Puebla

Talavera tiles, tacos árabes—and mole mania.

by Patricia Sharpe

October 2002

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So far we hadn't done much sightseeing except for walking around downtown, so the next morning we strolled a few blocks to La Capilla del Rosario, an absolutely glorious rococo chapel that is part of the Iglesia de Santo Domingo. Standing in its splendid, gold-leaf-encrusted interior was like basking in a sunbeam. Afterward we took some time to shop at El Parián, an engaging downtown outdoor market with gifts, clothing, home accessories, and lots of the brightly painted Talavera pottery that Puebla has been famous for since colonial times. (I personally counted 15,896,741 pieces on display.) When we had maxed out our credit cards, there was just enough time to engage in another strange local food ritual, so we walked over to the Plazuela de los Sapos, or Toad Plaza, across from which is a little storefront named La Pasita. This is the place where everyone from construction workers to CEOs stands in line to order a pasita—raisin liqueur served in a small, slender glass containing a toothpick-impaled raisin and cube of salty white cheese. We slugged down our pasitas and grabbed a cab for a last-minute lunch.

Long story short, the first place we intended to try was closed; the second seemingly did not exist. So, in desperation, we turned to our cab driver, a talkative, clean-cut kid who had been telling us all about his favorite place to eat tacos árabes—spit-roasted pork and onions wrapped in pita bread, a local specialty. "Drive," we said. In fifteen minutes we were at his favorite taco spot, a bare-bones joint named Israel out in the boonies, tearing into meltingly tender wood-roasted pork, five salsas and other condiments, and a dish of melted cheese mixed with tidbits of bacon and beef. I would never tell my mother I had eaten at a place like this, but what an adventure.

On Sunday Gini took off to spend a couple of days in Veracruz, so I headed out alone to the weekend flea market at the nearby Plazuela de los Sapos, which was filled with dusty books on subjects like Tu Personalidad, brass candlesticks, rusty door hinges, peculiar paintings, and tattered comics featuring the mysterious character Fantomas. That afternoon Ana Elena drove me over to the Mercado Venustiano Carranza, a big, basic food market away from downtown (at Cuatro Poniente and Trece Sur), specifically to have a cemita, another local specialty. Cemita is the name of a soft, crisp-crusted sesame-seed bun and the sandwiches made with it. People here are as crazy about them as Americans are about hamburgers, and the Carranza market is the place to have them. You get a choice of meats (or none, if you prefer), plus avocado, onion, two kinds of white cheese, and a bit of chipotle chile, all drizzled with olive oil, for a bargain price of $2.50.

The next day I ate at Fonda de Santa Teresita, a popular spot far from the center of town, with walls painted royal blue and papaya orange. For a change of pace, I ordered a chile en nogada, a batter-fried poblano stuffed with fruit and covered with a sweet sauce made of fresh, just-picked walnuts and cream (this dish too was invented in Puebla, though not as long ago as mole poblano). And because I couldn't help myself, I asked the waiter to give me just a taste of the kitchen's mole. It had a lot of sesame and plantain but was light on the chocolate. Even so, I liked it. In fact, I hadn't tasted even one mole that I didn't like. In the late afternoon I tried a spot called Fonda la Mexicana, a pin-neat cafe down the street from the cathedral. The owner was ready to close, but when I begged pitifully, he brought me a piece of bread and a saucer of mole: thinnish, chile-hot, very chocolaty. I could have lapped it up.

Gini and I hadn't intended to save the best part of the trip for last, but that's the way it worked out, and I'm glad it did. On our final day in the city, we decided it was high time to visit the Ex-Convento de Santa Rosa, the former convent where mole poblano was created more than three hundred years ago. What a great place. To my mind, it's the best entertainment value in the city. Downstairs is a small contemporary crafts shop selling, among other things, indigenous pottery that is exactly the color of my favorite mole—the Hotel Royalty's. Upstairs, surrounding the ancient building's central courtyard, are rooms filled with exhibits of zany papier-mâché skeletons and devils and the like. The museum guide grinned when we stopped in front of a clay mole pot measuring some four feet in diameter. "Americans usually say, 'Hey, a Mexican Jacuzzi,'" he said. But the former convent's centerpiece, located downstairs, is the huge, sumptuously tiled kitchen where, sometime in the 1680's, a Dominican nun named Sister Andrea de la Asunción invented mole. As the story goes, the local bishop wanted to impress a visiting viceroy and, knowing that Sister Andrea was quite a cook, he asked her to make something original. She thought about it on a Sunday (maybe she said a little prayer), then went into the kitchen the next day and made a special sauce. As luck would have it, a large, chestnut-fattened turkey had just been killed, and she cooked the bird to complete the main course. The dish was an instant hit, other area convents requested the recipe, and within a few years it had spread all over the city, becoming quite the thing to serve at trendy dinner parties.

We left elated, regretting only that we couldn't get a copy of the original recipe; like most chefs, Sister Andrea seems not to have measured anything or written it down. Three early versions do exist, however, and they are remarkably similar to the recipes that you can find in Puebla today. I think the good sister would be tickled to know that the mole madness she kindled hasn't died down yet.

Getting there: To get to Puebla, you must fly to Mexico City (nonstop flights from Dallas-Fort Worth on Aeromexico, American, and Delta; from Houston on Aeromexico, Continental, and Delta; and from San Antonio on Mexicana and United). From Mexico City you can fly to Puebla via Aeromexico or Mexicana. Our cab into town cost $14 (it is generally safe to take taxis in Puebla).

Where to stay: Holiday Inn, Dos Ote. 211, 011-52-222-223-6600, fax 222-242-1176; holidayinnpuebla.com.mx, hotel@holidayinnpuebla.com.mx. From $72 for a single or double room to $280 for a suite.

Where to eat and drink: Fonda de Santa Clara, Tres Pte. 920; entrées $5-$12. Fonda de Santa Teresita, Veintinueve Sur 3512, at Treinta y siete Pte.; entrées $4-$12. Fonda la Mexicana, Diez y Seis de Septiembre 706; entrées $5-$9; closes at 7 p.m. Hotel Royalty, Portal Hidalgo 8, across from the zócalo; entrées $8-$15. Israel Tacos Orientales, Diagonal Defensores de la República 702; entrées $1-$5; no credit cards. La Cueva del Zorro, Chapulco 28; entrées $5-$10. La Pasita, Cinco Ote. 602; $1.50 for a pasita. La Pequeñita, Cinco Pte. 113; $1 for a molote. La Tecla, Av. Juárez 1909; entrées $5-$10. Mi Ciudad, Juárez 2507; entrées $6-$12. Nevados Hermilo, Cuatro Norte at Dos Ote.; $2.50 for a nevado. Pepe Grillo, Diez y Seis de Septiembre 703; entrées $1-$6; closed Monday; no credit cards. VIPS, Dos Ote. 201; entrées $5-$10.

What to do: Ex-Convento de Santa Rosa, Catorce Pte. 305; admission $1 (free Tuesday); closed Monday.

TRAVEL TIPS

Positive ID: The Mexican government requires that U.S. citizens take either their passport or both their birth certificate (the original or a certified copy) and a photo ID, such as a driver's license.

Ouch: At least a month before you leave, consult your physician or a hospital travel clinic about recommended shots or medicines for diseases like hepatitis A, typhoid, and malaria.

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