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A Mexican September
I am standing in the middle of a corn field in Central Mexico. The September sun heats my neck and a piece of corn stalk hangs from my lips like a huge cigar. This field is no different than thousands of others that line the outskirts of Mexican pueblos, but for me at this moment it is special. I have come here to select the sweetest nectar-filled corn stalk to suck on while searching for the perfect ears for my mother-in-law’s uchepos, fresh corn tamales.
Specific instructions and some practice have made me an expert not only at selecting the ears but at maneuvering between the six foot high stalks. Still, an occasional stumble over low-lying thicket or a wild-growing pumpkin gives me a chance to pause and contemplate for a moment. The field’s warm sweet air is a treat to inhale. I think about corn’s role in the long evolution of Mexican culture. An imaginary Aztecan corn-harvest ritual starts dancing in my mind, turning my mood from carefree to spiritual as I continue to fill the burlap bag.
This evening my mother-in-law, Dona Luz, will pick over the harvest. She will save the young milky ears for boiling and set aside the older starchy ones for the livestock. Those in between, my targets, will be ideal for the uchepos because they produce a perfect masa - neither too milky nor too dry. The corn must be judged by feel. “Squeeze the ears in the palm of your hand, but don’t tear the husks back”, explained my father-in-law, Don Salvador. I did well today, twelve ears out of fifteen made the cut, yesterday it was only six (which is why I was sent out a second time).
We are prepping for an uchepos feast, and everyone in the household is helping. Raul milked the neighbor’s cow earlier so that the milk-fat has time to rise, be skimmed and cultured into fresh cream. Liliana picked long green chiles from aunt Chucha’s garden for roasting. Everyone else will shuck the corn without tearing any outer husks, which are later used to wrap the fresh corn masa. I appointed myself as director. “Remember people, every husk torn is an uchepo lost,” I philosophize. Their chuckles tell me that my Spanish has progressed since last year’s visit.
Lagunillas, this pueblo of 5400 people, has also progressed. Previously dusty cobbled streets have been paved. A bull-fighting arena has been built. And many residents are constructing additions to their homes, most of which have a Spanish style. Such is Dona Luz’s house. Multiple rooms surround an open-air courtyard that is divided into one area for raising small animals and another for gardening. Citrus and fig trees, edible and ornamental plants, culinary herbs and brightly colored flowers overfill their large half of the courtyard. “It gives a close-to-nature feel to daily living”, explains Dona Luz. I agree. Meanwhile, geese, turkeys, rabbits and ducks exist in spacious tranquility in their sectioned off area. I never know which of the animals are considered pets and which are destined for the dinner table, so I try not to get too attached to any of them.
This morning the animals enjoyed an extra dose of starchy corn, thanks to my amateur harvest yesterday. I was awakened by their quacks and gobbles and stepped from my room into the sun-filled courtyard to witness the frenzy. Then, slipping into the kitchen, I investigated the morning menu. Dona Luz makes every meal something special.
This morning a large pail of squash blossoms sits on the counter. The delicate palm-sized orange flowers have been neatly arranged in the bucket like a bouquet. But, these will be the centerpiece of quesadillas, not the living room table. I watch my mother-in-law swiftly toss tortillas onto a hot comal, then layer each with a slice of stringy cheese and one of the fragile blossoms. She folds the quesadillas in half then toasts them until crispy on both sides. When they are served it is fun to see who is too anxious to allow their quesadilla to cool a little before eating. For some, the penalty of a scorched tongue and hot liquid running down the chin is well worth not waiting.
“Time to take the corn to the grinder,” Liliana yelled from outside the kitchen as I was finishing breakfast. My sister-in-law is responsible for making sure I don't miss any steps in the uchepo making process. As we walked our basket of corn down the street to the nearest mill, I thought of what an incredible amount of this golden grain is consumed here every day. But, the romanticist in me wanted that corn still be worshipped as in times gone by. I thought of the Popul Vuh, or mayan bible, which claimed that man is actually made of corn, and of the misconcieved Aztecs who “respectfully” sacrificed their own people in order to ensure the survival of their crops. They killed because they were hungry for grain not thirsty for blood.
“We need this ground for uchepos,” I stated to the mill's attendant. The young girl smiled. “It’s not quite peak season for uchepos,” she assured me. Liliana interrupted, “No, but the Martinez family planted early this year.” Liliana then explained how I was sent out to the field to look for the ideal uchepos-making corn. We then silently watched the girl feed the tender kernels into the top of her machine then catch the sticky raw masa in a steel pail below. We took the masa home to Dona Luz and watched her hand whip in some shortening and seasonings. Everybody helped to fill the designated husks with the masa then stack all the uchepos in a large steamer.
I wished I could stay in Lagunillas, but I knew the time was coming to an end. I learned many things, especially how grand Mexican Septembers can be. That early evening the house filled with guests and a table was filled with “unwrap your own” uchepos, fresh thickened cream, and bowls of char roasted salsa. Beers were opened, conversations were struck and life was celebrated. After the feast Dona Luz promised that if I returned for next year’s harvest she would teach me how to make another regional tamale called corundas. I assured her that myself and my notepad would be there - at the first sign of September.
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Corn Searching
Cooked Uchepos
Squash Blossoms for Quesadillas
Fresh Tortilla Dough
Tortillas On Comal
Chiles Toasted in Oil for Salsa
Salsa Finished with Fresh Tomato
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