Silly question, Will. As a writer, surely you know that names, like all words, are things of power. The words we use set the expectations of our audience. I mean, really, roses renamed Gomer's smegma might still smell as sweet, but who'd want to get close enough to find out? Likewise, if your surname were Tugger, would you ever name your son Peter or Dick? What's in a name? Please. If you were eating at a restaurant, would you order a dish called Squishy Pustules? or Sir John Falstaff's Navel Lint Pie? or even...okay, I better stop before I say something that makes Princess V ill (doesn't pay to upset one's editor).
Names carry associations. In My "Little Brown Jug" I took my favorite local restaurant to task for disappointing me by applying a misleading name to a dish. How would you feel if you ordered a spaghetti dish and got something that contained no pasta? Even if the dish is exquisite, your foiled expectations would ill flavor the meal.
Living in Texas, in the heart of TexMex country, I am acutely aware of the naming problem. TexMex has created a number of naming problems for anyone interested in the history of Mexican cuisine. Some of these naming problems can become problems for restaurateurs and other cooks. Take the burrito, for example. Efforts to determine the origin of the burrito place it variously in the Sonora region of Mexico and various parts of southern and central Texas? You wouldn't think this much of an issue, but if you're trying to document the influence of Mexican foods on American cuisines and vice versa, it all gets pretty confusing.
Certainly the idea of putting food in tortillas originated in Mexico—likewise the idea of rolling or folding food into a tortilla. Or so you might think. In truth, members of a number of Native American tribes had similar practices. Navajo and Hopi flatbread were topped or filled with meats and herbs in much the same manner as in Mexican tacos and tostadas.
Generally, here's what I've been able to determine with any certainty:
Tacos
Tacos fall into three basic categories: Mexican, TexMex, and American Fast Food.
The Mexican taco consists of a soft corn tortilla folded over or rolled around ground meat and some kind of salsa (salsa fresca, pico de gallo, or both). Some areas traditionally add guacamole. In some regions a wheat flour tortilla is used in lieu of corn. One interesting variation that you rarely see in the US (but I'm seeing more and more Taco stands in Austin offering this, lately) is the taco al pastor. The taco al pastor consists of thin slices from a spiced, rotisserie cooked pork loaf (similar to the spitted meat used in gyros). The traditional garnish for a taco al pastor is slightly different from the taco norm: onion, cilantro, pineapple, and a bit of hot salsa.
TexMex tacos tend to mimic Mexican tacos but with a couple of distinctly non-Mexican additions: cheese and sour cream. I don't know who added these or why. Mexican food purists typically claim the dairy products were added by gringo wimps to mitigate the heat of the chilis used in the salsas. Increasingly, however, cheese has crept into the condiments in Mexican towns catering to Americans. In TexMex food, Monterey Jack is the most commonly used cheese, but you'll occasionally see various types of cheddar or some of that plasticky, blond crap the supermarkets sell as American cheese. In Mexico tourist towns, you're more likely to see queso fresca or queso cotija.
Fast food tacos use crisp taco shells. I guess this is because they're easier to load, assembly-line fashion. The fast food guys also add lettuce. I think this is to make it look like the taco contains more food than is actually present.
Burritos
So, starting with that beef filled taco, fold in the ends and roll up the tortilla so that the filling is completely hidden. Voila: burrito. Mexican or TexMex? Hard to decide. Though available in both countries, burritos appear to have originated in either northern Mexico or southern Texas. These days, you find burritoid food items in southern Mexico and throughout Central America, but they are more frequently called tacos de harinas (wheat flour tacos) where folks apparently don't see fully enclosing the contents in tortilla as a distinguishing characteristic. I've met folks from Quintana Roo who openly scoff at the term burrito, "A little burro? Who wants to eat a little burro?"
Chimichangas
I have always believed that chimichangas originated in Texas. I mean, a deep fried burrito? How Elvis can you get? My research, however, suggests otherwise. These crunchy little cholesterol bombs were apparently invented in Mexico.
Fajitas
When you mention Y2K, most people remember all the hype about the millennium bug. Computer systems were expected to implode in the visionary vacuum of their own numerological constraints.
What I usually remember about Y2K is the millenium irritation argument. To most people in the world, the first day of the year 2000 was the first day of the new millenium. To anyone who had done the math (or otherwise been impressed by someone who had done the math), January 1 2000 would not end the millenium. It would mark the beginning of the 2000th year, A.D. instead of the end. For this minority, the new millennium would not begin and therefore could not be properly celebrated until January 1, 2001. This latter idea did not catch on too broadly, but did become a source of endless annoyance at academic and techie parties. Everyone seemed to fall into one of two cliques: those who wanted to save the 1/1/2000 celebrants from their ignorance and those who wanted to save the 1/1/2001 adherants from their pedantry.
Fajitas are the Y2K of the Tex-Mex world. If you want to make a Tex-Mex pedant sneer, just start talking about chicken or shrimp fajitas.
Originally, the term fajita was coined by someone at Ninfa's restaurant in Houston. The coinage may have been accidental. Street vendors in Mexico City at the time were selling what they called tacos rajitas, rajitas being thin slices (in Spanish, raja = slice) of barbecued or grilled beef. The Ninfas fajitas were made from the beef skirt, called the faja in Mexican carnicerias (faja = girdle), so the name seemed reasonable.
Logically, lexically, fajitas can only be made from strips of beef skirt. Shrimp and chickens don't have a faja. Beef fajitas are usually made with grilled or seared, marinated skirt steak (skirt is tough as canvas and absolutely must be marinated over night in lime juice and salt). The beef is served with flour tortillas, pico de gallo, guacamole, and grilled or sautéed onions and chilis.
In practice and popular association, fajitas are the combination of a grilled meat item with the appropriate Tex-Mex condiments. Chicken, shrimp, and even portabello mushroom fajitas are common in Tex-Mex restaurants. Lexically, all of these non-beef items should probably be called rajitas, or tacos, or something asado.
Shrimp and crab tacos (fajitas?)
This is a meal for three. The following recipes are for pico de gallo, guacamole, and the shrimp and crab filling. The crab matches remarkably well with the quacamole, especially if served with warm, fresh corn tortillas.
dramatis personae
three firm cluster tomatoes, diced
two serrano chilis, seeded and minced
one small sweet onion, diced
one small garlic clove, minced
one large hass avocado
juice of two limes
one bunch of cilantro
sea salt to taste
one tablespoon peanut oil
one half pound 10-15 count shrimp tails
one quarter pound lump crab meat
one tablespoon minced epazote
two tablespoons mulatto chili purée*
* This is the chili purée I described in My Latest Beef. The recipe is simple, quick, and makes more than you need, even for the albacore steaks. It will keep in the refrigerator for a few weeks.
quality of ingredients
The chilis are difficult. Serranos are quite variable in their heat. I usually try to use one green serrano and one red or mostly red serrano (the redder they are, typically, the hotter they are). You can substitute jalapeños or green fingerhots, but those are also quite variable.
Garlic is not a standard addition to pico de gallo or guacamole, but I like a little in each. Garlic bulbs should have a bit of heft to them. The really light ones are dried out. Don't use garlic that is showing green. Green in garlic will make your guacamole bitter.
You want Hass or Fuerte avocados for guacamole. Florida or green skin avocados are too watery and too sweet. In all honesty, though, the dark skinned avocados are a pain in the ass to pick out at the supermarket. If they're soft enough for guacamole, they're frequently overripe and mottled with nasty-looking brown spots. I learned a long time ago that an avocado that feels like the flesh has separated from the skin is definitely overripe. Beyond that, I still can't figure out how you're supposed to know, before you get them home, whether these damned things will have spots or not.
As I've noted previously, I use peanut oil because it has a high smoke point and does not flavor the food. You can also use high quality olive oil (not extra-virgin). I know that many cooks prefer canola oil. I think canola oil lends a plasticky taste.
Several grocers in the Austin area sell good quality cooked crab, and live crabs are usually more expensive. I have tried lump crab, snow crab clusters, stone crab claws, and Dungeness crab clusters. The stone crab claws were the best. The meat is flavorful and shatters in the cooking and coats the shrimp. The stone crab claws have two drawbacks: they are hard to open and two pounds of claws yields only a quarter-pound of meat. The lump crab meat was the second best (flavorful, pleasantly toothsome) and required the least work (just a little sifting for stray bits of cartilage and shell). Shelling the snow crab and Dungeness clusters was a lot of work, but they yielded about twice as much meat as the stone crab claws. I love snow crab, but it is a bit too mild for this dish, and the Dungeness (despite rinsing) was too salty. I'll have to try the Dungeness again and remember to taste it before I cook it to be sure it's adequately rinsed.
Epazote—either you can find it in your area or you can't. If you can't, just forget it. There is no substitute. Cilantro, thyme, or Mexican oregano might be just fine with this dish, but it won't be anything like the epazote.
preparation notes
I recommend the following game plan:
- Mise en scene—dice, mince, seed, and juice all the vegetable matter except the cilantro and the avocado. The avocado should not be opened until you are ready to mix the guacamole. Cilantro should never be minced until just before it's to be added (it takes on a soapy flavor).
- Purée the chilis (if you don't have some puree on hand already).
- Mix the pico de gallo.
- Mix the guacamole.
- Shell the crab (or just sift it if you're using lump crab).
- Peel and devein the shrimp tails.
- Roll the masa balls (if you're making fresh tortillas)
- Fry the tortillas and sauté the shrimp and crab simultaneously.
Step one is pretty straightforward.
Step two I covered in My Latest Beef.
Step three is also pretty straightforward: in a non-reactive bowl combine the tomato, onion, serranos, and half of the garlic. Mix in the juice of one lime and sea salt to taste. Mince enough cilantro to make about a tablespoon and mix that into the pico. For the purists: garlic is a non-standard addition, but it adds a nice kick. Incidentally, the pico de gallo will stay fresh in the refrigerator for a few days, so you can prepare this well in advance, if you prefer. Refrigerate this until everything is ready to serve.
Step four: guacamole. Traditional guacamole in Mexico is whipped to the consistency of thick oatmeal. The girls and I prefer chunks (roughly half-inch cubes). After cubing the avocado, immediately mix in the juice of one lime. This will keep the guacamole from browning right away. Note: the guacamole will still brown after about an hour, so don't make it too far in advance. An interesting side effect of the lime is that it softens the avocado. Mix in the other half of the garlic. Mince enough cilantro to make about a tablespoon and mix that into the guac. Sprinkle in sea salt to taste. Refrigerate this until everything is ready to serve.
Steps five and six are fairly straightforward. If the shrimp is not as fresh as you'd like (if it has a fishy or sulphurous aroma), drop the tails into a bowl of cheap white wine to saok until you are ready to toss them into the sauté pan.
Step seven: the masa for tortillas. You have to have a tortilla press for this. I'll go into this in more detail later. I really need to get some photos to describe this process. One thing I will say: if you can get the premixed masa (it contains lard), you'll get much better results than with masa and water.
Step eight: the tortillas and the seafood. For the tortillas (which I am not going to talk about, mind) you will need a seasoned comal or cast iron skillet. Wipe the skillet with a dab of peanut oil on a paper towel. For the crab and shrimp, preheat a tablespoon of peanut oil in a non-stick skillet until the oil shimmers. Add the shrimp (pour off the wine first) and sauté until the shrimp tails are nearly opaque. Mix in the chili purée and the crab meat and toss until the seafood is throughly coated and the shrimp are done.
