September is my favorite month to visit Mexico City. First of all, because it’s the most Mexican of all months, the month of the Fiestas Patrias, our national holidays. Green, white, and red flags and banners are seen everywhere, and the people all seem to be in a festive mood. Second, because of the weather. Coming from the unforgiving Austin summer into the cool mountain air and afternoon rains of Mexico City is an incredibly welcome sensation, especially since the daily rain greatly improves the air quality down there. Third, and probably most importantly, because of the food. Real Mexico City food is what I miss most about my hometown while living in Austin.
In September, after the peak of the rainy season, there are delicacies to be found in restaurants, markets, and street stands. There are countless varieties of fresh wild mushrooms from the mountain forests; juicy green, red, and yellow prickly pears (know in Spanish as tunas) from the valley; succulent tropical fruit such as manila mangoes, guayabas, and mameyes and, most important, fresh walnuts and pomegranates. Why are these last two the most important? Because they are key ingredients in one of Mexico’s most famed dishes: chiles en nogada.
Every year in Central Mexico, from mid-August to late September, every reputable restaurant proudly advertises their chiles en nogada. This is an incredibly small window of opportunity to sample this unbelievable dish. I had looked forward to being home just in time for this.
Chiles en nogada are not your everyday chiles rellenos. They are chiles poblanos, roasted and then stuffed with a fancy picadillo with fruits and nuts, and served at room temperature with a delicate fresh walnut cream sauce, topped with pomegranate seeds. The chiles are not battered and fried as we are accustomed to seeing them in the U.S. They originated in the state of Puebla, cradle of some of Mexico’s best regional cuisine, created by the Agustine nuns of the Santa Monica convent in 1821. According to historical accounts, in the year of the declaration of Mexican independence, the nuns decided to prepare a dish with the three colors of the newborn flag, green, white, and red, to commemorate the entrance of Agustín de Iturbide into the city of Puebla. Iturbide eventually became the First Constitutional Emperor of Mexico in 1822.
It is not only a delicious dish but beautiful to look at: the emerald green chile on the white walnut cream sauce, sprinkled with the red pomegranate seeds and a sprig of parsley. It almost brings tears to my eyes to think of it. My heart fills with patriotic fervor and my mouth waters profusely.
Whenever I visit Mexico City, I usually plan my schedule according to the food I want to eat, and this time I tried to fit in the chiles en nogada. My time in Mexico City flew by. I ate my favorite dishes from my mom’s excellent repertoire and visited my usual taco stands. But, on the day we were leaving for San Miguel Allende, in the state of Guanajuato, I found myself still without chiles en nogada. Now this was not bad news, considering Guanajuato is “the cradle of Mexican Independence.” I knew I would be able to find my coveted chiles somewhere in the state, whether in touristy San Miguel or in Dolores Hidalgo, the real birthplace of the Mexican Independence movement.
On a rainy afternoon in San Miguel, my partner and I passed a small, quaint restaurant on the main plaza of San Miguel called Rincón de Don Tomás. It proudly advertised the “seasonal specialties” escamoles and chiles en nogada. My heart jumped in anticipation, and I quickly found a table for two and ordered two tequilas con sangrita while I looked at the menu and considered my options.
Why, at this point, would I be considering anything but my precious chile? Well, as an adventurous food historian, I found myself upon a dilemma: I have never had escamoles before. What’s the big deal, the reader may ask? They are a very ancient Mexican traditional food, eaten by the Aztec for years before the conquest in 1519, and definitely not your everyday dish: They are the egg sacs of a species of black ant, typically fried and served in a rich tomato broth. My curiosity was getting the best of me: Should I try something very different that I may or may not like, or should I satisfy my yearly craving for chiles? In the end, my partner’s look of utter disgust helped me sway toward the chile.
It was a worthwhile decision. Before I could even finish my tequila, the waiter appeared with a gorgeous hand-painted platter carrying my heart’s desire. The chile, to my surprise, came with a paper flag in which read the following text: “Certificate of authenticity. Chile en nogada #146. This chile has been prepared today with hand-picked ingredients, of the highest quality and freshness, and with all our love and care.” I was truly touched. After the first bite, I struggled not to burst into a version of my favorite Mariachi song, “México lindo y querido (Beautiful and Beloved Mexico).” The sauce was perfect — creamy but not too thick — with the unmistakable taste of fresh walnuts and a hint of dry sherry. This sauce is definitely not the same when made with the dry walnuts commercially available in American grocery stores. The filling was a pork picadillo with the traditional ingredients: pine nuts, almond slivers, chopped fresh peaches, pears, and plantains, seasoned with garlic, onion, and hints of cinnamon and cloves. The chile itself was huge and just right, not too picante but with a nice bite. The pomegranate seeds were fresh and plump, juicy and crunchy with every bite of chile. This was one of the best chiles en nogada I have ever had. I thanked the waiter and sent my regards to the chefs. I promised to come back next year for my anticipated chile, and perhaps try the escamoles as well.
Cultural historian Claudia Alarcón works as a translator in Austin and will teach a class on tamale making on December 1 at Central Market.
This article appears in October 19 • 2001.
