After successful runs last year at the DeYoung Museum and Galleria de la Raza, The Great Tortilla Conspiracy returns for another fantastic show at SomArts Cultural Center. Self-described as "the world's most dangerous tortilla art collective," the father and son team of Rene and Rio Yañez explores a wide swath of themes in their unique medium. Along the way, they recruit other artists as well as creatively minded gallery visitors to join the fun. Immigration and genetic modification, apparitions of religious icons and pop-culture celebrities, free trade and lucha libre -- it's all game in tortilla art.


Artist: Jos Sances


Artist: Rene Yañez


Artist: Anonymous pork lover

The exhibit opens with a reception on WednesdaySaturday, April 5th, 6:00 to 9:30 pm. Throughout the month, SomArts will host a series of interactive tortilla events, including a tortilla fashion show and a panel discussion on the globalization of tortillas and corn. Those who don't want to think about the rising price of Mexico's staple can skip straight to the hands-on art workshop, where you'll create a masterpiece of your very own to contribute to the growing body of tortilla art.


Artist: Nicole Schach. Oh Blessed Virgin Mary, grant me patience for the 14 Mission, the 30 Stockton, the 38 Geary....


Artist: Rene Yañez


THE GREAT TORTILLA CONSPIRACY
April 3rd to 23rd, 2008
SomArts Cultural Center
934 Brannan Strreet
San Francisco, CA, 94103
(415) 863-1414
Google Map

Event Schedule
April 5, 6 – 9:30 pm - Opening Reception
April 11, 5 pm – Tortilla Drawing Rally
April 12, 6 pm – Artist Panel Validating Tortilla Art
April 18, 7 pm – Tortilla Fashion Show
April 19, 5 pm – Special Panel on the globalization of Tortillas
and Transgenic Corn


The divine Morrissey graces a tortilla.

Labels: art, corn, mexican, san francisco, thy tran

When I was in college, in the dark days before email and Facebook, my roommates and I passed our time with more mundane matters. Like food. From Juli, I learned about Japanese-style curry. Rie taught me how to blanche green beans perfectly, while Ed opened my palate to an entire pantheon of slow-simmered soups. Pierrette's trick with tuna and egg salad--grating onion into the mayonnaise--still perks up my sandwiches.

From Maria, though, I learned the most important lessons: cooking with my senses.

While I watched, Maria made tortillas with handfuls of flour and finger-lengths of shortening. Growing up in Texas, she had to wake up early every morning to make the family's tortillas, forty on an average day and maybe a hundred or so for special Sundays. She grabbed an empty wine bottle whenever she needed to roll out dough, and from only two pans she made incredible feasts for our house. None of us would admit to being homesick, but listening to Maria talk about her food and then eating her meals made all of us feel like we actually belonged in that drafty, tumble-down, New England house.

I don't have any of her recipes, because she never wrote them down, but like stories and memories, I can recite them just as she did.


"In San Antonio, where my family lives, you can find bags of masa dough in the markets. My mother doesn't need to make her own anymore. We use Crisco now, but if you want, you can use lard or butter. Even oil. But I would never use oil. Why make tamales with oil? If you don't have chicken stock, some water from the tap is good. Just remember to add salt then."


"Be sure to open the middle of the husks when you soak them and put a plate on top, so they can get wet equally. Save the biggest ones for wrapping. The smaller ones, just tear like this into ribbons for tying."


"Mix together a six handfuls of masa, two handfuls of Crisco, the same amount of stock and some salt. Blend them together really well. We use a mixer at home. You can tell when you have the right combination when a little ball of the dough floats in water."


"You can fill them with anything really. We use pork that my mother cooks, but here at school I put all kinds of things in them. Today, I took some of the sweet potatoes from the cafeteria." [In the photo, you can see a dollop of chipotle sauce that I now like to add to my sweet potato tamales, plus a sprinkling of kosher salt. After sweet potatoes or yams are roasted whole, their peels slip right off; mash with a fork.]


"Spread a little bit of the dough on the corn leaf, enough to cover a third of it. When you put the filling on, be sure to leave a little of the dough peeking around the edges, so that it will close up well." [In this recent version, I topped the sweet potatoes with some grated pepper jack cheese tossed with sliced scallions.]


"Fold the leaf in thirds, like a letter, then bend up the end. Tie it, if you want. Or, if you are making a lot, you can just put them down close together and they will keep each other closed. You need to steam them for a long time, longer than you really want. Open one and try it to see if it's done. They like it if you put a towel over them while they steam. [Chinese bamboo or metal stackable steamers are perfect for steaming tamales in single layers. Small tamales require 40 minutes and larger ones up to 1 1/2 or 2 hours to cook through.]

Labels: family recipes, mexican, recipe, tamales, thy tran

Despite the proliferation of excellent burritos and taco trucks worth chasing down, it's hard to find a decent sit-down Mexican place in San Francisco. While Mexico DF isn't quite perfect, it's good enough to overlook the flaws and welcome its addition to the city's restaurants.

They say you never get a second chance to make a first impression; visually, Mexico DF nails it. From an oversized rustic chandelier made from a lattice iron grill and hanging crystals to vivid back-lit artwork by Oaxacan artist Rufino Tamayo, Mexico DF is a beautiful space with refined nods to the country that inspired it. Tables are laid with brightly colored chargers, and the open kitchen is roofed with a cherry red canopy. On a recent Saturday night, though the bar was calm, the dining room had a pleasant buzz to it. Service, though rumored to be amateur, was anything but. Our server was friendly, full of recommendations, happy to answer questions (where the goat was raised, for example) and he changed out our plates and silver between every single course.

The name of the restaurant, which refers to Mexico's capital city, gives some idea as to the focus of chef David Rosales' cuisine. The dinner menu offers a bit of everything (except burritos), from ceviche to soup, tacos to whole roasted fish.



We started with the house guacamole. If you had asked me to rate the restaurant after only one bite, I would have awarded it an A. Thick, creamy, and judiciously seasoned, the guacamole ($9) arrived with a handful of tortilla chips architecturally arrayed in its greenery, as well as two kinds of salsa (sweet chile de arbol and peppy tomatillo-habanero, which are available for sale by the bottle). Our server brought us a back-up supply of chips so we could lap it all up.



Both the margaritas we ordered -- the sweet, midnight-colored Xochimilco with hibiscus and peach juice ($9) and the classic Polanco ($10.50) with Herradura reposado -- were well-made and easy to drink. Next time I'd like to try a version with muddled grapefruit just for kicks. After our guacamole, we switched to wine. The Tobia tempranillo ($12) was smokier than I liked, but the fruitier MAS malbec ($8) suited me well. Neither were particularly astute matches for the food, however.

It was the corn fungus that convinced us to share the chile relleno rather than one of the ceviches. A gigantic mild green pepper ($14) was stuffed first with corn, summer squash, and the musky sweet Mexican delicacy known as huitlacoche, then coated in breading, deep-fried, and drizzled in crema and Tangerine tomato salsa. The fried coating got soggy under the sauce, but its inner beauty shown through, and we gobbled up the the insides wrapped in their crisp pepper shell.



For our mains, we heeded the mighty call of the taco. The chuleta consisted of small pieces of lean pork loin ($9 for two), a confetti of raw white onions, and chile de arbol salsa on the side. They were only okay. I was craving a juicier meat, I suppose, so it's my own fault for ordering the loin. But it doesn't change the fact that they were no better than average. Next time, I'll get the carnitas.

The cabrito ($12 for two), however, were oustanding. Goat meat is popular in a variety of cultures, from Latin America to the Middle East. It isn't something we gringos eat a lot, and I can tell you we're missing out. The rich, juicy, slightly smoky barbacoa-style goat was the best thing I ate all night.

We're gluttons, so we also ordered a huarache corn masa "sandal" with grilled short ribs ($10). The meat had a great grilled flavor, but it was too fatty for me and I spit it out. My boyfriend devoured it, though, and I found myself compulsively picking at the queso fresco on top.

I'm not sure whether I loved or hated the house pickled jalapenos ($2) that arrived at my request with my tacos. The thin carrot slivers were sweet and tangy, but the peppers packed more punch than a heavyweight boxer in the fight of his life, and my poor palate got quite a scorching. I had to order a side of crema to cut the heat, and sat spooning it into my beleaguered mouth for quite some time. Still, I can't say that I didn't sort of enjoy the rush, and as soon as my tongue had cooled, I picked up another one and took another bite. (A much smaller bite.)

We ended our meal with a burnt caramel flan ($8). I'd hoped it would change my mind about flan, and though it was creamy and the sweet caramel sauce burnt just enough, in the end it was only flan.

Overall, we enjoyed an above average meal, tasty margaritas, superb service and a few standout bites. I really appreciated the more unusual ingredients on the menu, neither of which I can recall seeing on a local menu before. Our server told us that the goat is raised in Colorado for Niman Ranch, and the huitlacoche is grown for the restaurant by a local farmer. Next time I'm craving Mexican and I want to sit down and linger over dinner, I'll be back.

Mexico DF
139 Steuart Street at Mission
San Francisco
(415) 808-1048
Open 7 nights a week for dinner, M-F lunch

Labels: catherine nash, mexican, Mexico DF, restaurants, reviews

I'm still in mourning for the afterhour taco stand that was once wedged in front of Taqueria Vallarta. Huddled outside, bundled against the night air and only slightly buzzed, I've enjoyed many a midnight snack. At first, I alternated my orders, enjoying beef and pork, grilled and fried, sausage and offal. Eventually, though, the tender suadero owned me completely.

I know, I know. A 49 on the health inspector's score card justifies, in the modern logic of cleanliness and public safety, the shuttering of a restaurant. I only wish they'd let the taco cart stick around. Bereft, a friend and I recently wandered up and down 24th Street, sniffing the air for potential rebound consolation. We were in luck. A few doors down from our old taco love, inside a tiny space that was a butcher shop by day, an impromptu taqueria had been set up to serve the swing shift. A thin haze of smoke drifted from the shop, and once inside, we realized that three card tables and a portable grill were the only capital investments in this brand new micro-business. No fire extinguisher or ventilation hood in sight. No menu, no music, no English, and no smiles. Still, the minimalist approach was more than justified by the perfectly charred beef. We returned a few nights later but were disppointed to find only a dark, properly locked-up butcher shop.

For all its bragging about being a culinary capital, San Francisco is woefully behind the curve when it comes to good street eats. The occasional downtown hot dog stand and farmers' market tamale stalls are just not enough for this hungry girl. Where I come from, you can't walk twenty feet without someone grilling or steaming or frying or stacking or stirring something good to eat al fresco, but here in America, fast food ordered through a squawk box from your car is apparently safer for you.

Fortunately, immigrants from lands of good food persist in their attempts to share their treats. Whispers of "you want tamales?" from parked minivans have lured me to steaming bundles of masa joy, while contraband rice cakes reach me through trusted intermediaries. In between such priceless finds, though, it's the taco truck that assuages my need for street food.

Returning from a hiking trip in Big Sur one weekend, my hubby and I were craving some filling, warming soup. With San Jose just a few miles in front of us, we plotted a minor detour from 101 around Capital Expressway up Senter Avenue to one of my favorite Vietnamese restaurants on this side of the Pacific. But before we got very far north on Senter, one stoplight to be exact, we saw a line snaking its way from a shining, white taco truck all across a parking lot to the curb on the corner. Hubby's quick reflexes pulled us right up next to Paisa Taqueria, our quest for pho and bun rieu immediately forgotten.


The best way to identify a good taco truck: a long line even in the middle of the afternoon.

Now, this wasn't your normal taco truck. This was a special tricked-out version that boasted large, squeaky clear display windows through which you could watch women patting and pressing corn tortillas to order. A trompo of glistening pork spun invitingly at the other end of the truck. A few feet away was the grill station: what normally served as a hot dog cart was lined with glowing, hardwood charcoal from Mexico. The salsa station included the usual fresh and cooked salsas, lime wedges, crisp radishes, and a delightfully creamy guacamole-style sauce. Large jars of agua frescas sparkled in the sun.

The taco truck was already passing all my usual tests, but when a patrol car rolled up into the parking lot behind us and then two cops strutted toward the line, I knew for sure. We were in for some good food. (And yes, the cops got to cut straight to the front.)


Non-stop tortilla production line.

Fornuately, the wait wasn't as long as my empty stomach feared it'd be. I ordered my usual suadera and carnitas, and then decided to try one of their mulitas, a sandwich of two grilled tortillas and melted fresh cheese. I had barely ladled and stacked my numerous cups of salsa when our food appeared in the window. Like everyone else, we scurried back to our car to eat. The tacos were exactly the way I like them: small and simple. A light sprinkling of chopped onion and cilantro were the only gilding on the meat, while the freshly made tortillas had that perfect balance of softness and toothsomeness. Gone were the soggy pile of beans; the limp, torn, stale tortillas; and the massive, messy hump of filling found in far too many so-called taquerias.

I'm not sure how often I'll get down to San Jose for a plate of tacos, even ones as good El Paisa's. I guess that means more midnight strolls sniffing the air and praying for benevolance from the street food gods.

MORE TACO LOVE

--Learn lots about tacos, including the Lebanese "sheep herder" roots of al pastor and the difference between lard-cooked carnitas, steamed cabeza, and luscious suadero at this informative guide to Mexican street tacos.

-- Spanish speakers can brush up on their taco knowledge while ingesting a bit of taco history at Mexico's official Taco Day site.

-- Anyone heading to LA should definitely compile a list of taco trucks from the impressively well-researched Taco Hunt blog.

Labels: los angeles, mexican, street food, taqueria, thy tran