, then roll again in powdered sugar.

Christmas is upon us!!

We’re back in Santa Rosalia today. We have been gone almost a month, it has gotten colder—down to 75F daytime and 59F last night. I was cold enough just sitting here typing after lunch to have to go crawl under the electric blanket for a nap. I really don’t like being that cold. Frida crawled up on top of me and started purring, I guess she was cold too. She has really gotten friendly since our return, usually it takes her about 3 days to get used to us again, but it was different this time. She was sleeping on us immediately last night upon our return. She actually meowed at me today. Christmas is upon us!!

Earlier today Favorite Maid told me Dash needed his warm doggy blanket from last winter. I poo-pooed the idea since we got him a nice Tempurpedic dog bed 6 months ago for his bad hips. Look at all that heavy fur he has on, I said. When we went to the bodega to find where I hidden the Christmas tree ornaments last year we came across his blanket folded up in a box. I don’t ever remember putting it there, but I must have. Favorite Maid brought it out and said, look at your blanket, Dash. He bounced up and down just like a little kid, wiggling his butt the whole time (he is a tail-less breed). Then he proudly tried to drag it all over the living room, but he kept stepping on it. Ok, so the maid was right and he was so happy to see it; I felt guilty. What a cruel Mommy he has. I think my cat Sour Pickle is completely in love with Favorite Maid. He follows her everywhere. While I have been gone Carmen has also gotten friendlier, even coming up to Favorite Maid and patting her hand with a paw to encourage her to put the food down faster. Maybe if I would stay home ever my pets would like me as much as they like Favorite Maid—but then again maybe not.

Tomorrow I hope to put the Christmas tree up. One of the grocery stores here gets fresh trees every year. This year we getting an arbol natural (a fresh pine tree). When I broached the subject of a Christmas tree stand with Sr. Jueves he said, oh don’t worry they make a stand out of wood. No, I said, the tree will dry out. I had him take me to Garcia’s, a really nice hardware store, figuring they would have a Christmas tree stand, but no. The owner said we don’t really do that here, maybe it will catch on in a few years. So I went back home and was telling New Cook and Favorite Maid about maybe putting the tree in a bucket when New Cook piped up that I needed a Christmas tree stand and she had just seen some really nice ones at El Tomasito. Off she and Sr. Jueves dashed and the next thing I knew I had a really great gringo style Christmas tree stand for $12. This is really confusing to me, a stand like this in the U.S. would be at least $30. Ah but I need a receipt said I, so back they charged to get a receipt from the store and then it turns out they mischarged us for the tree stand—so is only $8!! Amazing!

I am hungry for Christmas cookies. I wage a war back and forth in my brain. Cook some cookies. No they are fattening. But it isn’t Christmas without cookies. You won’t be here for Christmas. Maybe I should bake some nice loaves of bread instead. But cookies are so beautiful and small and isn’t the variety so wonderful? But they are so much work. Ah the mind is so devious, the next thought—get the cooks to help you with the cookies, they will love it!! I feel my brain weakening to the entreaties of the little devil on my shoulder.

Not getting well too fast

My surgerized shoulder is still giving me grief six months after the surgery. I had hoped by now it would be in much better shape. Maybe I have been overdoing the exercises they gave me or maybe something is wrong with my shoulder—I have an appointment to see the doctor when I get back to Denver in a week.

DIF provides care for the full spectrum of Mexican society

In the meantime I have been trying to fit in therapy sessions at DIF (Desarollo Integral de la Familia), a major Mexican agency for social assistance that is part of their socialized medical care system. This brand new facility was built just across the street from us about a year ago and seems to encompass physical therapy, rehabilitation, prenatal counseling, child care and mental health services for the family. My maids’ brother Alfonso works over there as a therapist. When I was complaining about my shoulder she told me to go see him. So I can walk across the street from the guesthouse where he applies electrical stimulation and heat compresses to my shoulder, then treats it with ultrasound, followed by repetitive arm lifting exercises where he manipulates my arm. The first time I went I signed my name on a sign-in sheet, but not knowing if I had any kind of Mexican insurance it is being administered for free—that’s pretty astounding to me. That’s the only piece of paper I ever signed, didn’t even have to show anyone any form of identification.

As many as eight of us defective people can be treated at one time in a 300 sq ft room sitting on chairs and massage tables our limbs swaddled in dark turquoise green terry towels and heating pads that are re-used on each patient. Alfonso is quite happy with the recent donation by an American Christian group of a 90” x 90” massage table on metal legs that that can be raised or lowered electrically. He can treat more people now at the same time. It is in far better shape than the other tables in the room made of wood and Nagahyde (or its relative).

We are all on friendly terms, my fellow halt-and-lame companions. Although I have never seen the same sufferers in the room each time I have gone, we all greet each other like long lost friends, carry on conversations about their lives (only half of which I generally can understand given that we are talking in Spanish, and they have such twangy accents that I can only make out part of their words.) Last time I meet an older couple in their late 70s that came over from Michoacan 30 years ago and run the local old folks’ home. Each of them was being treated for bad knees. They had gotten hitched at the age of 17, had been married for 57 years and had nine children, most of whom have moved away to other parts of Mexico or the U.S.

In the DIF I am just another injured person and we meet on the same plane. They are all friendly and treat me like I am just another Mexican. They are all surprised when they find out that I live across the street and that my husband is working for the mine. I can’t tell you how kind they are, such gentle people that like to talk. And if I go and no one talks to each other, we all still say hello and good bye to be polite even if those are the only words spoken.

An essay on yay!

I have been bugged for some time now about how to spell ‘yay’ this being a shortened version of hurrah or hooray. I had been spelling it ‘yeah’ but somehow that didn’t seem right. I tried 'yeh' and 'yah' but those definitely looked wrong. Today I finally went to the internet to see if I could find the answer. Since the word is a slang expression I didn’t think it would be in the dictionary, guess again bright angel!

‘Yea’ or ‘yeah’ are valid slang expressions meaning ‘yes’ while my word ‘yay’, which until this very moment I knew the sound of but not actually how to spell, means ‘hurrah’. I came across a Yahoo chat room espousing the spelling ‘yay’ and said to myself this is way wrong; that is obviously the way some illiterate person would spell this word, but then there it was in the dictionary ‘yay’ so I now stand corrected and have added it to my vocabulary. Henceforth I will use ‘yay’ except I believe hurrah and hooray are more robust words, and not in any danger of confusion.

Yay! I just returned from getting Frida her rabies and distemper shots here in town with the local vet; it cost all of US$30! (Pretty good deal if you have healthy animals, not so great if you really need serious care as his capabilities are limited). But, yay! It was cheap, cheap, cheap and we even have a shot card with her photo scanned on it if we need to take her across the border. He's great for protocol on getting animals back across the border.

Yay! Hurricane Rick has almost evaporated and is going way south and east of us. Yay! We finally had Cocquilles St. Jacques last night and it was delicious. Yay! I have the rest of the day to myself and the girls will all leave at 3pm, no houseguests, no obligations! Yay!

Yay! I get to watch my favorite show Law and Order tonight. Esperando is back to California until Friday then we will start getting ready to leave on our trip to the Mexican Mining Convention in Veracruz, followed by a few days of being tourists in Puebla, Cuernavaca and La Paz. Puebla is a city of great food and ceramics. Yay! Two of my favorite things. In Puebla, we are going to stay in a really interesting sounding old former Jesuit monastery, La Sacristia de las Jesuitas, which is decorated with antiques in all the rooms and is said to have a very good restaurant besides. Yay! Hooray, hurrah, let the good times roll!

Food for thought

Yesterday I spent researching recipes on the internet. It all started with the monthly menu I prepare for Cook-with-an-Attitude and New Cook. It is a dynamic menu because I am always adjusting the quantities and changing the ingredients based on who will be here when; what we can and what we cannot get locally due to changing seasons; and finding a middle ground to meet houseguests expectations (i.e., diets, allergies and food tastes). I keep trying new recipes—some of them turn out so-so, some are fantastic, so I add the good ones to our repertoire. After a year our repertoire is getting pretty plumped up and I have to keep a running list so I don’t forget any of them.

Last year about this time when the weather was actually becoming liveably pleasant, I asked our errand boy, Sr. Jueves to get ice cream. “Oh, Señora, there is no ice cream now, it is too cold,” he told me. “What? Impossible!” said I, “it can never be too cold for ice cream, and it is not cold at all, the weather is perfect,” so I went with him to the store and sure enough all those freezers full of ice cream were empty now even though the weather was in the 80’s and 90’s Fahrenheit. This morning I asked him if he could get scallops at the local market. “Señora,” he said, “it is very difficult to get scallops here because people really like them and buy them up quickly, but today they have scallops and I can get them for you. They also have langosta (what we would call spiny lobster) and I can get that too, it is pure meat, but I have buy at least a kilo.” Hmm, I thought, ok, why not? He returned with the aforementioned and enormous shrimps besides, all of which are cooling their heels in the freezer for use next week—

Off I went looking for a lobster casserole recipe and decided to tweak my Coquille St. Jacques recipe and turn it into Mariscos San Jack. It will lack the gruyere since that is impossible to get down here, but we can use a decent Tillamook sharp cheddar. Next I have to poll my guests to make sure that everyone likes lobster, shrimp and scallops before I have the green light to proceed. I wouldn’t want to cook all that delicious shellfish and find out people hated lobster or were allergic to shrimp, etc. The next challenge will be getting the cook to understand how to prepare the recipe. As I’ve mentioned previously gringo recipes don’t seem to translate very well. But I am so motivated by the memory of how great it tastes that I am salivating and will rise to the challenge once again.

Update.Last night’s poll did not go well, lobster, shrimp and scallops got shot down! One of our guests is allergic to fish!! Such are the trials and tribulations of running the guesthouse. I went and massaged the menu again. Beef—its whats for dinner. The Mexican equivalent of the Beef Council will be proud of me!

Big appetites

Carmen came back last night at 3:30 AM. I heard miaowing outside at our bedroom door that opens onto the patio and saw her sitting there outside. The other two cats were sitting on top of my printer so they could look out the window and see her. I went into the bathroom and got some cat food, then I opened the door to see if she wanted in but the sound of the door opening frightened her and she ran away. I put the food on the ground. She never came back to eat it. Maybe eventually she will get hungry enough to come forward and let me feed her.

I don’t know if she will show up again tonight, but I am in Loreto at La Mision Hotel and won’t be able to answer her entreaties. I left some cat food with one of the vigilantes, Juan Manual, in case he should have better luck feeding her, not needing to open a door. How will I know this cat he asked? Well she is gray, has a bent tail, and I will give you a photo, I said. Then he told me he had talked to the cat in person the previous night and what she really wanted five hamburgers to start with or beef machacha in a flour tortilla—it is amazing what similar tastes he and the cat share in food.

The outfall of former Invest 91, now Tropical Storm Olaf, has reached Loreto where it has pretty much been raining all day. I think Esperando’s plans for a scuba dive and mine for hanging out in the sunshine may have been washed away for this weekend. When I looked at the weather report for today it was 40% chance of rain, tomorrow is 50%, and Saturday is 100%. How dismal!! In any event we will stay another night in Loreto, cruise the appliance store for a stove and refrigerator for Casa Abeja, do some food and curio shopping and have the chance for another gourmet meal here before heading back to Santa Rosalia. It is a nice break. Esperando returns again to Mexico City and the Bay Area for the rest of next week.