Nacosidades En Estas Navidades

In NacoLAndia, the rule is árboles de navidad don't go down until January 7th, or so says LA Naca.

That's right.  Don't even think about de-decking the halls with boughs of holly. Keep Charlie Brown's Christmas, Christmas Vacation, A Christmas Story or ¡Vaya Santa Claus! in the VHS player. And don't even think about removing the baby Jesus from your nacimiento.  Everything stays put.

Las Fiestas Navideñas don't end until my homies el chino Melchor, el negro Baltasar and el guero Gaspar are guided by either the Star of Bethlehem, the North Star or OnStar (I can't keep my biblical chisme straight) to my casa to drop off some myrrh, frankincense and gold, respectively, into my shoe.  And by myrrh, frankincense and gold, I mean Avon lipgloss, a handmade scarf and some reindeer socks from Ol Neybi.  Or at least, that's what they tend to give me year after year at LA Seños place.

Y ni se habla de la rosca todavía.  More on that in a future post.

In any case, déjame decirte porque me encanta esta temporada tanto: Arbolitos.

Como decía Don Chucho Martínez Gil, compositor y una tercera parte de Hermanos Martínez Gil...

Arbolito, arbolito, bajo tu sombra

Voy a esperar que el día cansado muera,

Y cuando estoy solito mirando al cielo
Pido pa' que me mande una compañera.

This song is the jam!  It sounds even better when Pedro Infante sings it.

If that doesn't make you weep, well, then maybe these trees will.  I now present to you prime examples of some truly naco Christmas trees.

(Photo courtesy of Flickr search.)

What's wrong with this picture?  I'll tell you what's wrong.  They used Mountain Dew instead of:

(Photo courtesy of FB.)

What a rookie mistake.  Fools.

OK, enough babosadas.  I'll now show you the good stuff.  Ahem.  I'm proud to present to you LA Naca's arbolito de navidad, 2009 edition.

Super chido, ¿qué no?

What were you expecting, a real tree?  No manches!  This metal tree collapses into a few parts and fits in a shoe box and costs less than a "real" tree of the same size.  So what if it doesn't smell like Douglas Fir?

Here's some sepsi extreme closeups of my badass arbolito.

 

That's right. Not only is my tree 2 feet tall and made of metal, but it's also busting at the seams with nacadas. From sugar skull spheres to luchadores y loteria handmade ornaments, mi arbolito es una obra de arte.  Plus, leave it to LA Naca to use Star Wars and Batman wrapping paper four years in a row. Guáchale. Next year, it's only gonna get nackier.

En el nombre del Santo, Blue Demon y Mil Máscaras. Amen.

Hasta mañana.

Peda Por Dios

I don't think I am an alcoholic.

Stop laughing.  I'm not.

I've been a little MIA based on my inability to form coherent sentences when I'm 6 palomas in every night.  I've been neglecting you, sole reader of said blog.  I'm sorry.  Here's where I make it up to you.  I've decided to sober up and give you what you've been wanting: a pinche post.

Coincidentally, my excuse for not posting is actually the same as my topic.

I have been nothing but puro pinche pari since Lupita Day.  Since the 12th, there's been nine posadas, Nochebuena, Navidad, day after Christmas shopping, Año Nuevo dress shopping, Día de los Inocentes,  holiday hookups, misa goings, tamales making, and most importantly, tamales eating.  I'm swamped!

Why do I force myself to do so much? Because of God.  Nacos in the motherland prove their faithfulness to the cross and to the bottle by celebrating what is known as the Guadalupe-Reyes Marathon.   According to wiki, it's been around since the 1990s.  I don't remember that being the case, but I also don't remember a time before I started drinking.  Anyguey...the chosen ones spend 26 days celebrating Jesus y familia starting on el Día de la Virgen de Guadalupe and ending on el Día de los Santo Reyes.

You might think it's really fun, but it's actually a difficult task!  So far, I've gone through another bottle of Corralejo, who knows how many litros de escuert and un chingo de limones.  I've also lost the following: 4 days of work, an offensive amount of lana, use of my liver and my morals.  Plus, I've still got about a week and half to go!

It's tough being this devout and this naca, but with great power comes great responsibility.

Hasta mañana.

Como Pesan Los Pesos

Pesos are both priceless and worthless.

Back in LA Naca's youth, LA Seño would give me $50 to spend on my annual month-long summer visit in The Best Country In The World.  $50 doesn't seem like a lot of money if you lived in NacoLAndia, but in our Mexican pueblo in 1988, I was a millionaire. Well, not quite, but close.

First of all, I would stay with my abuelitos in their big house with their menagerie of animals.  They had four miniature doberman pinschers: Tofi (because he was the color of toffee), Chobi (because of a weight issue), Goliat (por tamaño) y Tuin (for looking just like Chobi). They also had 8 siamese cats, but the only ones I warmed up to were Beisol (as in basil, the herb, but pronounced paisa-style), Muñeca and Mascarita.  My favorite recuerdo of the cats is that they would nap together in a mound in the sun, looking like a pile of snow.

You might think that 12 pets is enough for one retired couple living in a small town in Mexico, but not for my ever-ridiculous family.  Oh, no.  Besides, what hogar Mexicano is complete without a birdcage, with or without birds?  My grandparents had seven cages.  A huge one housed all 8 of their canaries, while the rest of the birds were paired off in smaller cages that lined the hallway outside the downstairs bedrooms.  There were couples of bluejays, robins, doves, finches, parakeets and parrots.  My bedroom had the doves outside the window and their constant cooing, which some would find adorable and endearing, made me despise their existence.  I also think that it's from these lovable and eccentric patriarchs that I acquired my flair for the absurd.

My grandma listened to me complain about the damned birds singing at 6am and suggested I sleep in one of the upstairs bedrooms.  I took her advice and shacked up in one of the spare rooms.

Here's something else you should know about my abuelita.  She was all sass and ¡zas!  No one was spared from her wicked sense of humor.  It didn't matter if you were the local priest, her 80 year-old sister, her youngest and most beautiful granddaughter, she didn't care.  If a laugh could be had at someone's expense, it was going to be had, and she was ALWAYS the mastermind behind it.  But it was done in such a loving way that you, the target, couldn't help but laugh, too...like that time she made me eat a mouthful of garlic cloves by convincing me they were frijoles de olla.

Anyway, back to my new digs upstairs.  Grandma's trucos aside, what I didn't take into account the evening I moved upstairs was that we are a resourceful people who make do with what Nuestro Señor has given us.  My grandparents had a patio upstairs next to the bedrooms, so to make good use of the space, and to be even more paisa, they converted it into a chicken coop, complete with 6 hens and a rooster.  Outside my window.  So, instead of pinches palomas cucurrucucuing, I was woken up at 5:30 the next morning by el mentado gallo!

And let's not forget that the church bells go off every 15 minutes of every single day, come hell or high water, except, of course, at every third hour, when las campanitas chime Shubert's Ave Maria in it's entirety.

Other than not being allowed to sleep in and my grandma pulling practical jokes on me, I was free to do whatever I wanted for an entire month.  No parents, no siblings, just me and my superchido abuelitos taking me anywhere, everywhere and nowhere.  Sometimes, we'd travel to the big towns and visit tios and tias and primos.  Sometimes, we'd climb historic monuments.  And then other times, we'd stay at home and my grandpa would teach me songs on the organ or show me how to splice beta tapes or grandma would school me in damas chinas and teach me how to blow cigarette smoke out my nose.

Other times, I'd take my $50, which back in 1988 was equivalent to $150,000 Mexican Pesos, and go on shopping sprees at each and every papeleria and dulceria in town.  Y ni se habla de las ñiquiñaques (yeah, you read that right) que compraba cada miércoles en el tianguis.  And when in "big" cities, I hooked myself up at 3 Hermanos with jellies in every color I could find, even though I was supposed to be buying oxfords for the next school year.  It's like my mom wanted me to be responsible with money, which I knew back then never, ever would happen.

At the end of my summer vacation, I would count up my leftover pesos and mentally convert them back into dollars.  Answer: casi nada.  At the time, a thousand pesos was worth 30 cents, which just barely bought me a candy bar.  I figured that if I just saved the pesos, I could reuse them when I come back for Christmas and probably get a bag of anything that falls out the back of this:

plus a handful of these:

 and wash it down with this:

(All preceding images courtesy of Google Image Search.)

preferiblemente con sabor a fresa.

So, I kept my pesos for future use, inflation and depreciation meaning nothing to me.  I was too busy showing off  the pink, blue, purple AND green bills in my pocket!  The coins were cool, too, but really heavy.

Considering these recuerdos are from over 20 years ago, I'm happy to say that not much has changed with regards to pesos and my feelings towards spending them.  Except for the fact that the government lopped off three zeros to make room on the currency back in 1993, it's still the same lana: colorful and worthless unless spent immediately.

Luckily for me, LA Doctora knows that I hold pesos close to my heart.  Maybe it's because I keep a cazuelita full of monedas Mexicanas by the front door (who's gonna steal them?) or maybe it's because it's so chafa that she knew just the person who would love it.  In either case, she brought me a regalito for Las Posadas and I was thrilled to receive it!

I present to you mi primer regalo de navidad de 2009:

That's right.  It's my very own pesos-themed Piggy Bancomer.  It's like my own branch of Banamex!  The only design flaw is that there is no little rubber thingy at the bottom to take the money out, nor do the top and bottom come off.  So, much like actual bancos Mexicanos, you can put money in, but you can never take it out.

That being said, I don't know what to do with it.  Any suggestions, other than to put money in it, would be greatly appreciated.

Here's my banco from the other side, complete with Aztec warrior:

El indio Nezahualcóyotl (Náhuatl: 'coyote hambriento') fue uno de los mero meros de Texcoco con raíces Chichimecas. So, in layman's terms, that means he was a naco king ruling over fresa territory (not Oxnard). Naco as he was, he was also a philosopher, a lover of the arts AND the ladies, leaving behind 110 escuincles, but most importantly, he could throw down, too. Basically, he was a Renaissance Man, but on a better continent--in essence, LA Naca's version of the ideal man.

On top of all that, he was the poet laureate of the cien pesos. If you look really closely, this poem of his can be read on the side of his face, like a neck tat:

Amo el canto del cenzontle
pájaro de cuatrocientas voces
amo el color del jade
y el enervante perfume de las flores
pero amo más a mi hermano, el hombre.

That's what I'm talking about, Coyote Hungry.

Hasta mañana.

Un Chingo De Tequila Y Tortillas

Nacos don't shop at Costco.

I'm not saying we shouldn't.  I'm saying we don't.   But we need to get on board!

While enjoying some mexcellent chilaquiles, LA Doctora and I were discussing the fact that Costco is a one-stop shop for nacos, but we don't even know it because we don't have membership cards.  Well, I do, but that's because I got that sabor a fresa going on.  That being said, here's my plea to mi gente to hop on the Kirkland train.

¡ATENCION!

NACOS DE TODO EL MUNDO: Get yourself a membership to Costco!

I know it costs $40 a year, but it's worth it.  Te lo juro.

Now, I'm not saying all us nacos work as jardineros, but those of us that are would look legit if we pushed this around:

I'm also not stereotyping us all as being construction workers, but if we did spend our downtime in front of Home Depot searching for our next gig, I'd suggest picking this up, especialmente si te gusta clavar:

Also, I would NEVER presume that we all work as or for mechanics. But if we did, this would be handy to have around to clean up after ourselves:

Speaking of cleaning up after ourselves, I don't know a naco that couldn't use the following products, regardless of employment status in the custodial arts:

Ahora, si todavía te faltan regalitos para LA Noche Buena para tu familia, pos vete al Costco!

Para tus escuincles:

Para tu madre:

Para tu vieja:

Finalmente, para LA Naca:

Cómpramelas, porfis!  No seas gacho!  Aunque acabo de comprar estas ayer, ya sé que me las voy a echar en unos dos por tres.  Fácilmente, me las acabo antes del cumpleaños de Chuchito.

Hasta mañana.

Fashion Fridays, V

Desde el cielo, una hermosa mañana....

Damas y Caballeros: I present to you the newest installment of Fashion Friday!  I've had some great Fridays with you, but if I do say so myself, this one is heaven-sent.

Today's blog is dedicated to my homegirl, La Virgen de Guadalupe.

For those of you that aren't down with fechas importantes de la iglesia católica y paisa, let me tell you, tomorrow's her day.  Approximately, 18 billion nacos, fresas, paisas, chicanos, pochos, burros, gueyes, gabachos and indios (and tourists, I suppose) will crowd the streets of DF to celebrate misa at her Basilica.

In my town, everday is Lupita Day.

I'm not saying I'm Juan Diego and I'm about to throw down a mantilla full of roses--I live in NacoLAndia, not Tepeyac--but she has been known to make apparitions to me in the oddest of places.

Sometimes, she appears on my air freshener...

She ALWAYS can be found on my windowsill...

But sometimes, she really surprises me by showing up in LA Seño's refri...

Or on LA Abogada's couch...

When I was in the greatest country in the world this past summer, LA Seño and I went into the local Comercial Mexicana and found Lupita working for Scribe notebooks, which was exactly my reason for shopping there in the first place.  Talk about divinity!

Take a look at these badass cuadernos!

 

 

 

I bought other ones, too, but they disappeared.  To me, that just means she'll appear again somewhere unexpected, like my hubcaps.

But to really tie in with today's theme, let me show you what I found staring back at me when I walked into a Morrissey concert not too long ago.

Given my surroundings, she could have shown up to thousands of other paisas, but I feel special because she showed up to me.

Reina de los nacos, ruega por nosotros.

Hasta mañana.

Yo Te Vi Llorando

Boys Don't Cry. Tengo Ganas de Llorar. The Tracks of My Tears. Llorarás. The Crying Game. Lagrimas Negras. Cry, Cry, Cry. Llorar, Llorar, Llorar.

8 different music genres with one thing in common: Crying.  We've been crying since the moment we're born.  Even us nacos.

In fact, usually, there's something wrong with you if you're not crying at birth.

So, bust out the Puffs Plus with Aloe because today's post is all about chillando.

LA Naca comes from a long line of chillones.  LA Seño, por ejemplo, is uncontrollable when watching Destilando Amor or Extreme Makeover: Home Edition.  My abuelito was a regular weeper, even more than my abuelita who always had kleenex up her sweater sleeve, por si acaso.  They usually turned on the waterworks when reminiscing about the olden days, not about novelas and home improvement shows, como mi vieja.  I, on the other hand, cry about my abuelitos, que en paz descansen.  Pero eso es de luto.  It's totally acceptable.

I pretty much never cry at non-real moments, like TV shows or movies. That being said, I'm not embarrassed that a good jam can get me teary-eyed, too.  It's true.  Y ni se habla de las lágrimas que corren si ando peda escuchando a José Alfredo Jiménez cantar Camino de Guanajuato.  I'm such a little bitch!  You might as well call me LA Llorona.

Anyguey, here are my two hands-down absolutely most favorite cover songs about crying to cry along to ever. Enjoy!

Up first is Rebekah del Rio doing a cover of Roy Orbison's Crying as seen in the film Mulholland Drive. 



Did that give you goosebumps?  If it didn't you're dead on the inside. Also, I love her Sad Girl teardrop tat.

Up next is the most beautiful naco ever, Gael García Bernal, doing his cover of Cheap Trick's I Want You To Want Me as seen in the film Rudo y Cursi.



Sweet Chucho, he's pretty. Without exaggerating, I've seen this video about 45 times and I never tire of it.

Hasta mañana.

Naco's Tacos

FACT: Every neighborhood in NacoLAndia has comida Mexicana because every neighborhood in NacoLAndia has nacos.

I remember one time, the MTA bus I was taking to el centro broke down in Beverly Hills (ay, perdon!).  So, we all got off the bus and waited for the next one, but next one was full and it didn't bother stopping.  Since I had time to spare, I decided to take a walk.

Imagine my surprise when I found a taco truck parked by Wilshire and La Cienega!  I made a beeline for it, and in the midst of all these intimidating mansions and fancy cars, I felt at home standing next to the other patrons, a handful of construction workers and gardeners. Tu sabes. Puro paisa.  

When I went to put in my order for a torta de milanesa, la doña de la lonchera asked, "sí, mi cielo, ¿qué te puedo ofrecer?"  I heart being called mi cielo.  It reminds me of my DF tias who call me mi reina.  Makes me feel special.  To top things off, this roach coach even had agua de jamaica, so I could have stayed here forever!

I had just finished sitting down on the curb, enjoying the first bite of my torta, when one of the jardineros started making ojitos at me.  It would have been fine if the one with the beer gut had tried to throw lines at me, but it was the other one, el feo.  The dead-eyed, leathery skinned galán decided he'd woo me with his drawn out, "adiooos, chula" babosadas.  Thank goodness I saw my knight in shining armor, the MTA #220 bus, coming to my rescue.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I like piropos.  I think catcalling is funny and a self-esteem booster when done well.  I've heard some awesome and awkward lines in my days of strutting around like a naco taco de ojo.  (For references as to when, see previous post on paisa clubs.)

Just the other day, I asked Naco Libre for some of his best lines.  This was the best one of the bunch, which explains a lot.

"I'm gonna go outside and make out, wanna join me?"

I must say, I like that one.  He had many, many terrible lines which I won't subject you to because they're that bad.  But I think that one is a keeper.

As for my own sure-fire piropos, I'll share some of the cleaner ones with you in a future post.

OK, I'm getting off subject, if there really is one.  So, speaking of ojitos and tortas...The westside of NacoLAndia has a gangload of paisa places (and a gangload of paisas, and a gangload of paisa gangs).  Here's one of my favorites:

There is no need to adjust your monitor.  What you are seeing is real.  This place is called Tacomiendo.  Greatest. Naco. Name. Ever.

It's located on Culver and Inglewood in Culver City in a mini-strip mall sandwiched between Libreria y Discoteca Latina and El Rancho Produce.  I've never been to the libreria, but I've been to Guadalajara Bakery next door to that and their bolillos tasted stale.  Guáchale.  As for El Rancho, I went there once while waiting for my enchiladas order to be ready, and walked out with a chafa version of Lotería.  Quien sabe donde lo dejé.

Sometimes, I sit on the colorful bench by the window and wait for my order to be done.  It's an amazing place to sit and people-watch.  The colorful walls display traditional Mexican restaurant art, you know, a velvet painting of Popo and Iztac, a water-colored scene of the Mexican Riviera, and of course, the picturesque pueblito, complete with portales y parroquia.  Now, before you ask, "pero, LA Naca, no painting of la Virgen or Chuchito?"  Let me tell you: this place has an altar.

La Virgen y familia are well represented at this fine dining establishment.  This, along with their kickass flautas and glass-bottled cokes are the reason I come back to this hole in the wall as often as I do.  In fact, I was just there this past Saturday when the unthinkable happened.

I got cht-chted.

By the man in the black jacket on the right.

Let me explain something about cht-chting that you can teach your children.  It is perfectly acceptable to cht-cht in order to acknowledge a good looking dama as you're riding past her in your carcancha.  Same applies for chifladores.  It is QUITE another to cht-cht her when she's standing 2 feet away from where you're sitting.  Also unacceptable behavior: to repetitively raise your bushy eyebrows over your crazy cracked-out eyes when she gives you the death stare.  Then, continuing his stares in my direction, brows and all, he yelled to the waitress that his chile de arbol wasn't spicy enough.  The final straw was when he licked his lips at me.

To you, sir, I say...

No pienso que estés listo para esta gelatina.

Hasta mañana.

Las Pistas Paisas

I was a stripper in a previous life.

Or at least, I think I was.  What else explains my love of feathers boas and dancing on platforms in unforgivingly hot heels?

Sometimes, when I'm out at clubs like La Boom in Huntington Park entering La Chica Más Sexxxy contests or El Potrero in Cudahy quebrándome la espina to the sounds of El Compa Chuy, I like to pretend I'm dancing at El Noa Noa. It helps distract from the various odors found at both establishments.

Now, back to strippers and paisas. I took LA Doctora on her first visit to ESL.  Now, I know what you're thinking, pero si estas nacas ya hablan inglés, pa que necesitan ESL?  I don't mean English as a Second Language. (O sea, jeló! We graduated from Inglés Sin Barreras ages ago!)  This ESL stands for EastSide Luv, a wine bar in East Los right next to the Mariachi Plaza.

Speaking of la Plaza de los Mariachis, not only is this the Home Depot of músicos vagabundos, it's also the most beautiful metro stop in all of NacoLAndia.




Anyway, back to EastSide Luv Wine Bar y QueSo.  We went there to meet Lalo Alcaraz, the cartoonist most famous for La Cucaracha comics from the NacoLAndia Times.  He was having an comic art exhibit.  La verdad es que este guey, Lalo, tenía un chingo de historietas como este que hablaban de la politica y me quedé roncando.

It's not that I didn't get the jokes, it's just that I was more entertained staring at the walls.

And, que casualidad, hanging out at the bar...

If my attention wasn't already gone by this point, Lalo lost me altogether when I turned around and fell hook, line and sinker for the stage wallpaper along the back wall.  This wallpaper, by far, is the most amazing wallpaper I've ever seen in my life.

The layout of EastSide Luv is well-thought out, not at all naco.  It's a bit narrow, yet long enough to handle a good sized crowd. There's one bar and it lines the length of one side, with seating along the facing side.  At the back of the bar is where the video projector was set up displaying all of Lalo's work.

Then, there's the bar.  For the bartenders to have easy access to the wine cellar, the bar, like an Impala, is lowered.  At first, you think all the cantineros are midgets, as the bartop is only at your mid-thigh. My pesos say the real reason is that they wanted to give their patrons a reason to bend over.  Anyway, speaking of the bartop, it not only doubles as the stage off to the right in front of the Cine Mexicana posters, but it's also a runway that leads to the other end of the long, narrow bar, where there is...a stripper pole.

Now, even though I did teach my niece to do a pole dance, complete with fireman cross leg spin, for her quinceañera this past July, I really wasn't up for doing my number on this pole.  Besides, I left my clear, plastic heels in the car.

So, I went to check out Lalo's posters for sale and found a nice one of la Virgen de Guadalupe having a conversation with Juan Diego.  I had him sign it as well as the one LA Doctora chose of La Migra Mouse. 

Being the naca that I am, y este lugar siendo tan fancy, I just wanted to get out of there, go hang out with or get serenaded by the mariachis next door.  Unfortunately, when we walked out, we saw that they'd all disappeared.  It turns out that mariachis don't hang around until midnight looking for work.  La Casa del Mariachi charro costumes store, however, had this in the window to tell me just where to find them, pa' la próxima.

Eso mero!  Then I checked out the site, and it made me so very unhappy.  Any self-respecting paisa, from mojados to fresas, would have been upset at this gabacho picture of what is supposed to be a Mexican trio.

Come on now! Even pochos know better than this!  Dios mio...

Anyguey, here's what a real trio looks like:



This bolero, just like the stripper pole, was created with one intention in mind: making babies.

Hasta mañana.

Fashion Fridays, IV

FELIZ ANIVERSARIO A MI BLOG! Today, my blog is a month old. I can't believe I haven't abandoned it yet.

Not only that, but it's also Friday, which means I'll be bringing you the greatest fine apparel NacoLAndia has to offer.

But before we get to that, I want to tell you that one day, LA Doctora (and maybe LA Abogada, if she's down) and I will open up our own clothing company, and we will call it Trapos.  You'll see.  One day.  Just not today.

But enough about my fictitious babosadas.  I bring you real-life nacadas available in NacoLAndia and the internet.

Anyway, here's the NaCo classic from 2005:

This is available for purchase on their website and at Olverita's Village in La Placita.  It's also on my Navidad wishlist. Men's mediano. Pa' que sepas.

Hablando de chingaderas que no necesito pero que deseo tanto...I really can't wait to hit up the jewelry district in downtown NacoLAndia (Broadway and 7th, where LA Naca gets the cuñada hookups) because I DESPERATELY want this ghetto bling to wear next season, when we go all the way, guey!

It'll go perfectly with my new jeans with the embroidered Doyers logo on the butt pockets. You think I'm kidding.

Oh, I almost forgot!  These items of alta calidad in the eyes of this naca match perfectly with my badass kicks purchased at Fanzz, the best sportswear shop (previously called The Raiders Store) in Fox Hills Mall, la raza headquarters west of Normandie.

Think Blue and thanks for sticking with me this month.  A ver como nos va en diciembre.

Hasta mañana.

¿Le Falta? ¡Le Faltaba!

There are two foolproof ways to avoid a hangover: abstain from drinking (although we all know that abstinence, of any kind, doesn't fly with LA Naca) or become a high-functioning alcoholic (andale!).

I gave up drinking for Lent once. Worst idea ever. Para aguantar la Cuaresma, necesito andar tomada constantemente por 40 días y 40 noches. Además, I really hate fasting.

What do hangovers and Lent have in common? CHILAQUILES. It's the cure for la cruda and meatless Fridays!

My friend LA Cora, partly paisa but mostly ghostly, calls them soggy nachos. Soggy. Nachos. This description is barely acceptable for someone with only one Mexican abuelita (de Juárez, esa). Clearly, it's not good enough for LA Naca. Oh, no. Neither is calling them migas. Tex-Mex doesn't have a place in my kitchen.

Anyway, here's the lowdown on chilaquiles: they're practically free and help clean out your fridge of leftovers! All you need are tortillas, salsa and cheese. If you want to step it up, feel free to add scrambled eggs, diced onions, sour cream and/or shredded chicken. I'm a traditionalist, therefore, I stick to my 3 ingredients, y eso es todo.

Receta:

• Take a handful (a dozen is good for 2 people) of yesterday's tortillas, rip 'em in quarters and fry them up until they're nice and crispy. Now, instead of stale, cold tortillas, they're now delicious totopos, commonly known as corn tortilla chips.
  

• Smother the totopos in whatever salsa you prefer. Lo que traes a la mano está bien. Si tienes rojo o verde o hasta mole, no importa--no somos racistas contra los chiles.

• Cover the pan and let it all soak for a bit while you grate some queso. I use any semi-soft cheese like Jack or Asadero if Chente-endorsed Cacique Queso Fresco isn't available. (And even then, I'm muy contenta using Pepper Jack. Last time, it made hair grow on my chest!)

• Once you're done grating about a handful's worth, sprinkle it on top, cover it, wait a few minutes until melted and voila! You got a masterpiece of a hangover breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner.  Whatever.  I'm not judging.
  

This recipe, taught to me by LA Doctora, is a very traditional way of making them.  Of course, batches will vary slightly, dependent upon salsas and cheeses available, but it's a sure-fire panza pleaser. TRUST.

Whatever you do, please don't make tortillas a mano, or fresh salsa for your chilaquiles.  It defeats the purpose.  The point is that they're cheap and easy, even while fighting a hangover, much like the author of this blog.  LA Naca says no to molcajetes.  Not for this recipe, anyway.  I will allow you to buy salsa and/or steal it from your mom's casa. Pero eso es todo. Solamente se usa lo que sobra en el refri.

Hablando de (des)madres, LA Seño, mi vieja, has an awesome recipe, too. But hers involves eggs and onions, unless she's making them just for me, which is pretty much never. But what I do love is that she serves chilaquiles with refried beans. Que paisa. ¿Pos de dónde crees que saqué mis nacadas si no de mi mami?

LA Seño's chilaquiles rojos:

She used leftover Tito's Tacos chips and salsa. She's a miracle worker in that she takes Americanized Mexican food and makes it so Mexican, it practically waves a bandera.  Sometimes, she skimps on the cheese, but as you'll see, I also have a cheese addiction.

P.S. That comal never leaves her stovetop. NEVER.

LA Naca's chilaquiles azules:

To commemorate the National League Division Series champions, I made my chilaquiles with Dodger blue corn tortillas, salsa verde and about 8 pounds of cheddar cheese. I was in an Ethier haze, y como que se me pasó la mano.  Meh.  It still tasted great.

Gabachos chilaquiles verdes:

No mouse, mickey! Además, ni me llena ese cacho de nada! Plus, let's keep it real. That looks too expensive to be real Mexican food.


Finally, I bring you this PSA on Quesos Mexicanos by Vicente Fernandez.  Watch as he eats your food and plays with your children, but doesn't even bother to sing to you.

Let the hangover-inducing activities commence!

Hasta mañana.

LA Naquititita

I've finally come out of my Cazadores-induced coma and I'm back with a vengeance!

I just couldn't wait to share this nacada with you.

From Amandititita, the chaparra chilanga who brought us the jam Metrosexual, here's another soon-to-be classic entry in the Anar-Cumbia genre.

I present to you Odio A Mi Jefe.



Mad props to LA Messicana's sister, LA Virgen de Guadalupe, for sharing this with me earlier today.

I hope this makes you laugh and dance and perhaps makes you want to invest in some CutCo.

Speaking of which, there's nothing I love more than machetes, except putazos. Hablando de eso, do you know who Librado Andrade is? If you don't, I'll tell you. I'm an expert on him, clearly, as I just heard about him and saw him fight for the first time ever about 72 hours ago. He's the Cro-Magnon Hombre of the boxing world and he got the crap kicked out of him in like 8 seconds on Friday.

(Photo courtesy of google image search. Also, the photo is not from Saturday's fight, but he really does look like that always.)

He hails from Guanajuato (ajua!), has a brother, Enrique, who is also a boxer, and he currently resides in GuadaLaHabra.  And...he has a terrible boxing record.  Now, I'm not gonna lie to you.  Chances are I'm not going to be writing about any other boxers on this blog, with the exception of maybe Julio César Chávez, if the occasion arises.  The truth is that I'm not a boxing fan, not because I oppose violence, but because I can't stand that stupid Oscar De La Hoya and his stupid smug face.

But that's for another post.  Maybe.

Hasta mañana.

Aztecas: Un Imperio Recordado

Nahuatl 101
Lesson #1
The Thanksgiving Edition

I don't speak fluent Nahuatl.
I don't even speak conversational  Nahuatl.

However, I know someone who does, which obviously, makes me qualified to give classes on this beautiful indigenous language.  She's my facebook friend and high school classmate Rocio, who speaks some version of it with her Nahua grandma, who is from Quiensabedonde, México y no habla español.  If I needed to, I could run my lesson plans by her, but I'm pretty sure I'm right about what I'm about to say, so I refuse to factcheck.

Guajolote is Mexican Spanish for turkey cock.

Guajolote viene de la palabra huehxōlōtl.  Other non-naco and non-Nahuatl terms for guajolote include the lesser Aztec-y sounding pavo and chompipe, which allegedly is used in Mexico and Central America.  I've never used chompipe and I asked my Salvi and Nica neighbors, and they don't use this term, therefore I rebuke it.  There are other words used in other Latin American countries for turkey, pero...que te importa? Come torta con tu hermana la gordota.

Did you know our pre-Columbian ancestors rarely ate guajolote? We ate other words that end in -ote.  And -ole.  And -ate. And -ale. Por ejemplo, we mostly ate corn-based food such as tortillas, tamales, atole, pozole or straight up elotes, as well as frijoles, chocolate, chiles, jicama, camotes, aguacates, yucca, jitomates, calabasas, nopales and limones.  It's like nothing's changed.  Almost.  Los Aztecas weren't big on carne asadas, but they were real big on eating spirulina algae.  Yummy...?  I'm sure it's good for you, as was everything else the Aztecs praised, but I prefer the agave plant and what it has to offer.  But I'm pretty sure you already knew that.

This concludes today's lesson on Nahuatl and Mexica culture.

I leave you with this image of the greatest guajolote azteca I could find.

(Photo courtesy of Flickr Image Search.)

Thanks be to Huitzilopochtli for inspiring this lady to wear gold lamé hot pants and matching midriff  in honor of her Mexica roots.

Japi Sansguibin.

Hasta mañana.