El Perro Bailarín

Nanches y Garbanzos

Nanches Byrsonima crassifolia Full Image

Dancing Dog became aware of a clear sign of the change in seasons today. The ubiquitous street vendors who've been hawking nanches throughout the summer have now all switched to selling boiled garbanzo beans in the shell.

Nanches (Byrsonima crassifolia) are a small, round cherry-like yellow fruit with a white pulp and a tart taste with a rather strange, indefinable aroma slightly reminiscent of a mild cheese. The fruit is known by many names, including golden spoon, nance, and changugu, and is popular throughout the tropics.

Fresh, hot garbanzos for sale on the street Full Image

Cups of the fruit slathered in chile sauce and sprinkled with lime juice are sold as a snack on every corner of the Plaza Chica for 10 pesos (about US$0.90).

But the nanches have had their season, to be replaced by cooked garbanzos (“chickpeas”) in the shell, not unlike steamed edamame, the edible soybean that is enjoying a vogue as a super-healthy snack food in the States. These boiled garbanzos have a similar nut-like flavor and are sold in small bags with a sprinkling of salt, a squeeze of lime, and as much hot sauce as you can stand. A mere 10 pesos a bag.

The vendor pictured here has set up outside the entrance to a private academy to snare the afternoon trade from the kids as they make their way home.

Mongolian Potatoes? — ¿Papitas Mongolas?

Mongolian potatoes? Full Image

Dancing Dog encountered these being sold by a street vendor today near the Plaza Chica.

At first, D.D. thought they might be a variety of edible grub, like the witchetty grub of Australia, or perhaps a larger version of the chinicuil, the red worms (gusano rojo; actually the larva of a night butterfly) that sometimes grace bottles of mezcal.

But upon inquiry, the vendor announced they were papitas (“little potatoes”). Further questioning elicited alternate names, marruecas (“moroccans”) or mongolas (“mongolians”), neither of which show up in the omniscience that is Google in this context.

The quantity on the plate (shown along with a typical white potato from the market for color reference, and a 1-peso coin for size) was a mere 10 pesos (about US$0.90).

D.D. took the plunge and prepared them according to instructions from the vendor—slice, fry in a small amount of oil until tender, salt, and consume. They turn out to have a slightly sweet flavor, with a texture somewhere between a potato and a daikon radish. The vendor also mentioned that they could be eaten raw, sprinkled with a small amount of sugar or salt.

Anyone know what these red-skinned tubers might be called outside of Mexico?

Faros Cigarettes

Full Image

Dancing Dog notes that today is the Great American Smokeout in the States. Here in Mexico, el tabaquismo (“smoking, nicotine adiction”) is alive and well. Cigarettes are sold in every grocery store and tiendita (“little store”). And just over 25% of the adult population are active smokers, with men outnumbering women smokers by 2-to-1.

D.D. noticed this 3/4-size pack of Faros at his favorite newsstand on the Plaza Chica; cost: 8 pesos (about US$0.70) for a pack of 16. Faros are an old brand dating back at least to 1910, but still popular today. They are a campesino cigarette, smoked by the poor who can afford nothing else.

They've also become a cultural icon. In line with their reputation as “the finest of fine coffin nails,” they have taken on a kind of macabre symbolism for death, entering the language in Mexico in the expression chupar faros (“to smoke Faros”), which has come to mean “to die,” “to kill oneself (with drugs),” “to have lost everything,” “to fail,” “to be a loser.”

This Home is Catholic — Esta Hogar es Catolico

“This home is Catholic...” Full Image

Dancing Dog occasionally sees this notice (or similar ones) pasted in windows or tacked to doorways of homes and businesses in Pátzcuaro. It is an organized response of the Roman Catholic church to the incursion of Protestant and evangelical missionaries. Based on a 1959 travel diary kept by a German visitor to Chiapas, this practice goes back at least 45 years in Mexico.

The “classic” text for these notices reads: Este hogar es católico. No aceptamos propaganda protestante ni de otras sectas. ¡Viva Cristo Rey!, ¡Viva la Virgen de Guadalupe, madre de Dios! (“This household is Catholic. We do not accept literature from Protestants or other sects. Viva Christ, the King! Viva Our Lady of Guadalupe, the Mother of God!”)

This text mirrors such sayings as, ¡Católico nací y católico moriré! (“Catholic I was born, and Catholic I will die!”), and ¡Esto me inculcaron mis abuelos y no voy a chaquetear! (“This is what my grandparents instilled in me and I’m not going to change sides!”), and has become a symbol for Catholic intolerance and conservatism, both on the religious level and by implication in politics, too.

Day of the Dead — Día de los Muertos (VII)

Families tending to graves in the local cemetery Full Image

Dancing Dog hasn’t been able to get to any of the outlying villages to visit the cemeteries to observe the Day of the Dead rituals. Traffic has been a nightmare, and besides, the garage where D.D.'s car lives is completely blocked by flower vendors camped in front. The entire street has been transformed into a wholesale flower market, and D.D. couldn't imagine where all the flowers, especially the mounds of marigolds, were going.

The only municipal cemetery still left inside the city limits of Patzcuaro is a 20-minute walk away, so D.D. took a stroll this afternoon to check it out. Once there, the final destination for all the flowers was clear...

Grave decorated for Dia de los Muertos Full Image

D.D. was amazed at the number of people in the cemetery crammed with graves and above-ground sepulchers. Traditional Mexican cemeteries have no caretakers, so all the work on the gravesite is done by the family. This day, everyone from kids to grandparents were busy tidying up the graves or decorating tombs with flowers and coronas, wooden memorials covered with brightly colored ribbon. Some families had hired small musical groups to play as they lingered on the tombstones of their dead, drinking tequila and eating snacks. Roaming vendors sold churros (a kind of long stick-like donut) and potato chips and shelled peanuts dusted with chili powder. Quite different than anything D.D. has ever experienced in association with the dead...No creepiness, but rather a festive atmosphere.

An old friend, a poet and dreamer of extraordinary dreams, reminded me of the words of Lorca in his enigmatic lecture and essay, Play and Theory of the Duende. Here, Lorca speaks to the tumultuous relationship between creativity and the mysterious black sounds of the Duende, and their ultimate connection with death in his home country of Spain.

…In every country, death comes as a finality. It comes, and the curtain comes down. But not in Spain! In Spain the curtain goes up. Many people live out their lives within walls until the day they die and are brought out into the sun. In Spain, the dead are more alive than the dead of any other country of the world…[and] in all the world, only Mexico can walk hand-in-hand with my country.