Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Lunch at the trout farm
Yesterday was a half-day at school, so Lisa invited me to have lunch with her host mom, Maria, and Maria´s friend, Asuncion. Both are in their 50s. Maria has short brown hair, oversized glasses, and a large white purse . Asuncion wears her hair in long black braids and dresses in indigenous clothing - yesterday a long white tunic with purple embroidery. They are not to be trifled with.
It´s hot and dry here. After hitting the Pemex station and announcing that the driver doesn´t pay for gas, Maria points the car north and heads up into the hills, where the cool air lightens our mood. We drive about 20 minutes outside of town, up a steep grade, then turn off on a dirt road lined by shacks and patrolled by turkeys. Our destination is Yoo-Yathoo, a restaurant in an extremely tiny town-collective called El Estudiante. The restaurant is what´s known as rustic, with dirt floors, one wall, a corrugated tin roof, and an outdoor kitchen. It´s on two levels, yes, but that´s because it is built on a red dirt hill, which is in the middle of the restaurant and must be climbed to get to the higher tables with the views of Jacaranda, apple trees, rose bushes.
Maria chooses a table for us where we could enjoy the view and also, the outdoor kitchen. The only thing on the menu at Yoo-Yathoo is trout - (we had one grilled, one fried with a garlic sauce, one in chipotle sauce and one with vegetables.) That does not stop Maria from asking for tostadas, a tlayuda for us to share, and fresh soft tortillas made in the restaurant, and a sweet bread that she likes and knows they sometimes make here. She barks orders at the waitress, inspects the kitchen, gets up to hail the waitress, seems miffed when they didn´t have a drink she likes with tuna, a cactus flower, even though it´s not in season and she knows it. Asunsion has them make the chipotle sauce for our tostadas over again, so it is less hot. (!)
After lunch, Maria accosts a small shy boy and demands that he take me and Lisa out to see the trout tanks. Poor Omar, only 9, looks like he wished the floor would open up, but he dutifully led us through a door, across a room where the fish were being cleaned, out another door, across a patio where some of the folks who live here are having lunch, and down to the trout tanks, where two men are using a net and their hands to pull the fish out of the water.
Everyone bears us with good humor, and in fact, we get mezcal on the house after our meal, so I assume that all of this is acceptable behavior. Back in the restaurant after our tour, we finish our micheladas and mezcal while Asuncion and Maria talked about yoga and acupuncture and taught us some new swear words. We watch the women and girls behind the brick counter of the kitchen. The restaurant has filled up and the women were moving fast, splitting fish, slicing into the skin to stuff garlic in them, or cutting them in half to grill or wrapping them in tinfoil to steam.
Turns out this is one of many tiny development projects around the state of Oaxaca. Everyone in this community works to raise the fish and run the restaurant.
On our way out of town, we, and two cars behind us, are blocked by a bulldozer whose owner was off somewhere chatting. Maria honks her horn and yells out to a group of people standing around talking, who in turn yelled in the direction of the bulldozer driver, who eventually makes his way back with a couple buddies and gets out of our way.
Of course, about 500 meters later, Maria sees a stand where a woman sells plastic cups of mountain peaches in their own syrup, and decides we must have some. So this time, we hold up traffic to get our peaches and chat a moment with the vendor (there´s now a car coming in the other direction that can´t get past on the one lane street, in addition to the two cars behind us.) No stress. No problem. The peaches were awesome - smaller than any I´ve seen before, cold and not too sweet.
On the way home, we stopped outside another tiny town, called San Andres Huayapan so the ladies could show us a small posada-hotel where they have a traditional temascal. These are kind of like steam rooms for women, with very small openings that you must crouch through to get inside (bowing to mother earth, asuncion says.) My understanding is that they used to be for ritualized purification - after having a child, say. But now they´re seen more like spas. At least, this is the version I´m getting from Maria. Will be looking into this more and hopefully, trying one out.
It´s hot and dry here. After hitting the Pemex station and announcing that the driver doesn´t pay for gas, Maria points the car north and heads up into the hills, where the cool air lightens our mood. We drive about 20 minutes outside of town, up a steep grade, then turn off on a dirt road lined by shacks and patrolled by turkeys. Our destination is Yoo-Yathoo, a restaurant in an extremely tiny town-collective called El Estudiante. The restaurant is what´s known as rustic, with dirt floors, one wall, a corrugated tin roof, and an outdoor kitchen. It´s on two levels, yes, but that´s because it is built on a red dirt hill, which is in the middle of the restaurant and must be climbed to get to the higher tables with the views of Jacaranda, apple trees, rose bushes.
Maria chooses a table for us where we could enjoy the view and also, the outdoor kitchen. The only thing on the menu at Yoo-Yathoo is trout - (we had one grilled, one fried with a garlic sauce, one in chipotle sauce and one with vegetables.) That does not stop Maria from asking for tostadas, a tlayuda for us to share, and fresh soft tortillas made in the restaurant, and a sweet bread that she likes and knows they sometimes make here. She barks orders at the waitress, inspects the kitchen, gets up to hail the waitress, seems miffed when they didn´t have a drink she likes with tuna, a cactus flower, even though it´s not in season and she knows it. Asunsion has them make the chipotle sauce for our tostadas over again, so it is less hot. (!)
After lunch, Maria accosts a small shy boy and demands that he take me and Lisa out to see the trout tanks. Poor Omar, only 9, looks like he wished the floor would open up, but he dutifully led us through a door, across a room where the fish were being cleaned, out another door, across a patio where some of the folks who live here are having lunch, and down to the trout tanks, where two men are using a net and their hands to pull the fish out of the water.
Everyone bears us with good humor, and in fact, we get mezcal on the house after our meal, so I assume that all of this is acceptable behavior. Back in the restaurant after our tour, we finish our micheladas and mezcal while Asuncion and Maria talked about yoga and acupuncture and taught us some new swear words. We watch the women and girls behind the brick counter of the kitchen. The restaurant has filled up and the women were moving fast, splitting fish, slicing into the skin to stuff garlic in them, or cutting them in half to grill or wrapping them in tinfoil to steam.
Turns out this is one of many tiny development projects around the state of Oaxaca. Everyone in this community works to raise the fish and run the restaurant.
On our way out of town, we, and two cars behind us, are blocked by a bulldozer whose owner was off somewhere chatting. Maria honks her horn and yells out to a group of people standing around talking, who in turn yelled in the direction of the bulldozer driver, who eventually makes his way back with a couple buddies and gets out of our way.
Of course, about 500 meters later, Maria sees a stand where a woman sells plastic cups of mountain peaches in their own syrup, and decides we must have some. So this time, we hold up traffic to get our peaches and chat a moment with the vendor (there´s now a car coming in the other direction that can´t get past on the one lane street, in addition to the two cars behind us.) No stress. No problem. The peaches were awesome - smaller than any I´ve seen before, cold and not too sweet.
On the way home, we stopped outside another tiny town, called San Andres Huayapan so the ladies could show us a small posada-hotel where they have a traditional temascal. These are kind of like steam rooms for women, with very small openings that you must crouch through to get inside (bowing to mother earth, asuncion says.) My understanding is that they used to be for ritualized purification - after having a child, say. But now they´re seen more like spas. At least, this is the version I´m getting from Maria. Will be looking into this more and hopefully, trying one out.
# posted by Anne @ 5:53 PM 
