We're No. 2, We Try Harder

Today our still-unnamed cooking club hosted a booth at the annual SPBA (the animal society) chili cook-off, an endeavor that had us busy all week developing the recipe, designing the booth, emailing logistics, acquiring aprons, cooking beans and chopping onions... But it was all worth it when we won second place!

To savor the full flavor of this victory, you have to understand that the first place winners have been unbudgeably taking the title for six years straight now. They plan their booth all year, dress in toques and matching uniforms, all very elegant. We put ours together in two weeks, using the theme of the full moon (which was last night), so we called it Luna Llena Chili and used a poster of a wolf howling at the moon. We just got our aprons yesterday! And of course they were too big.

Kristin from the Canine Center had the booth across from us, and had brought along a new five month old pup called Beto, wearing an "Adopt Me" sign. He looks like part border collie with cinnamon brown, white and black markings. Very mellow and friendly even with all the people swarming around him. He was rescued from the Bahia area and now he's all ready for a new home.

I must have seen almost everyone I know in San Carlos, including my friend Maria, Capt. of S/V "Arigato Jack," who hinted at upcoming cruising plans.


We had all sorts of challenges: a strong wind that threatened to knock down our décor, no electricity so we had to use gas burners and a lot of worries about burning the product. But our seven-woman team was equal to it, and when we were announced as second place winners we howled like a bunch of teenagers at a Beatles concert. Or a pack of she-wolves at the moon.


And yes, I'll share our recipe as soon as I make note of our last-minute refinements.

Lost and Found in La Manga

Last week George, a local gringo, gave me a guided tour of an area I've never before visited. It's only ten minutes from home, and yet a completely different world. There's an stretch of beach and desert north of town where developers have been erecting pancake-stack monstrosities and mega-mansions near the second of San Carlos's two marinas, Marina Real. I feel sorry for any poor gringo who, sight unseen, reserves a room or rents a condo along this vicinity of the coast; while the rest of our zone is beautifully warm and sunny all day, here it's forever chilly and windy. But where the pavement ends, yet to fall under the developers' control, is a "squatter" area known as La Manga.

 Here you see a string of fishing huts, a few restaurants and a number of simple getaway casas, trailers, schoolbuses and lean-tos in varying state of repair. This is privately-owned, not ejido land, and someday the inhabitants will be forced to leave when the owners decide the time is ripe for more condos. But meanwhile, people from as far away as Hermosillo and other sweltering places inland have come here for generations to put up vacation homes using found materials, plus some who brought bricks and concrete for sturdier structures. Permanent residents have established a school and a kindergarten next to the beach. There are little farms and ranches further inland and rocky, winding roads beckon toward the distant mountains. And on a Monday morning only a few fishermen, some grazing horses and hungry dogs were to be seen.

Today I paid forward the favor of the guided tour by taking my friend Jan to La Manga. Of course I got us lost a couple of times, but we just kept driving until I recognized where we were. We couldn't give up, because we had a mission: to bring kibble and water to a couple of small dog packs.

These dogs are a mix of previously-owned, sort-of-owned and feral, and though when they were first spotted last year they appeared to be starving, the efforts of a few people have begun to make a difference: their ribs are not so sharply defined, their coats are shining and clean and their eyes are bright. Most have been neutered, except for one shy La Manga mama. A concrete feeding bowl and water trough were made for them, and when they saw our Jeep they knew just where to greet us.

Down on the beach, stands a little chapel built to house a concrete statue of the Virgen de Guadalupe which was discovered on the seabed by a group of gringo divers a couple of years ago. George says the Virgen was originally sent to her watery sanctuary more than 40 years ago by fishermen hoping she would improve the fishing. So when she was brought back to shore there was some conflict, with one side insisting she should go back to sea, the other wanting to enshrine her. After the little chapel was erected, apparently the fishing went on as usual, so now there are masses every Wednesday at 4, pews have been brought in along with flowers and candles, and visitors are invited to contribute any further amenities by contacting Elizabeth, owner of the nearby La Gaviota restaurant.


We found Elizabeth and asked her if she could get together a crew if we brought some paint for the chapel. Si, she agreed, and make it blanca pura. The building, made entirely of plywood, will look great with a coat of white paint, and Jan and I plan to deliver it. hopefully next Monday.

We also got acquainted with the young señora who lives next to the chapel, Alejandra, and her three niños.  The little ones hurried over when we parked to sell us seashell art created by their mama, who wields a mean glue gun. Last time they sold me a perfect starfish, this time a frutero, a little fruit bowl. Here's her shell arbolito (little tree) decorated with dyed fish scales.

Cartoon condo sprouts another room

Great minds, and all that... Lately I've taken to drawing, another one of those pasttimes I haven't indulged in for decades, and today I find that Mexico Bob has also been putting pen to paper (and color, too).

My sketches have been partly out of necessity,  to demonstrate to the contractor and architect working on my place what I'd like it to look like. We started out with a simple ramada, basically roofing over the back patio in an attempt to direct water off the roof into a channel that would carry it into the arroyo instead of into my bedroom.  Then a few days ago I woke up, peeked outside and ¡Dios mio! A bricklayer was filling in the area that was meant to be left open! After considerable dickering with everyone involved, I decided to let it happen, stipulating that there'd be plenty of glass brick along the wall to let in light. So now it's evolved into another room. We've gone through a few more changes since then, and each time I've made a new drawing. Practice, practice. I haven't applied any color yet;  I want to make several copies of a good ink drawing first, so I can mess up as many as I need to, coward that I am.


I've noticed a cartoon-like quality to this drawing, which should come as no surprise, since it's exactly the way I used to draw thirty years ago. I'm bothered by the crosshatching on the screen door ~ I didn't mean for it to look so higgly-piggly and the screen design is just a rough draft. That's the water heater in its own little enclosure at right. The bridge at lower left over the channel will be higher than shown and the channel deeper. If the ground looks a little slanted, that's because we're going to make a slope out of the flat area at right, to carry rainwater away from the house. And that's more glass brick under the eaves at left. You guessed it: I really like glass bricks. We've ordered some little vent windows that fit in with the glass brick for air circulation, but I will probably have to rely heavily on AC in the summer.


So here you have it, a photo of the disaster zone space in question (with my neighbors' two-story in the background), and the latest drawing to sort of indicate how it should turn out. Next: an interior sketch, which will take a while because I haven't a clue how I want to use the new room.

With Nine You Get Eggrolls

Call it a hankering for female bonding, plus an urge to broaden culinary horizons.  I've joined a cooking club. It's a loosely organized bunch of women who settle every winter in their getaway casas with their husbands who are (check one or more) 1) avid golfers, 2) fishermen, 3) boaters, all living the Golden Age retirement dream.


Yesterday was our second session, the first being devoted to authentic Sicilian spaghetti and meatballs, from a real Sicilian grandma's recipe. This time it was shrimp, shiitake and pork eggrolls, with wrapping variations. We tried storebought wrappers from the States, homemade wrappers and very thin flour tortillas. The commercial ones turned out as good as expected, the homemade were just a touch too "bready" and the tortillas were surprisingly good.


Making eggrolls is definitely a labor of love, we decided. Making wrappers from scratch is time-consuming in itself and then there's a lot of work involved in the fine chopping of shrimp, pork, jicama and green onions (which we did by hand), and then the painstaking wrapping, making sure no air pockets are hiding in the roll, which could cause the whole thing to explode in the deep fat fryer.


"Just remember," warned our instructor and host Diana, "air is your enemy."


I normally don't eat anything deep-fried, but I made an exception yesterday and felt like a stuffed eggroll myself when I finally went home. It's clear that on cooking club day I shouldn't make any other plans, because once I get there at 11am, I'm not going to want to leave until the afternoon is pretty well spent.


We have yet to come up with a name for our club, though a few ideas were tossed around. We go public on February 28, when we compete at the SBPA Chili Cookoff (benefitting the animal rescue organization that funds free neutering and spaying of feral dogs and cats and pets in low-income families.)  We'll be wearing matching red aprons and we'll call our entry "Luna Llena Chili" after the full moon.

 6 Chinese black mushrooms, finely chopped
3 Tbl. peanut oil
1 Tbl. sesame oil (optional)
2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
1 tsp. fresh ginger root, finely chopped (or grated)
8 oz. ground lean pork
8 oz. shrimp or chicken, finely chopped
2 cups Bok Choy cabbage, sliced very thin, white part only
1 small can of water chestnuts (or jicama)
1 cup bean sprouts, chopped
6 spring onions, finely chopped
1 ½ Tbl. soy sauce
1 Tbl. oyster sauce (optional, but good)
1 tsp. salt
3 tsp. corn starch
2 pkgs. egg roll wrappers
oil for deep frying (about 3 cups)


Over medium heat, sauté ginger and garlic in peanut oil (and sesame oil, if using). Add meat; cook until meat changes color and blends with the ginger and garlic flavors. Raise the heat to medium high or high and add the prepared vegetables all at once with the soy and oyster sauce, if using. Combine thoroughly and cook until you get the juice from the veggies. Put mixture to one side of the pan and tilt the pan to gather the liquid. Stir in the corn starch (mixed with a little cold water to make a smooth paste) and cook until the juice thickens. When juice is thickened, mix with the rest of the veggie/meat mixture. Cook until entire mixture is thick. Remove from heat and thoroughly cool mixture.


When cool, place approximately 1-1/2 Tbl. of meat/veggie mixture on each egg roll wrapper and wrap like making an envelope. Seal the final edges with a mixture of egg and water and set aside while heating the oil. Fry a few at a time in hot oil (about 375 degrees), being careful not to let any of them explode in the oil or you will have a mess. Drain on paper towels or paper bags. Serve with sweet and sour sauce and hot mustard.

The bitter and the sweet

My idle speculations about making marmalade from the inedible sour oranges growing profusely in my neighborhood have taken shape and formed into solid intention. Jelled, you might say. First I got all sorts of comments to the effect that these oranges DO have purpose, just not so obvious as the usual Valencias and such that we squeeze for juice.

Then I mentioned in an email to my friend Sue in Oregon that if I could find canning jars I'd try making marmalade, and within hours she had a box of jars packed and ready to mail to me, complete with new lids and rubber rings! This is someone I've never met face-to-face but we've been in contact now, thanks to the joys of email, for — what, Sue? — maybe five years or more. She has a shop called Susantiques in an old barn on the farm where she grew up, in Aloha, OR, not far from Hillsboro and Portland and you should stop in if you're ever in the neighborhood.

Today for some reason I had the blues so this not-so-little act of friendship was a welcome ray of sunshine. While I'm waiting for the jars, I think I'll start picking oranges, and do a few experiments in my laboratory kitchen. If when I come up with anything good, I'll let you know, dear readers. Thanks so much for all the suggestions!
 
Sue is a photographer specializing in scenes of rural Oregon. It's thanks to her that I get my snow fix without a single shiver, and see wildlife I'll never lay eyes on in the Sonoran desert. For instance, this eagle who built her nest atop a telephone pole, where a platform had been thoughtfully built for that very purpose. Why she'd want to raise her eaglets here instead of atop some majestic mountain is a mystery to me, but maybe the prey's more plentiful.

Photo: Sue Keith

Let them eat marmalade

One of more than a dozen orange trees in my neighborhood ~ How many gallons of OJ could they produce, if they were edible?

Burning question du jour: why would anyone plant fruit trees that bear inedible fruit?

A few days ago at a local orchard in Guaymas I bought a large bag (about five pounds) of oranges to make juice. Twenty pesos (about $1.50), a good deal. And yet...

At this time of year, there are dozens of orange trees bearing fruit in my own neighborhood. The landscaping here was done in the 80s, and now the trees are mature and bearing lavishly. But although the fruit looks as perfect as anything you'd find in an upscale gourmet market, it's so sour nobody can eat it. Everywhere, oranges are lying on the ground, but nobody picks them up.

The first time I saw "ornamental" oranges was on a trip to Los Angeles decades ago, where trees heavy with fruit grew in almost everyone's yard. When I exclaimed to my LA friends how lucky they were, to have fruit growing right outside their door, they laughed and said, "Oh, no, those are for looks. You couldn't possibly eat them." Why would botanists develop such a thing, and why would gardeners plant them?

Although I am reminded of some very ornamental people I've met...


A friend found a way to use the oranges here in Solimar,  before she moved back to Colorado. She made a fantastic marmelade, very intensely-flavored. She said she had to triple the sugar called for in the recipe. I've never made marmelade or done any other preserving before, and I eat as little sugar as possible, but I'm beginning to think I might try it. Just as a subversive act.