Who knew from Mexico whilst being brought up in the Monopoly board burbs of Southern New England in the fifties?  It seemed a very distant land – exotic, fantastic – as foreign and far away as California.  The word Mexico called to mind jumping beans, dancing with sombreros,  "Z's" slashed midair,  Cisco and his humble sidekick Pancho galloping away, Pancho Gonzales slamming a tennis serve, Speedy Gonzalez slamming a cat — a lot of really speedy stuff.  It's no wonder I thought the Mexican peoples only ate fast food.

I was growing up in the miraculous new age of instant gratification grub.  Chinese food, pizza, take out burgers, and foods hunted and gathered from pouches and frozen boxes were America's new staples. New sorts of consumables were purchased by my parents weekly. I recall my first corn products off a cob – daffy yellow corn chips crunched hand over fist in front of the television console, lumped into a large category called  "snacks."  Anything one ate away from the dinner table and consumed mindlessly, endlessly, with no silverware, that soiled your fingers and "ruined your appetite" was a "snack."  So when I visited California in seventy-two and experienced Mexican food at a party for the first time,  corn chips dipped in a tasty chartreuse paste, it continued to seem "snack,"  and not to be taken seriously.

Still a naive little Tri State virgin, knowing nothing of them Western Southern territories, I met my first black bean at  Victor's (I salivate just typing the name) Cuban  Restaurant at Columbus Avenue and Seventy-Second street in seventy-four and was ruined for life. After a childhood of eating mild red beans in  the form of Boston baked beans pretending I was sittin' 'round a bar eating with drunken Irish smellin' like whiskey,  or as simple franks n' beans, pretendin' I was sittin'  round a campfire with drunken cowboys smellin' like horses,  my limited little bean was busted.  I had tasted Paree.  I soon plopped into in an atmospheric banquette trimmed in vibrant turquoise and red (I had never seen those colors combined!) in a classy new Mexican cantina in Manhattan, recklessly eating a new form of spicy black beans on yellow rice without thought of the aftermath. Where had I been?  This was no snack, but a substantial, nurturing, heartwarming welcome for a narrow minded New Englander to an Old World of vibrant tastes.

I was wrapping my mind around these foreign foodstuffs as their own, stand alone cuisine,  putting enchiladas and tamales in a category I could grasp. Every culture had some form of blintz—ravioli was the Italian sort, crepes the French sort, dumplings the Chinese sort–these were the spicy South of the border sort.  I became a more voracious consumer when I was brought out to work in Los Angeles to do TV in the 80's.  What a shock to the system of a sudden girl du jour in the media who'd never yet been out of the country. 

That food opened my mind and my sweat glands and birthed my taste buds and yearning to travel beyond the puny borders of my own brain.  For me, Lucy's El Adobe and La Fonda were immersions in the music, tastes and spirits of a completely new, happily romantic culture.   And imagine my surprise when I learned that the late Leo Carillo, Cisco's not so humble or speedy sidekick Pancho, was a major real estate magnate, and actually had a whole state beach and park named for him in Malibu.

The variety of dishes was astounding.  I was in a play at the Zephyr Theater on Melrose Ave. for months at the turn of the millennium. The pay for the play sucked, but the proximity to late night sups at Antonio's was swell.  Forget Sardi's and Joe Allen's, this was a different sort of  apres theater scene, flavor infused, rather than ego infested. One of my fondest memories remains mainlining their guacamole to protect myself from their Margueritas, still the best in town to my mind.  And their meatball soup?  To die for – generous balls o' beef submerged in a mildly seasoned broth with cabbage, celery and carrots sweetening the pot got me searching for more Mexican meals I could serve in my newly purchased handcrafted Southwest ceramic bowls and  that I could consume with my hammered silver spoons.  I was smitten with all things Southwest

The Mexican peoples are graceful and grand – they make and eat sit down superb soups.  This recipe  is my all time favorite, with its textured taste and creaminess sans dairy and takes (sshhhhh) only thirty minutes to amaze a party of eight.  Yeah, it cooks fast, but it tastes slow.


 Mexican Cauliflower Soup

 3 tablespoon unsalted butter
 2 medium heads cored, chunked cauliflower
 2 large Russet potatoes, peeled and diced
 6 cups chicken broth
 2 teaspoons ground cumin
 6 cups sliced yellow onions
 1 teaspoon salt
 ½ teaspoon black pepper

Melt butter in a large saucepan, add onions and cook til translucent. Add cumin and cook, stirring well for a minute or two.  Add cauliflower, potato, chicken stock.  Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer until the potato and cauliflower are tender --about 20—30  minutes.  Cool a bit, then puree in the blender in batches, making  sure the blender cover is on tightly.  Thin with more broth if necessary.  Garnish with tchopped tomato, cilantro, oregano or cumin seeds.  Creamy and filling, it's hard to believe it's cauliflower. And it's great to know it's Mexican.

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