Frijoles Charros en Zihuatanejo, MX

While visiting my parents in Zihuatanejo, Mexico, my mom signed up both her and I for a half-day cooking class. Participants were to be led around daily market stalls searching for food, to be prepared into authentic Mexican dishes later on. We learned some key words and phrases and were set free to practice our fledgling Spanish on market vendors. We tasted fresh cheeses, hunted for hot and hotter peppers, inhaled warm spices, sniffed herbs, and listened to rapid-fire Spanish pass over our heads. Everything was ridiculously fresh. Shelf life? 24 hours at the most. Although not conscious of it, we allowed the culture to seep into our pores in a very different way than mere sightseeing.

Fast-forward an hour. Market shopping accomplished and meal prepping has commenced. Humidity is steadily climbing and everyone is parked at a picnic bench with cool glasses of hibiscus tea, swatting away various sizes of insects. Half of us are practicing our “patting and shaping” technique with masa dough for corn tortillas. Others are merrily banging away with a molcajete, a sort of mortar and pestle, mashing garlic with coarse salt and lime. One of the soups on the afternoon’s menu was frijoles charros, a sort of Mexican pinto bean soup with spicy chorizo, crushed tomatoes, and various chili peppers, seasoned with pungent epazote. Eventually the banging and mashing come together to form a cohesive soup. Bowls, spoons and napkins are passed, hibiscus tea refreshed, and warm corn tortillas bundled and set out. Silence descends upon on the small group. All that can be heard is the odd motorcycle buzzing down the road and children squealing in the distance. I taste the soup. I close my eyes. I think, “this is the best thing I’ve tasted in my entire life”. Warm spiciness saturating all corners of my palate, the heat of the peppers on the back of my throat as I swallow, the piquant herbs making their presence known. I ask for the tortillas to be passed my way, and take another bite.