Intro to Oaxacan Cuisine

“Anytime there is Mexican food around, you can bet I’ll be eating it.”

— Eva Longoria

The cuisine of Mexico is an enormous topic; hundreds of books have been written on the subject. Few national cuisines can boast the diversity of styles, ingredients, preparations, and regional variations that are found in this broad and colorful land.

For me to try to cover all the bases about Mexican food in general, and Oaxacan food in particular, would keep us all busy for a long, long time. So rather than try to serve up one gigantic, all-night banquet of a post, I’ll divvy it up into a number of smaller bocadillos (bite-sized snacks) for easier consumption.

Martha and I have taken a couple of cooking classes here, which have served as a perfunctory introduction to some of the culinary approaches, ingredients, techniques and utensils used in preparing the world-renowned comida oaxaqueña. We’re no experts, so what I’ll be sharing is based solely on what we’ve been exposed to, or what I’ve learned by asking others who are better-informed than I—especially my Mexican friends and acquaintances. 

Fresh, simple ingredients from the local mercado are at the heart of nearly every Mexican meal.

There’s a running joke here that Mexican food is, at its heart, all the same. A well-known comic actress, Sofia Niño de Rivera, does a bit where she talks about how wonderfully varied all the national dishes of Mexico are. A rough paraphrase:

“You should try our lovely quesadillas.”

“What’s in them?” 

“Tortillas, frijoles, chiles—they’re delicious! And definitely try the enfrijoladas.” 

“And what’s in those?” 

“Oh, you know—tortillas, frijoles, chiles….”

And so on. 

While a dramatic (and funny) oversimplification, it does underscore the fact that at its heart, Mexican food, no matter how many permutations of it are presented daily at fancy restaurants around the world, derives its essential character from endlessly creative recombinations of the simplest ingredients. 

In Oaxaca none of those ingredients is more important than corn, or maíz. As such, it forms the foundation of many of the area’s most popular dishes. Corn, in its countless ancestral permutations found in the hills and plains of Mexico, has such deeps roots in the culture, mythology and self-image of oaxaqueños that it is difficult for outsiders to appreciate. Corn isn’t just what the people here eat; it’s what the people here are.

Oaxacan corn in three shapes and colors, clockwise from top: tetela, quesadilla, tostada.

Thus, it’s unusual to find a flour tortilla served here, bad news for someone like me who scarfed them down by the score while living in San Antonio. On the other hand, there are so many different variations on the theme of maiz in Oaxaca that you could say that there isn’t just one form of corn tortilla, there are hundreds, including variations found in memelas, quesadillas, tlayudas, tacos, tostadas and more. And while I still suffer from a hankering to sink my teeth into a warm flour tortilla (and have now found places where I can do just that), I can also be easily satisfied by a slightly-singed corn tortilla wrapped around tangy chorizo and Oaxacan cheese. As a delivery vehicle for tasty ingredients, it’s hard to beat.

Speaking of which, it has taken some time to get used to the different culinary naming conventions in effect here. For example, a “taco” can assume several very different forms, including the one described above: a simple corn tortilla cooked on a hot, dry surface (comal) and then folded around a variety of prepared ingredients. But in some restaurants the tacos arrive on a platter swimming in salsa verde. Other times you’ll find them Mexico City-style—a clutch of small, soft corn tortillas each containing a spoonful or two of cooked meat and garnished with salsa, guacamole, pico de gallo or other condiments.

What I have never seen in Oaxaca (or anywhere in Mexico, for that matter) is the U-shaped, hard-shell taco sold at Taco Bell. That kind of Mexican food simply isn’t found in Mexico.

Tasajo, arrachera, cecina, chorizo: Choose your meat and they’ll grill it for you on the spot, served with tortillas, guacamole and salsa.

Yet another culinary tradition it’s been hard to adjust to is the daily meal schedule. Granted, I am a dyed-in-the-wool, 3-squares-a-day type of American eater, and in our travels to various parts of Europe and Latin America it has sometimes been hard to shed my chauvinistic attitudes about what constitutes an appropriate meal at various times of day. 

Here in Oaxaca, for instance, most restaurants serve breakfast (desayuno) until 1:00 or 2:00 pm. This can often be a pretty big meal, with some combination of—you guessed it—tortillas, frijoles and chiles, along with eggs or meat prepared in a variety of ways and served with salsas of various colors and picante. But I also often see people starting their days here with pan dulce dipped in hot chocolate, or, conversely, laboring over a big, hero-style torta stuffed with braised meat. 

Breakfast, lunch, or dinner—what time is it, anyway?

In whatever manner a oaxaqueño chooses to start his or her culinary day, the truly important meal doesn’t arrive until around 3:00 pm: la comida. (Comida means, simply, “food”—so that should give you an idea of the importance they attach to this meal.) This is usually a 3-course meal offered by restaurants at a fixed and generally very reasonable price. Oaxaqueños are then left to forage later on for a smaller meal, or cena, in order to satisfy their inevitable late-night hunger pangs.

The good news for rigidly-scheduled eaters like me is that while many purveyors of comida tipica, or typical Oaxacan cuisine, close down for the day at 5:00 or 6:00 pm, many other restaurants remain open throughout the evening—meaning that WHEN I’M READY FOR MY DINNER at the more civilized hour of, say, 7:30 pm, there are plenty of restaurateurs out there willing to accommodate my outlandish preferences.

Lately Oaxacan chefs have become celebrated internationally for their novel takes on Mexican classics. No, it’s not a painting. Well, sort of.

Suffice to say that we’re still discovering new dimensions of the food universe here every day. I’ll try to share as many of them as possible before our time runs out, including, I hope, short treatises on the following:

• Mole (moh-lay)—The “official” count lists 7 distinct moles, or sauces, of Oaxaca. Unofficially there could be at least twice that number.

• Chiles—In all their wondrous forms, the picante in nearly every type of dish served here.

• Street Food—It’s what the people eat, morning, noon and night.

• Barbacoa—Nope, it’s not barbecue.

• Edible insects—Chapulines, chicatanas and gusanos. I dare you! 

Finally, I may work up the courage to write discreetly about the delicate topic of digestive health, since I know that it’s a subject on the mind of anyone who has ever considered coming to Mexico. But for now, we’ll focus on the food. ¡Buen provecho!

* Tlayuda: A Oaxacan specialty featuring a thin, crispy, pizza-sized corn tortilla slathered with some combination of beans, cheese, avocado, meat, tomatoes and chiles, then folded in half and heated on a comal or grilled over an open flame.