The Ishtmus of Tehuantepec

Many years ago, I wrote an  article about the fascinating area of Oaxaca known as the Isthmus of Tehuantepec for Saveur Magazine.  It is not a pretty place but one worth visiting if you happen to be in the gorgeous but sterile Huatusco resort and it is time for the town fiestas called velas.

Nine bulls, 5 sheep, 7 pigs and 75 chickens, I killed to serve the meal when I was the mayordoma  (sponsor) of the town vela  (fiesta).  Venancia Toledo Zárate, a big,  imposing woman, said to me one day last May in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec in Oaxaca, Mexico. Venancia was talking about the series of fiestas that take place over several nights around May 20 that honor the patron saints of the different towns in the area and that I had come to take a part in. As in other parts of the state, a person volunteers or is called upon to be a mayordomo or mayordoma whose responsibility is to pay all the costs involving the celebration of a religious fiesta. This includes food, music, candles (velas) for the church and elaborate processions. “Sixty million pesos it cost me but for us prestige is everything.”
I had met Venancia and her son Luis Armando Hernández on a previous trip while doing research for my upcoming book on the cuisine of Oaxaca State. As if led by Divine Providence I had stopped at a butcher stall/dress shop in the market in Ixtepec to inquire where I could taste some of the regional specialties only to discover the mother lode.  Venancia herself prepares an assortment of local dishes and sells them there every Sunday and Luis, a big man with a friendly face and a most engaging manner, is a trained chef with much Mexico City restaurant experience.  While I jotted down Luis’ very precise recipes, Venancia swept in with a most decisive air, and after a short hello, instantly began taking inventory and counting the money.  She was dressed in the typical every-day outfit of the area  — a long flowing cotton skirt stamped with blossoms in bright orange and red and a huipil, sleeveless tunic, decorated with purple and yellow chain stitching.  Her was hair done up in braids wrapped in shocking pink ribbons, a big red hibiscus was tucked behind her ear and a heavy gold chain hung around her neck.  I felt an immediate bond between us — something seemed to bring us together.
Though I only first visited Venancia’s far off land in 1986, it has been ever present in my life.  I grew up listening to the languorous tones of La Zandunga, the unofficial hymn of the Isthmus, and when I, like all Mexican children, took native folk dance classes, I always insisted on dancing to it or another of the traditional Isthmian songs called sones because they had the most beautiful movements. and I could wear the most spectacular costumes.  Then I read Miguel Covarrubias’ in-depth study of the area, Mexico South, and I knew that I had to go there one day.  I immediately felt at home.
Soon after I met Venancia she told me a story:  When she was a young woman with small children, her husband had roamed and gotten another woman pregnant.  She told him: ” I love you madly; I will die without you.  But if you love me so little that you can do this, go and never come back” She stuck to her word. Venancia is the epitome of the Isthmian woman.  She controls her family with an iron hand, owns a large herd of cattle that she keeps in the neighboring state of Veracruz and sells the meat at her butcher stall/ dress shop. As I got to know more women in the area, I discovered that this strength and entrepreneurial spirit is characteristic of the women here.  As a single mother and successful businesswoman, it is no wonder I identified so strongly with them.  This is known far and wide as a matriarchal society, totally unlike the male-dominated pattern in most of the Oaxacan Indian villages.  It is women like Venancia who run business here and the financial independence this provides gives them a take-charge attitude.  They know what they want and they know how to get it.  They are big and lush and wear their girth proudly, swinging and sauntering at the same time, always impeccably groomed and smelling sweet despite the 90 plus degree heat and humidity.
Their role model and patron saint is the legendary Juana Cato Romero who lived in the mid to late 19th century and, though born a peasant girl, grew to be immensely rich and lived in a two-story “chalet” in Tehuantepec that still stands. Juana dressed in spectacular outfits of velvet or peau d’soie totally covered in flowers embroidered in bright colors.   For special occasions,  she wore el resplendor,  the traditional Isthmus festive headware like you see in Frida Kahlo paintings  — a small heavily starched child’s dress made of cotton lace framing her face and turned back to look like an American Indian headdress, tiny sleeves hanging down on the sides. Juana conquered the heart of Porfirio Diaz who ruled Mexico with an iron hand for 30 years and her association with him has had a lasting influence on the region and fostored a large intellectual community known for its literature and music.
Situated in the eastern part of the state on its border with Chiapas, the Isthmus of Tehuantepec is the narrow neck of land that is the shortest point between the Gulf and Pacific sides of Mexico.
It is not pretty country but in May the papaya and coconut trees are heavy with fruit and the smell of ripe mangos fills the air lending a tropical air to the low, flat greyish bush.  This area has been an important Pacific trading region since pre-Hispanic times and in the mid-19th century the Isthmus was also studied by planners from many parts of the world who wanted to build a railroad or canal linking the two coasts. (The railroad was built, but the Panama Canal put an end to dreams of any lasting prosperity.)
While monetary wealth has eluded the area, the melding of these different influences have produced a culture of extraordinary richness that I can see reflected in Venancia and Luis.  Venancia’s dark proud face with its broad features and aquiline nose bears the stamp of the Zapotec Indians who first conquered the area while in Luis’ face I see the Spanish and other Europeans who came later.  Like most people in the region, they communicate among themselves in lilting Zapotec and use Spanish to deal with outsiders. Venancia’s dress speaks of the Syrian and Lebanese merchants who settled here to supply the Isthmian women with the finery that makes their hearts happy.  And in their food, all of these worlds come together.
“No hay gastronomía en Juchitán.  Qué tienen? Unos pocos tamales. La verdadera cocina del istmo se encuentra en Ixtepec y Ixtaltepec.” (There is no gastronomy in Juchitán.  What do they have? A few tamales. The true cuisine of the Isthmus is found in Ixtepec and Ixtaltepec.) Luis said to me imperiously in a very typical Isthmian attitude. People here are fiercely competitive and proprietary not just about their food but about the beauty of their women, the observance of their traditions and the luxuriousness of their parties.
My first bite of Isthmian fiesta food was at a vela in Juchitan in a gaily decorated tent, with a brass band playing a danzon, surrounded by beautiful women dressed in their magnificent gala outfits and smelling of Maja perfume.  The meal had been served on a paper plate and no forks or napkins  were provided so with my fingers I picked up a bit of the purée de papas, mashed potatoes, and put it in my mouth licking my fingers dry.  I was stunned. There were so many different taste sensations- tangy, creamy, salty, spicy — exploding like fireworks in my mouth, one after another.  I instinctively realized that I had discovered a regional cuisine within a regional cuisine, with the boldest, richest flavors and most complex seasonings of all Oaxaca state.  On subsequent visits I would taste this flavor combination time and again but no food was more delicious than in Venancia’s kitchen.
There I learned to make the most sophisticated fiesta dishes and learned that in some measure Luis is right. When I tasted Ixtepec’s specialty,cochinito relleno de picadillo, a succulent suckling pig stuffed with a melange of vegetables and fruits perfumed with Old World herbs and spices, its soft skin tasting of orange and red chile adobo, I knew that I had found one of the crowning glories of the cuisine of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec.  I also learned the wonders of estofado de res,  a specialty of Ixtaltepec. The original recipe calls for layering a whole boned cow with chopped fruits and vegetables in a large pine-cone shaped pot made in this town of potters.  The pot is stirred all night over low heat until everything dissolves into a marvelous silky paste that is at once sweet and tart, spicy and mellow.  Venancia also taught me the secret to the purée de papas that had haunted my taste memory – pickled onions!. These three dishes and others I learned to make there show a strong Old World influence on the native everyday Zapotec food which is more subtle but also quite wonderful.   It can be found in the markets and some restaurants in Juchitán where I went after leaving Luis and Venancia.
I found refuge from the oppressive heat in the cool courtyard shaded by almond trees of the gallery-restaurant, Bar Jardín where I met Julio Bustillos and his dazzling wife Martha Toledo.. Her dark face was shiny with perspiration, curly long dark hair wild from the humidity, on her ears were gold hoops and pinned behind one of them was a big yellow hibiscus. Her black eyes glistened and her mouth was smiling and she even had the stereotypical beautymark just above her lip!  Martha, a photographer, is a worthy representative of the juchitecs, the women from Juchitán, who have inspired songs and been captured in countless books.  Julio is deeply committed to the strong ecological conservation assoociation that is one of the most effective in the state and I was not surprised to later learn that this is the intellectual and artistic center of the city. The menu features both Zapotec and mestizo (of mixed blood) dishes.
I had to remind myself that I am a food professional to force myself to taste the stewed iguana with it black leathery skin, and globules of yellow fat, swimming in an aromatic broth of tomatoes and chiles, only to be pleasantly surprised by its rich but subtle flavor. I cleansed my palate with a comforting corn masa soup flavored with fresh epazote called che guiña, in Zapotec, which means chile soup, and loved the smoky flavor of the camarones enchilados, freshly-caught local shrimp cooked in a spicy chile sauce laced with mayonnaise.  Chef, Odilia Román sometimes uses crabs instead  More familiar were dishes like the botana, meat appetizer platter, and enchiladas de mole negro, enchiladas with black mole, that I’ve had in every part of the state.
When I first ate at the beautiful and elegant restaurant Casa Grande owned by Julio’s brother-in-law, Fidel Liljehult, I was deeply disappointed with the faux-Continental cuisine on the menu. Now though, Fidel has brought his mother Bertha into the kitchen to teach them how to make some of her specialties.  Her chileajo, a sweet and spicy tomato and guajillo chile sauce served with roasted pork is sublime and her version of mole negro is deep-flavored and sensuous.  Unfortunately these are the only two restaurants that feature the food of the Isthmus and I had to search the markets.
The first time I visited the fabulous indoor-outdoor market here set up partly around the town square and partly inside a white colonial building with porticoes of graceful arches it was early morning.   Everything was still except for the chatter of hundred of zanates, black birds in the laurel trees that shade the square. Soon the flower sellers arrived and set up their wares under the arches in a profusion of color and the air was instantly suffused with the intense aroma of the blossoms of the corozo, Acrocomia mexicana, a type of palm.  They are sprays of creamy white plumes like feather dusters, born on fine stalks that grow out of an enormous, boat-shaped brown pod close to two feet long.  There were bouquets of primroses and basil sprigs.  (This herb is not used in cooking here rather it is placed on home altars as an offering or used in limpias, spiritual cleansing, to ward off evil spirits.).  There were baskets of red flower petals to sprinkle on graves, gardenias and strings of the sweet-smelling orchid-like guie’ chaachi’ (frangipani) blossoms in pink, yellow and waxy white that are worn like leis, draped around saints and used to make a special ritual foamed drink called bupu which is sold in the market in early afternoon.
I walked into the market itself and sensed a surreal quality that is hard to describe but that I chalked up to the almost total absence of men and the exotic products I found there. I saw something that looked like dented Ping-Pong balls and was horrified to learn that they were turtle eggs. (They are officially illegal because of conservation efforts but they are believed to increase sexual potency and demand is high.)  I met the iguana-seller wandering around like a local version of Medusa with live specimens clinging to her braids and almost tripped over live armadillos, chickens, turkeys, rabbits and piglets.. There were stacks of smoked and salt dried fish arranged spoke fashion and mounds of dried pink shrimp, smelling of the sea, that are one of the indispensable Oaxacan flavors and go into the gueta bi’ngui’ (oven-baked tamales) that I bought from a woman from San Mateo del Mar. An ancient lady sold me fat, chewy little corn cakes called gordas and the famous wafer-thin corn toasted tortillas of the Isthmus called totopos made in tandoor-like ovens that are a specialty of Isthmian potters.
At the prepared food stands I met Adelina Santiago who fed me a marvelous chicken stuffed with a piquant beef picadillo.  At another I tasted guiñado xuba, a wonderful soup made with toasted cracked corn kernels and fat pieces of pork.
I met bread sellers supervising small glass-walled vending carts that held astonishing assortments from simple bolillos (rolls) to squares of the poundcake-like marquesote with squiggles of white icing or lurid streaks of a red dye, maybe cochineal, and marveled at the colors of the spectacular cactus fruit called pitaya, in vivid shades of red, magenta, or yellow dotted with tiny black seeds. It was mango season and there a bumper crop. I never imagined that there are so many varieties — manila, petacón, piña, criollo, manzana,  melocotón, oro and plátano   Each has its characteristic color, flavor, texture and aroma.  Mango piña is bright yellow and only about 3 inches long but it filled with exquisite mango juice that I sucked out like a jiffy pop.  There were 2-foot long pale green cucumbers and foot-long green beans and sitting primly on the floor I saw a healer with luxurious bunches of medicinal herbs for sale.  The juchitecas  were everywhere buying the ingredients to make the food for the velas  that occur simultaneaously in different towns and follow a general pattern.
I’ve been to several velas in Juchitán and other towns and marveled at these magnificent affairs of rituals and celebrations that are a melding of pagan and Catholic traditions.  Perhaps because the town is small and the party feels more intimate,  my favorite is the vela of Santa Catalina in Ixtaltepec.  I arrived at ten o’clock at night just as thecalenda,  a processional invitation announcing the start of the festivities, left the mayordomo’s (sponsor’s) house.  At the head was a young man lighting firecrackers followed by a brass band accompanied by the plaintive strains of the chirimía ,a flute-like pre-Hispanic instrument playing the same religious song over and over again to the beat of the teponaztli, a wood-frame drum. I ran ahead of the procession as it wound through the streets of the town collecting participants until it came to the neighborhood of the church, which was oddly decorated with hundreds of plastic pails in primary colors hanging from the ceiling.  By now the whole town had turned out for the party. The revelry was at its height and the atmosphere was electric with anticipation.  The first strains of the brass band could be heard and as they entered into the dusty, narrow road, old women, swigging mezcal from a bottle, and demure young girls started dancing together in a whirl of color and motion, while the men watched and drank lukewarm Corona beers and the children lost their pesos at the game stands. All this activity stopped at midnight when a spectacular fireworks display began, culminating in elaborate castillos (“castles”) that get their name because they are mounted on turrets.  The castillo went off in stages and circles spinned, stars lit up and at the very end the figure of St. Catherine, the patron saint,  burned brightly.  Fearing permanent disfigurement I escaped when the toritos de petate, bulls fashioned out of palm mats and fitted with lighted firecrackers, carried by young men, made their appearance charging at the crowd that dispersed squealing with laughter and joy.
I returned the following afternoon at 3:30 for the second stage of the vela — an even more elaborate procession that ends with la regada de fruta, the scattering of fruits.  I went into immediate sensory overload.  The streets surrounding the mayordomo’s house were teeming with people and animals. The musicians were tuning their instruments. Young men dressed in black charro outfits with gleaming silver ornaments tried bravely to calm their excited horses decorated with paper flowers.   Two  girls held 12-foot poles, covered in shocking pink crepe paper topped with a ring of paper flowers in different colors while two others carrying a velvet banner with the name Beatriz I cut out in gold paper struggled with the wind. Fifty girls dressed in yellow and red dresses decorated with intricate chain stitching stood in a row led by the capitana, the female captain, a big tall girl with a proud Zapotec face  Twenty men called socios, associates, carried 4-feet high beeswax candles in a strange yellowish green color, like army fatique and try to line up. Older ladies dressed in party dresses copied from Juana Cato, fanned themselves in the shade of the almond trees; on their laps are vessels of white enamelware that hold a bar of Palmolive soap, a can of pickled jalapeño strips and a package of rice.  Soon all would follow the procession led by the mayordomo dressed in somber black pants and white shirt with his proud wife in a gala black velvet dress covered in embroidery in a garden of flowers, on his arm.  Around her neck was a gigantic medallion made of several gold coins surrounding a fifty dollar coin on a heavy gold chain.  At the end of the procession was a float bearing the queen who was all of six years old and probably now will have nothing to look forward to.  When they come to the church everyone in the entourage starts throwing out favors- soap, candy, beans, plastic bowls, pottery mugs to the specators.  Fruit was nowhere to be seen.
The dance that night seemed pallid and boring by comparison and somehow made me sad although the salon was gaily decorated, the food was good and the music played all night.  The women sat in all their glory in the seats that lined the dance floor and relegated the men to the back to fend for themselves.  The women danced with each other, swaying sensuously lifting up one side of their dress and then the other and ignored the men that drank themselves into a stupor into the wee hours of the morning.
The vela comes to a close with the lavado de olla, the washing of the pots, two days later once everyone has recovered from the party.  It is another all-female affair with music, dancing and food When I left this celebration of women that would make Betty Friedan’s heart glad, I found myself somehow longing for the company of men but thankful that these traditions live on in this changing world.

Schedule for velas this year:   Please note that the celebrations start one week earlier and are called Calendas so try to get there early  The Vela of  Ixtepec is September 25th,   “Vela de San Jerónimo”  is September 27th, 2010 and the  popular “Vela de Didxazá” take place September 20 and 23rd,2010 and were started in 1990 to preserve the Zapotec tradition.