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Tenochtitlan (Mexico City) in the 14th Century.

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@capitalism-and-analytics

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She said NO!

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Leave your high expectations in 2022.

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SMS Seydlitz “B” Wing 28cm / 11" Gun Turret showing battle damage from a shell impact after the Battle of Jutland in 1916. German account from “B” turret; “In ‘B’ turret, there was a tremendous crash, smoke, dust, and general confusion. At the order “Clear the Turret” the turret crew rushed out, using even the traps for the empty cartridges. Then they fell in behind the turret. Compressed air from Number 3 boiler room cleared away the smoke and gas, and the turret commander went in again, followed by his men. A shell had hit the front plate and a splinter of armor had killed the right gunlayer. The turret missed no more than two or three salvoes”.

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Notes from Management [ardentleprechaun]

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Mortadella, Prosciutto Crudo, Salame, Provolone, Scamorza, Antipasti Check this blog!

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The Memorial to the victims of Communism, Prague Czech Republic.

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LOL - I love the comments to this.  Even Northern Irish drink the famous car bomb.

get real

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Torta Ahogada-Aarón Sánchez Servings: 1 Prep Time: 48 hours Cook Time: 1 hour Total Time: 2 hours

INGREDIENTS

Torta 1 bolillo (Mexican sandwich bread) or Vietnamese French loaf 2-3 slices of pork belly, brined and cooked on griddle 2 tablespoons Garlic-Chipotle Love 1 cup Ahogada Sauce pickled onions 1 cup Cacique Cotija 1 cup Cacique Crema

Ahogada Sauce 12 chiles de arbol, deveined, deseeded and and toasted 8 cloves of garlic, roasted 8 ripe plum tomatoes, roasted 1 onion, quartered and roasted 5 cup chicken stock 1 cup valentina hot sauce 1 tablespoon lard

Brine 1 whole skinless pork belly, cut in 2 350g brown sugar 400g salt 3 cloves of garlic, peeled 1 orange, halved 12 cloves 12 black pepper corns 1 tablespoon chili flakes 1 stick Mexican cinnamon (canela) 3 bay leaves 2 quarts water

Garlic-Chipotle Love 1 cup canola oil 12 garlic cloves, peeled 3 tablespoons canned chipotle chiles in adobo sauce, chopped ¼ cup fresh cilantro, chopped Grated zest of 1 lime 1 teaspoon salt

DIRECTIONS

Brine

Combine water and all ingredients on the stove and bring to a simmer allowing flavors to come together and the sugar and salt to dissolve. Let cool and pour over the pork belly. The belly should be fully submerged. Let brine for 48 hours.

Pork Belly

Remove belly from brine and pat dry. Once dried, rub belly with garlic chipotle and braise in chicken stock for 2 hours with some halved citrus (preferably oranges). Cook belly at 300 degrees.

Once cooked, remove belly from brining liquid and place on a sheet tray. Place another sheet tray on top of the cooked belly with some weight on it to keep the belly flat while it cools and to keep its shape.

Garlic Chipotle Love

Preheat the oven to 300 degrees. Pour the oil into a heavy ovenproof medium saucepan and add the garlic. Cover the pot with foil, put it in the oven, and cook until the garlic turns a nutty brown and is really soft (think cream cheese), about 45 minutes.

Remove the pot from the oven and let the garlic and oil cool to room temperature. Put the garlic and the now garlic-infused oil in a food processor or blender. Add the chipotles and sauce, cilantro, lime zest, and salt and puree until the mixture is very smooth.

Store in the fridge in a tightly covered container for up to 2 weeks or freeze for up to a month.

Ahogada Sauce

Roast tomatoes, onions, and garlic until slightly charred and cooked through, peel tomatoes.

In a blender puree roasted onion, toasted chiles de arbol, tomato and garlic with the chicken stock until smooth.

Heat up lard in a sauce pan over medium heat and add puree to the pan. Let simmer for about 10 minutes stirring occasionally. Remove from heat and add Valentina hot sauce and a pinch of salt.

Torta

Season pork belly with salt, pepper and Garlic-Chipotle Love and sear until crispy on the grill or griddle.

Slice bread lengthwise and smother with the Ahogada sauce. Toast both sides on the griddle until slightly caramelized, stuff with grilled pork belly, pickled onions, Cacique crema and slice in half. Make sure sandwich is covered with plenty of sauce and sprinkle some Cacique cotija and cilantro on top.

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La Esquina del Chilaquil (English)

Culinary morbidness. Gastronomy morbidness. Morbidness.

I can’t come up with a better definition, I guess. That’s what I was trying to decipher while I was waiting in the long line on the corner of Tamaulipas and Alfonso Reyes. Why the hell am I here? This line is bringing tears to my eyes and the sun seems to have chosen me to unleash its fury. I am sweating profusely, but I am not moving an inch. Why?

Let me back up a little. It was 10 in the morning and I was walking on Tamaulipas Street in the Condesa neighborhood with the conviction of catching a cab, but the mob on the corner made me stop in my tracks. The scenario? A crowd surrounding a small table with two huge plastic containers, one was red and the other one, green. I couldn’t really see what they had inside, but no one moved from their place; as soon as I saw the tired faces, it was clear to me they all had been standing for a while. “Excuse me, what are they selling here?” I asked a lady. She smiled politely and answered “Chilaquil Tortas”

I kept walking, but after a couple of blocks, I realized that I was still thinking about the line, the food and my empty stomach.  Tortas filled with chilaquiles? The carb on carb combination is nothing new here in the Distrito Federal; the well-known guajolotas are a street staple here in the city, but I had never heard or tried tortas filled with chilaquiles. My decision of taking a cab, disintegrated as quickly as my New Year resolutions. Now the only certainty was that I had to tackle that line and find out what the hell was causing all that commotion.

Have you ever been stuck in traffic and a few miles ahead there is a bad car crash, only to realize that the huge line is caused by a bunch of assholes who slow down their car morbidly searching for dead people? Well that happened to me, but in a food version. I had to try those tortas. If 70 people thought standing under the heat and throwing away one or two hours of their life was worth it, then that only could mean good news. The promise of a pot filled with gold and a giddy redheaded leprechaun waiting at the end of the rainbow, if you will.

As I walked back I could see the line from far away. Shit. 15 people had gotten in line already. The morning sun, by the way, was brutal; all the readers from Mexico City or who have visited, know well the sun I am describing: not a single fucking cloud in the sky. I got in line and gazed longingly at the table protected by an umbrella where a lady was working diligently. The last few doubts about joining the line disappeared as soon as five other people got behind me. There was no way back, we just had crossed the Rubicon. Accepting the fact that I was going to be there for at least 45 minutes, I started to reflect.

Isn’t curious to question what other people in this line could be thinking?  Exactly. It’s only curious when you happen to be in line. All this free time gave me the liberty to think about human behavior and its relationship with food. Maybe it isn’t that relevant, but perhaps some (or many) of our decisions are influenced by the masses. And our decisions on food and what we eat aren’t the exception. The simple act of walking by a bustling food stand or restaurant ignites social intrigue and invites to partake. I wondered if at least another eater joined the line just to pry.

As I waited, I remembered my years in San Francisco. To be more specific, I remembered my last meal in the city at Swan Oyster Depot; the tiny 18 seat wooden bar, celebrated for offering one of the freshest fish and oysters in the city. At Swan, the wait can fluctuate between an hour or two on Polk Street. And while delicious oysters filled with mignonette, uni and fog have nothing to do with a bolillos (crunchy French bread) filled with chilaquiles, breaded steak, sun and pollution, there is something in common; people will stand for hours in line (San Franciscans are pioneers in this fine “art”) waiting for what might be considered good food. Another conclusion was that trying to explain Mexicans without mentioning their gastronomy or culinary habits is only explaining half way. Mexicans seem to always be eating. Here, the line was twice as long as Swan’s, but what captivated me the most was the true Mexican nature of this: Tables. Bolillos. Chilaquiles. Street. There is no street spectacle close to it. Also, there is something democratic about “La Esquina del Chilaquil”: no matter who you are, or whom you might know; here you get in line, shut up and wait.

After half an hour, some started to throw in the towel. Some, fed up, had lost the mental game between patience and hunger; others nicely suited, underestimated the waiting time and had to return empty handed to their cubicles. I… I was still standing. But not everything was defeat. I also saw triumphant faces; people who were 30 places ahead of me, left the line victorious with their tortas with a classic and irritating little smile that can only be translated to: “I fucking made it!”  

As the line kept moving I knew more about the popular street stand. For instance, the ladies operating the stand had access to one of the buildings next door where they brought hundreds of bolillos and ingredients each day, or that some people in line order more than 20 tortas and that on occasions food ran out before noon. It was 11:30.

After an hour waiting, three people were between my destiny and me. I could feel my “I fucking made it” face shaping; the table that I had seen so far away, was in front of me in its entire splendor. I could see everything; the huge containers of red and green chilaquiles and other receptacles filled with breaded chicken steaks, shredded chicken and an empty one. “We just ran out of cochinita” yelled the lady who dispatched while squeezing firmly a bottle filled with crema on one of the sandwiches. “How many do you want, sir?” asked another lady. I had thought about everything but my order! Instantly, I felt my back burning with the impatient eater’s eyes. “Two please: one with red chilaquiles and shredded chicken and the other one with green ones and breaded chicken steak” I said rapidly. “Everything on it?” – “Yes, Everything on it”

While they urgently prepared my food I asked their names: “Cata and Guera” they said in unison. I insisted, “What has been the largest amount of food ordered by a pedestrian?” Cata lost her concentration for a second, looked at me and smiled “This one time, a guy ordered 200 tortas in one sitting.”

Before I could register the number in my head I had the stash in my hands. “It’ll be 50 pesos”. I thanked them and went to a nearby bench and sat down to eat. As I carefully unwrapped the first torta, I could see the bolillo slightly moist with the green salsa. I took a good bite. Since it was the first time having this monumental street dish, I paused and paid closed attention to the flavors and textures. Crunchy bread, damp tortilla, spicy green salsa, cheese, crema and breaded chicken steak. Silence.

You might be wondering, was battling the line under the sun, digressing, sweating along with strangers and wasting two hours of my life worth it?

 Absolutely.

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And now you know how Nata Lee got that ass...

Her Telegram >>> https://t.me/Natalee007

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