I’m in Mexico City and spoilt for choice as to where to go for a lunchtime taco. Taquerias are everywhere, each entrance best described as a hole in the wall: you step in from the street into a dark, cavernous stone vault and go past the bar, stocked with dozens of bottles of spirits and a fridge full of beer.
I honestly feel like I’ve never had Mexican food before, except once in San Francisco. On that occasion, I went to a canteen close to the border with a friend, where we were the only two non-Mexican people eating. The salsas were bright as traffic lights and there was charred corn doused with chilli and lime salt, fresh white cheese and lime butter.
The tortillas were the soft corn ones, unlike any I’ve seen in UK outlets, with hard, U-shaped shells made of wheat. The sauces were all freshly made, unlike the bottled variety sold in British supermarkets.
Why can’t we do Mexican food at home? Is it not possible to get the correct corn chips for salsa, rather than cardboard Doritos? What would be so hard about serving the food with a quartered lime and putting out a range of spicy and hot sauces to suit every palate? And what if the world-famous chilli con carne was made properly?
Mainly, it’s because we missed out in the UK. When Mexican food was being exported out of the country, along with its people, that food ended up in America. What became known as ‘Tex Mex’ is a diluted version of the real stuff, a bit like Chicago deep dish pizza compared to that of Naples. In London, for example, the Mexican population is too sparse for the food to be judged as truly authentic – and it’s a long way for Brits to go on holiday. Once again, we get what we are given, and we have come to believe that cumin plus sour cream equals Mexican.
Corn tortillas (never wheat, although these are available in northern Mexico) should always predominate. And the sauce – the mole – is the main part of the dish, not a huge slab of protein. Here’s the rub: a proper mole contains up to 100 ingredients and (despite the misinformation) very rarely includes chocolate.
Rather than being graded by heat, chillis are used for their flavour – which is not to say that some aren’t very hot indeed. Salsa should be fresh and so flavoursome that the tomatoes do not need a dousing of salt. Guacamole always has a texture (it is never blended into a smooth paste) and the salsa, onion and tomato go on top only once it’s been prepared.
We get what we are given and have come to believe that cumin plus sour cream equals Mexican
Never use garlic in guacamole, but do add plenty of lime and some sea salt. Although garlic is used copiously in many Mexican dishes, the powdered variety is often added for pungency (though not, as a rule, with seafood, which tends to be griddled until golden brown before being added to the sauce).
There are, I’m told, some great high-end Mexican joints opening now in London. But there appears to be no such thing as a decent taco place. In my area of north London, two burrito cafés have opened, both as bad as each other. They pile thick, chewy flatbreads with whole black beans and grated cheddar. The protein (chicken or whatever) tends to predominate. Hideous.
Everything is not meant to be drowning in cheese, though there should be a little inside the griddled taco. But never cheddar, which has no place in Mexican food. Ever. Queso fresco, cotija or oaxaca are the only acceptable varieties. You can order them online from good Mexican ingredient suppliers, such as Mexi Dairy Co.
As with Italian food, which is also regionalised, there isn’t really any such thing as authentic Mexican food – but there are some dishes that speak for the nation. Aguachile, for example, is sliced prawn submerged in liquid, seasoned with chilli, lime, coriander and salt, and served with slices of cucumber and onion.
Now for booze. Mexican joints in the UK tend to offer bottles of weak-looking beer with a wedge of lime shoved in the neck. Forget them. I saw boozers ask for lime and salt to add to their glasses of beer – just as you would dress a salad.
Treat tequila as you might a fine spirit capable of standing alone, and consider sipping a shot (never downing it in one) as you would a single malt. It should be 100 per cent agave – the gold standard for quality – and will also make for delicious palomas or margheritas. Otherwise, try mezcal, which is smoky, more whisky-like.
Everywhere I ate, I was offered grasshoppers – crunchy, fried insects – as a garnish. I declined. Authentic? Absolutely! A step too far? Claro!
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