shoestring gringa

If you’re a fan of Chinese food, the good news is that there are Chinese restaurants everywhere,  even in Mexico.  Even rather small towns will often boast one or two.

If you want to make your own at home, you can usually find basic Asian items in large city supermarkets.   Warning — most of the available soy sauce is pretty awful — if you see a jug of Kikkoman in Costco, grab it!  Jars of  plum sauce, oyster sauce, hoisin sauce, and kung pao are easy to find.  Once we found tofu in a tetrapak which was quite acceptable.    We’ve regularly been able to buy fresh ginger (jenjibre) at Soriana for the past year.  Ingredients for other Asian cuisines are sometimes seen, but less common.

If you live off the beaten track, you can still satisfy those Asian cravings with a combination of planning, improvisation, and keeping it simple.  For example, we’re very fond of wonton soup.  The miracle of a steaming bowl on a chilly day was recently achieved by:

Planning:  (1) Having bought ginger when we last shopped in the city (growing it would be even better and is on my to-do list).  (2) Always having soy sauce, cornstarch and sherry, the basics for Chinese food, on hand, and of course garlic.

Improvisation:  (1) Making our own wonton wrappers.  This is easily done with a pasta machine (or rolling pin) and a recipe off the internet.  (I think we bought ready-made wonton wraps once in Merida, but I can’t swear to it.)  (2)  Using pork broth left over from  another dish combined with Knorr chicken powder and water for the broth.

Keeping it simple:  Forgetting about luxuries like dried mushrooms and Napa cabbage and just using locally available green onions.

For someone who learned (perforce) to cook out of books, this way of cooking and thinking is an ongoing learning experience for me — beginning with what’s on hand and fashioning something hopefully enjoyable out of it, as opposed to dreaming up a menu and going out and buying all the stuff for it.  As with so many areas of Mexican life, it involves a whole lot more creativity and way less expense.  Although it can be frustrating at times, it seems ultimately a more sustainable and satisfying approach to doing things.

For many years I made a ritual of buying an art reproduction calendar every year at a local museum.  I’d find an artist I didn’t know well and spend the year communing with their work.  It was an enjoyable tradition which I’ve regretfully abandoned in these times of lean earnings and ~$20 art calendars.

So how’s a girl to know what day it is?  There’s always the date on the computer screen, but sometimes you need a visual representation of the month, and sometimes you want to be able to write on it.

Our first year in Mexico we lucked onto a half-price sale.  The second year, I printed calendar blanks from the computer and stuck them onto some picture we had lying around.

And then I discovered hardware store calendars.  They may not be the most attractive items in the world, but their usefulness makes up for it.  And, they’re free!  We’ve used them for two years now and they’re great.  Not only do they indicate both legal and unofficial Mexican holidays, they also show official US holidays, which comes in quite handy at times if you’re still banking or doing any business in the states.  They also show the saint associated with every single day of the year and the moon’s phases.  The one we got this year even has the day of ingress of each astrological sign.

In cities, other types of business often give away calendars as well.  Once when visiting Merida we got a calendar with a beguiling photograph of a large pig from a carnitas takeout joint.  But if you live in a rural area, hardware stores are the most reliable source of free calendars.

Now why is she writing a post about salt in Mexico,  you’re probably asking yourself.  What could possibly be different about Mexican salt?  So I will tell you.  In some places (Yucatan is where I experienced this) it is almost impossible to find salt which is not fluoridated.  Being one of those cranky people who thinks fluoride is poison, I had a huge problem with this.

I  had to search all over Mérida before locating some unfluoridated salt, and it may have been there by accident, it was so difficult to find.  I think I finally found it at Comercial Mexicana (a large supermarket chain).   The next time I visited the states I brought back pounds of the stuff in my suitcase, worried I’d never be able to get it locally again.  (Reminder:  Finding an item someplace in Mexico one time is no guarantee you’ll ever see it there again.)

An internet search revealed that a number of countries in Latin America and, amazingly, France, have salt fluoridation programs purportedly for the prevention of dental decay.

Having read that, I assumed the disgusting phenomenon was the case in all of Mexico, but have been pleasantly suprised to find out otherwise.  In Zacatecas both unadulterated and fluoridated salt were easily available.  And in Sonora I haven’t seen any fluoridated salt at all.  Even better, in Sonora there’s a  local brand of sea salt, Sal Bahía (it is iodized).  As to the rest of the country, I don’t know, so I recommend carefully examining the label of any salt you buy if you object to fluoride.  Yodada = Iodized, and Fluoridada = Fluoridated.  Let the buyer beware!

One species thick on the ground in Mexico is the parking lot attendant, or viene-viene (c’mon-c’mon) as he is sometimes nicknamed in Spanish.  These fellows are all over the big store parking lots, and even the tiniest patch of dirt will have at least one, providing vigorous hand signals as you squeeze into that tight spot.  They become even more visible as you approach your car to leave, hovering close by to hand you the packages from your cart and signaling you out as you back up.  It is beyond obvious that they are hoping for a tip.

At first I found these guys annoying and even pathetic, but I’ve come to realize that they perform a vital service and we always tip them.  All the hand-waving is just theater; what they really do is prevent the theft of your car and its contents, and it’s well worth the small cost.

How much to give them?  For basic hand-waving and being there, the Mexigringo tips three to five pesos, more for special jobs.  A special job would be for example having a bunch of construction material tied on the top of your truck and needing someone to guard it while you go into the store.  In this case one would personally ask the viene-viene to watch it, and tip him 10-20 pesos on leaving.

On rare occasions you may encounter a parking lot which does not have a viene-viene, in which event we recommend parking close to the entrance or some other heavily-trafficked area, and getting back to the car as quickly as possible.  These are the times you realize the viene-viene is truly worth his weight in gold!

Sometimes a viene-viene may even appear as if by magic on a busy street when you’re trying to maneuver into a difficult spot.  This might simply be a manifestation of Mexican male courtesy and no tip would be expected.  On the other hand, it could be a viene-viene whose turf is a few parking spots in front of a particular restaurant or shop.  You’ll need to gauge from his attitude whether a tip is appropriate in a case like this.  If he’s still hanging around when you return to your car, you’ll know he’s a viene-viene.

In honor of the festive season, here is some info on the world of affordable spirits (drinkable variety)  south of the border.

Table Wines

For the devoted drinker of red wine, the biggest drawback of living in Mexico is that it is not a wine-drinking country.  I really should have moved to the Mediterranean.

Wine is not everywhere in Mexico.  It’s rarely to be found in little corner tienditas or even midsize markets, and many liquor stores don’t bother with it either.  The best source for wine is the really large supermarkets like Soriana, Comerical Mexicana, and Walmart, which carry selections of imported wine in a range of prices.  Good buys can be had on bottles from Chile, Argentina and Spain.  (Of course, this being Mexico, you’ll probably never find the same thing twice, so don’t get too attached to anything.)  Our biggest find to date has been five bottles of really decent champenoise from Argentina for ~$2 a bottle at a Walmart closeout.

For everyday use, I’ve found two sources of acceptable plonk in Mexico that I can recommend.  One is the  California label, produced by Valle Redondo in Aguascalientes.  It comes in red and white (both are good) and is sold in 1-liter tetrapaks in the aforementioned large grocery markets.  It can also be found at Sam’s Club in gallon jugs at a comparable price.  The regular red and white are still hanging in there under ~$3 a liter as of this writing.  Valle Redondo also offers tetrapaks of a Cabernet Sauvignon (north of ~$4) which I haven’t tried.

Equally drinkable and even a few pesos cheaper is Don Simón, a Spanish brand, in a choice of red or white in 1-liter tetrapaks.

In the same vein and price range, Costco sells gallon jugs of a brand called F. Chauvenet, made in Baja California where something of a Mexican wine industry is developing.  I haven’t tried the white but the red is acceptable although I prefer the other two.

In the ~$7 range, another Baja winery, L.A. Cetto, makes some really decent white wines, although I don’t care for their reds.

The most widely available Mexican wine is Padre Kino, which I find totally undrinkable.  The red is SWEET (horrors!).  I’ve used the white to cook mussels in with okay results.  It comes in cute reusable carafes and the last time I noticed the price it was over ~$4 a liter.

Sherry

Mexico only produces sweet sherry (vino tipo Jerez) that I know of.  I’ve gotten quite fond of it.  Mexican Jerez is dark and syrupy with distinct raisny overtones.  The two brands I’ve found are Valle Redondo and Tres Coronas.  Both are cheap.  It’s really too sweet for most cooking purposes, so I substitute white wine for that.  For dry or medium sherries, Spanish brands can be had for a price.

Liqueurs

Indigenous varieties of sweet stuff are plentiful.  My favorite is Mexico’s version of Cointreau, Controy, which is fabulous (actually tastes closer to Grand Marnier) and a mere ~$8 a bottle.   Also try Rompope (many different brands available), a delicious eggnog-type liqueur, and Don Pancho, an excellent coffee liqueur a fraction of the price of the famous brand.  In addition to the big national brands, there are many small producers of licores made from locally grown items such as quince (membrillo), almonds, etc., whose products can be found in tourist shops, street markets, and local liquor stores.

Beer

If you’re a beer drinker, this is a good place.  Mexico produces dozens of great beers.  Not the cheapest thrill on the block, but good value.

Hard Stuff

If it’s tequila you’re looking for, we are in Valhalla here.  I personally never got into the tequila mystique, it’s all gasolina to me, so I only buy the cheapest, in big plastic jugs.  Rum (destilado de caña) is similarly available at dirt-cheap prices.  I’ve been experimenting with homemade liqueurs using it as a base.  Several brands of Mexican brandy are produced in varying price ranges and quality.

Other types of hard liquor, such as vodka, bourbon, etc. are mostly imported and therefore relatively costly.

Moonshine

A tradition of self-sufficiency persists in Mexico, as evidenced by a wealth of home- and locally-produced drinkables ranging from Sonoran bacanora (a tequila variant) to fizzing batches of tepache (a kind of pineapple wine) ladled from five-gallon buckets by roadside vendors (highly recommended).

¡Salud y felices fiestas!

Most everybody we know belongs to one or the other of these consumer emporia, not because their prices are so great, but because they carry certain items that just can’t be found elsewhere.  The items on our usual list are few but critical:  Kitty litter, olive oil, Parmesan cheese, cod liver oil caps, paper towels.  Sometimes we’ll splurge on giant jars of marinated artichoke hearts, jamon serrano (similar to prosciutto), or the occasional find in the liquor department.

We’ve been bouncing back and forth between the two, being too cheap to join both at $40 a year (that was a year ago, who knows what it might be by now with inflation raging).

We started out at Sam’s, because when we first moved we had a card from the states that worked in Mexico too.  Then last year we were lured to Costco by their fabulous, irresistible deal on jamon serrano.  Sam’s was selling single packets for about ~$12 US, and we discovered Costco had boxes of 10 packets for less than ~$25!  So, no contest, we migrated to Costco.  They also have both 5-liter jugs of regular olive oil, and 2-liter jugs of extra-virgin, whereas Sam’s had only 3-liter jugs of extra-virgin, which I would (extravagantly) use for frying and everything.

However, we’re thinking of migrating back when our card expires, because of the kitty litter problem.  The Costco product is perfumed to the point of inducing nausea, and we’re about ready to renounce our jamon serrano habit to see the last of it.   Another thing I won’t miss is Costco’s wasteful, annoying, mile-long paper towels.

But we will miss the artichoke hearts.  And the 5-liter olive oil.  Maybe we should live dangerously for once and just cough up for membership in both.  The way things are going in the global economy, who knows if they’ll even be around this time next year?

Mexico abounds with opportunities for the newly-arrived gringo to experience culture shock, but in all my reading I never found much mention of the thing that got to me the most when we first arrived — Total Shopping Withdrawal.

Yes folks, I was mightily shocked (dismayed too!) to realize what a TOTAL CONSUMER CULTURE CREATURE I really was. I’d always thought of myself and the MG as decidedly unmaterialistic, what with driving old cars, eschewing furniture, wearing clothes until they fell off our backs, etc. I guess you could call us cheap, be it from sour grapes, making a virtue of a necessity, or whatever. In any case, we’ve definitely never been what you’d call big spenders.

So imagine my surprise at suffering — yes suffering! Total Shopping Withdrawal soon after arriving in Mexico. Me! Who always said I “hated shopping.” Who believed that sincerely.

Mexico can be a mirror. Sometimes it lets you see yourself. Some mirrors (like those department store ones when you’re trying on bathing suits) are not very flattering.

See, when you live north of the Rio Grande, shopping is akin to breathing – you don’t even notice you’re doing it, it’s an autonomic function. It isn’t a part of your reality, it IS reality. The sheer variety of goods available for purchase everywhere you look induces a kind of permanent and self-perpetuating trance state in the citizenry, who do their bit to hold up the whole system up by duly working, working, working, and buying, buying, buying. Nobody seems to question this state of affairs. It just is. And I’m here to tell you, it’s surprisingly painful when it suddenly isn’t.

I simply never realized how much entertainment value I used to derive from my most complained-about domestic chore, the food shopping. Even though I could do it in my sleep, indeed often did it semi-comatose after 12-hour night shifts, there was always the diversion of choosing (oooh, should I buy slices or dices, oil- or water-packed, red ones or green ones, this brand or that?). All the while seduced into a familiar daze by the lights and the colors of aisles of endless packages all clamoring for my attention, never mind that most of that stuff I don’t even consider food.

In addition to this weekly entertainment (which I of course didn’t appreciate at the time) there was the soothing background awareness that almost any annoyance, inconvenience, or whim that might arise could be instantly resolved by dashing to a store — at any hour of the day or night — and purchasing something, and I was moreover in the habit of doing so.

Overnight, these familiar comforts vanished. Not only that, but countless items I’d heretofore believed indispensable to my existence, were suddenly unavailable at any price. They had simply dropped off the screen, out of the picture — poof! No more prosciutto, no more volumizing shampoo for fine hair, no more homeopathic-compatible toothpaste, no more rayon batik fabrics, no more nada.

The whole experience has forced me to conclude that the so-called consumer lifestyle, to which we are all so well trained from birth, is a form of addiction, and like any addiction, leaving it behind (even willingly) is painful.

So how does one cope? Two things spring to mind, one active, one passive.

Wish lists can be helpful. Just write it all down for the next time you go to the big city or to the states. You can make categories, prioritize, organize according to types of stores for more efficient shopping — there’s no end to the fun you can have playing with your lists of consumer cravings. You’ll find out how much you really need it when finally in the store and faced with the prospect of parting with actual cash for it. Some items will disappear without a trace. Others you’ll realize you really don’t want to live without. Priorities while wishing can differ noticeably from priorities while paying.

And then there’s good old Time, the passive approach. You eventually adapt and change. You find many of those “needs” diminishing, and look back in wonder on what you thought so necessary a few short months ago. “Stuff” becomes less important. The itch to buy something — anything — as a knee-jerk reaction to the slightest fleeting emotion, recedes. On the other hand, you learn what is really important to you and figure out the least expensive and burdensome way to get it. I’ve come to see, on the far side of fifty, that my fond fantasy of a life of Zen simplicity ain’t gonna happen: I’ve been too well-trained. But my buying habits have become more conscious, and more limited. Getting stuff in Mexico is usually such a hassle that consumption for its own sake finally loses its appeal. Life becomes simpler, willy-nilly.

We were recently away for two days, shopping in the Big City for yet MORE construction materials for the house, and of course groceries. We got someone to feed the cats so we could spend the night, because we’ve never been able to get it all done in one day (what with the three-hour drive each way and the exigencies of shopping here).

Shopping in Mexico is never a breeze. Shopping in a city you don’t know well only adds to the fun. Finding things here calls to mind phrases like “needle in a haystack,” and “pulling teeth.”

The three main impediments to shopping bliss in Mexico are:

• There just isn’t as much stuff to buy. If you remember the 1950s in the states, it’s pretty similar to what shopping is like in Mexico today. It brings to life those statistics you’re always reading about the US, with only 5% of the world population, consuming some humongous percentage of the goods.

• Finding out who’s got what to sell can take on Kafkaesque overtones. Logic is lacking. The Yellow Pages, looking so innocently helpful like the ones back where you came from, are next to useless (more on this another time).

• Finally, finding the stores themselves in an unfamiliar city is a job in itself. Maps can help, but not that much where street signs and numbers are frequently absent.

We were in search of, among other things, eight-inch stovepipe for this rocket heater we’re planning to build. Only six-inch is common here, we learned. We finally located a place that fabricates the stuff, but it was closed for some obscure reason (it was Monday). They did open the following day, but we found the prices too steep. We reluctantly resigned ourselves to using six-inch pipe, reluctantly because it will require us to modify the design in the book, a complication we could well live without. That finally settled, we had to find the six-inch pipe, which all the hardware stores claimed to stock normally but seemed to be out of at the moment. We finally found it at Ace, of all places. Of course, they didn’t have the elbows — that would have been asking too much — but we were able to find those in a little hardware store enroute back home.

Things we found: Joint compound, electrical stuff, plumbing stuff, metal for the windows and doors, a cool old lamp for somewhere, the stove pipe, cat food, wine in a box, Kleenex, two wilted red-leaf lettuces (boo), soap, tomatoes in a box, mushrooms in a box, car parts, a can of air.

Things we couldn’t find: A propane heater (too late in the season, they’re already selling fans, and anyway we probably wouldn’t have indulged due to shock at the cost of all the other stuff), double deadbolt door locks, two medicines I needed, but fortunately not for another month and a half (never leave anything important to the last minute), farfalle.

Things we found but didn’t buy: A 2008 calendar, they had some at Sanborn’s but the ~$17 price tag dampened my desire to know what day it is; kitty litter (we still have some although I like to stock up on this); jamon serrano (too extravagant).

Things we blew off altogether : A visit to a tienda naturista for some herbal remedies.

Semi-impulse purchase: A gallon of raw honey for only ~$18 in a hamlet on the way home.

We discovered a terrific hotel, basic but super-clean and with courtyard parking (which we needed due to all the stuff in/on the truck by that time), for ~$20. It had hottish water but no towels. Someone had painted a charming abstract design on the wall over the bed, and there was some nice tile trim outside. There was a TV for the MG, and lighting bright enough to read by for me. Door lock was of the wobbly push-button variety. TIP: Bring your own towel and one of those safety lock gizmos if you frequent cheap hotels. Toilet paper too, although this place had an industrial-sized roll. There were two taco stands within a block, an Oxxo for beer, and a hotel with breakfast buffet two blocks away. What more could a gringa on a string ask?

Easy or difficult of access? This is something you don’t have to think about usually in the states, as travel is still so cheap and readily available. It’s a much bigger issue in Mexico, however, particularly if you’re in a hurry.

Consider: How far is the nearest airport? How often are there flights to where you might need to go? Some cities may offer direct flights to selected stateside destinations a couple times a week; these can be a real bargain. At other times it will be necessary to route through Mexico City (all roads lead to Mexico City), which costs more. Do you have aged parents or other family likely to necessitate emergency visits? Then maybe San Cristobal de las Casas, on its remote, cloud-shrouded mountaintop, wouldn’t be the best choice (although I think I read somewhere an airport was in the works).

If you’re planning to travel within Mexico, it’s usually a time/money tradeoff. Mexico has a fabulous bus system extending to every nook and cranny of La Republica, and prices are quite decent. But, distances being what they are, bus travel can involve many days, which has its own costs, like eating. Airfares within Mexico are pretty pricey. Rental car prices are comparable to those in the states. Gas prices are rising, although not to the same heights as in the states so far (unleaded is about $2.70 a gallon at this writing). If travel of any sort is going to be a big part of your Mexican life, and money is a consideration, then think well on these things.

Remoteness per se is not necessarily a big deal. It’s the mix that any particular place has to offer that’s important. Progreso, Yucatan, where we lived, for example, was a great location for access to the US by plane; less so for access to the rest of Mexico. This place is pretty damned remote, perched on the tip of the Yucatan peninsula. BUT, it’s only a half-hour from the Merida airport, which has daily flights to Houston, daily reasonably- priced flights to Houston, at that. I flew round-trip Merida to Albuquerque, New Mexico in June of 2006 for only $500. A couple months later, the MG and I traveled to Guadalajara round trip, a far shorter distance, and it cost us $400 each. (I’ve noticed that on Mexican carriers, roundtrip airfares are not discounted as opposed to buying each direction separately, but I don’t know if that’s always the case.) The Merida airport has dozens of flights daily to Mexico City, from where you can connect to anyplace in the world. And, you could do the whole thing without using your car; a taxi from Progreso to the airport was about $25.

Additionally, we were able to ship a crate of five large (48 x 36″) paintings from Merida to our gallery in Arizona, via DHL, for about $500. So, Progreso/Merida was excellent for access to the rest of the world, despite being at the end of the earth and a 7-day drive from Tucson.

In terms of shopping, Progreso had a great central market (roast pig tacos for breakfast!) and a pretty fair small supermarket. We shopped for wine, parmesan, and cat supplies at Sams and Aurrera in Merida, a half-hour drive away. Progreso got its own Aurrera about a month before we left.

In the northern state of Sonora, where we are living now, the situation is very different. Here, we are a three-hour drive from the US border, four to five hours’ drive from the Tucson airport, and a three-hour drive from Hermosillo and its airport. That’s in your own vehicle. There is bus service which of course takes a lot longer.

As far as shopping goes, only very basic items are available in the local tienditas; all other shopping must be done in the city, three hours and maybe $50 in gas distant. The nearest bank is an hour and a half away. Careful planning is of the essence when living in such a remote location. One example: We forgot to fill the truck with gas the day before departing on a trip to the states, and so, after getting up at 4 a.m. for an early start, were obliged to sit around feeling very disgruntled until our local Pemex station opened at 7.

Will you live in the city or the country, or somewhere in between? Most people contemplating a move have a preference in this regard already. Something you may not have thought of (I certainly hadn’t) is that, in Mexico, the further away you get from the city, the less goods and services become available.

This is in total contrast to the US, where the cruddiest burg of 25,000 boasts substantially the same shopping as a large metro area — it might not have Macy’s or Nordstrom’s, but it will have Lowe’s or Home Depot plus a few independent hardware stores, at least one or two art/craft emporia, a fabric store or two, bookstores new and used, all manner of auto supply stores, plumbing and electrical dealers, discount clothing places, thrift and antique shops packed with goodies, not to mention Target, et al., and let us not forget an ample selection of supermarkets and drugstores. What was I talking about? Oh, yes. Well, a comparable variety of consumer opportunity is to be had only in the largest Mexican cities, and even then — it ain’t the same.

If you are lucky, a town of 30,000 or so MIGHT have a Walmart or Aurrera or Soriana, where you can buy wine and Friskies, plus an assortment of local shops (clothing, fabrics, auto supply, bike repair, etc.). From central Mexico on down, most towns of any size have traditional food markets. Stores like Sams Club and Costco (sole sources of imported parmesano, quantity olive oil and kitty litter), and shopping malls are found only in definitely urban areas, say over 200,000 population. If you crave a truly rural ambiente, expect only the most basic items (dried beans, toilet paper, milk, tomatoes and such) to be available locally and be prepared to shop for gringo luxuries on costly pilgrimages to the nearest large city.

A subcategory of the city vs. country question is that of sophistication vs. rusticity. In general, one finds more sophisticated surroundings and company in the city than in the country, like anywhere else. But I will point out that there do exist smaller towns, notably in the colonial areas, which possess an extremely rich cultural heritage and are stuffed to the gills with arty, literary, and intellectual types, both Mexican and foreign, which can thus offer the best of many worlds. I suspect Mexico contains limitless possibilities in this regard, if you take the time to explore.