Catrinas and Alebrijes: Papier-mâché that becomes history

Death can mean pain and sadness, but in Hispanic culture, it can be an event of celebration and family rejoicing. As proof, take the catrinas, those solemn guests who with their pompous dresses, stunning figures and plumage that is the envy of any peacock, they make observers forget that they are seeing an object made of papier-mâché.

“Catrinas are a way of reminding us that we are passing through this life,” said Marina Lozano-García, a papier-mâché teacher and a native of Guanajuato, Mexico, who is in Tulsa leading some workshops sponsored by the Casa de la Cultura de Salamanca, Guanajuato, and the Casas Guanajuato cultural center in Tulsa, 2160 S. Garnett Road.

“Paper and cardboard have a special magic,” said Lozano-García. “They turn the present into history. I say that because we use existing elements, inspired in the past and in the hereafter.”

Lozano-García has been doing this paper and cardboard artwork for 36 years, specializing in catrinas and alebrijes, which are figurines that depict imaginary beings. “With cardboard we can flirt with death by way of the catrinas or give free rein to the imagination with the alebrijes, which are nothing but fantastic animals, sometimes with real parts, but full of Hispanic inventions,” she said. “But the most distinct aspect of this art form is that each papier-mâché teacher has a characteristic hallmark. No mold is the same as any other, and thus no catrina and no alebrije is the same. They are all different, they are all beautiful.”

As she was preparing a mixture of hot water and corn flour into which newspaper would be dipped, to make the frames for the catrinas and alebrijes, Lozano-García delved into history.

“Cartoonist José Guadalupe Posada was the original creator of the catrina by way of a metal engraving, but it was the great muralist Diego Rivera who gave those bones life with his mural, ‘Dream of a Sunday Afternoon in Alameda Park,’” she said. “Besides, Rivera was the one who christened that beautiful creature as a catrina.”

Lozano-García said the history of the alebrijes is different. “They are animals or combinations of fabulous animals, fantastic and with a bit of reality,” she said. “They were invented by Pedro Linares López in the 1930s, perhaps through an agitated delirium. But what a blessing; they are magnificent.”

The purpose of the workshops “is to preserve the magic of cardboard – but more than the piñata,” she said. “We have a culture that is so rich that it crosses borders and dates. It doesn’t have to be Easter or the Day of the Dead or Children’s Day to celebrate with catrinas and alebrijes. That surreal world – magical, mythical – is our Hispanic mark on the planet.”

The teacher then got back to her task: to continue creating stories with papier-mâché, preventing the loss of a folk art used extensively in festivities and ceremonies that decorate our customs and traditions. With cardboard and paper, death becomes life through a syncretism of prayers, spectacle and fun.

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A little history

Papier-mâché arose in Mexico in the 18th century via pyrotechnic figures used for religious holidays. However, others have found its roots in the paper crafts from China, which would have arrived on this continent in the 16th century.

Today, teachers still use the techniques and forms of traditional papier-mâché and cardboard. However, changes in how the pieces are used, going from essentially a decorative to a ritual role, have changed the limits and borders of this craft, in which the creators have used their imagination to reinvent old patterns.

Although some traditions have been disappearing little by little, the papier-mâché craftsman still labors within a cycle of production tied to yearly religious holidays. In January for epiphany or Three Kings Day, horses are fashioned. On Saturday during Holy Week, images of Judas appear. In May, parrots and clowns, and in June, the day of St. John, horses, clowns and dolls with moving parts.

September calls for cardboard helmets for Independence Day, and horses, bugles, eagles and Hidalgo, the priest and leader of the Independence movement. For the celebrations honoring the dead, skeletons are made ​​of cardboard and made to dance by pulling a thread. Also created are priests and coffins known as “tumbitas.” In December one sees Nativity scenes and star-shaped piñatas.

Photos by Juan Miret

Aguas Frescas: beating the heat with a burst of fruits

Who could resist when standing before a huge glass jug, covered with condensation drops on its exterior and filled with a cool drink made of rice – horchata – or tamarind or hibiscus flower?

Moreover, how can one ignore that little tune that echoes in our memory, when the beverage vendor used a very large spoon to stir the mix, clanking on the jug’s side – and splashing some on us, causing us to thirst for it?

Probably no one can resist, much less during high summer temperatures.

“If you feel hot, have an horchata,” Angeles Hurtado tells customers at her mobile taco stand in east Tulsa. “I always have horchata available. It’s the best of the drinks.”

Hurtado’s recipe has an ingredient that others don’t have. “Time,” she says. “My horchata is traditional and modern. It has rice, cinnamon, milk, condensed milk, sugar and vanilla.” This cook and native of the Mexican state of Sinaloa says the rice should be boiled, “but not cooked, and prior to that it should soak for half an hour.” In addition, Hurtado said she makes a sort of syrup with the cinnamon sticks. “It is a tea that is used to mix the rice and the milk. If it ends up being thick, it can yield up to four liters.”

An ingredient from Asian cuisine that has made its way into Hispanic cuisine is tamarind, which is used to make a very popular beverage. “Of all the drinks, this is the one that requires the most work,” said Sonia Ramírez, manager of a mobile outlet in east Tulsa.

“There are several ways to make it, but I like to boil the tamarind, and then I separate the fleshy part from the seed.” The next step is to liquefy that pulp with water and sugar. “I just guesstimate; I don’t measure.”

The jamaica (hibiscus flower) drink may be the queen of these beverages. “It is easy to make and everyone likes it,” said Lucía Fernández as she sold some drinks in a small booth in east Tulsa. “In a nutshell: It is an iced tea.”

The intense red color of the hibiscus flowers seeps into hot water; the infusion is filtered through a sieve, and then one needs to just add sugar and “ice, lots of ice,” says Fernández. “That’s all you need.”

Besides those three types, perhaps considered the classic drinks, one may find other fruit beverages, which although not as common, are welcome.

“The watermelon drink is very refreshing,” said Lupe Martínez, who helps Fernández. “We only make it once a week.” They also put pineapple, strawberry and mango on the menu. “It depends on the season. Sometimes everything is available; sometimes there is not much fruit variety.”

So you know how to beat the heat, one drop at a time: with a cool beverage – horchata, jamaica or tamarindo.

Photo by Juan Miret

Sofrito: Foundation of Hispanic cooking

A key ally in Hispanic cooking has a name: sofrito. It is a sauce that is a blanket of flavor and color, enhancing whatever it smothers, be it a chicken breast, a mountain of shredded beef or a stew that can raise the dead.

Those chopped ingredients – onion, tomato, garlic, onions, peppers and cilantro – sprinkled with oil and cooked over low heat, make up the foundation for much of the Hispanic food repertoire.

“There is no savory cooking without sofrito,” says Juan Manuel González, who cooks in a Salvadoran restaurant in northeast Tulsa. “My pupusas made with cheese and pork include in their sauce and pickles a sofrito with a good amount of garlic. The trick is to fry the onion and tomato very slowly, for about 20 minutes.”

González’s approach conforms to the definition found in the dictionary of the Royal Spanish Academy, which states that the verb sofreir means to fry food and condiments lightly over low heat.

“So a sofrito should be done without hurry,” said Santiago Romero, a cook in a Mexican restaurant in east Tulsa, who specializes in a chicken mole.

“We make a sort of mole paste, then mix it with the chicken broth, and cover it with a sofrito made of fried onion and tomato.” Romero’s version uses liquefied tomatoes, rather than chopped.

The captivating aroma that emanates from Magda Carrasquero’s frying pan is thanks to the Venezuelan recipe for sofrito; the key to its success is that “everything must be very chopped, finely chopped.”

If it is true that cuisine is the essence of a people, then the flavor of Honduran baleadas, which are similar to flour tortillas and filled with beans, is enlivened by an onion-rich sofrito sauce. That’s according to Alfonso Villasmil, a chef in a Honduran restaurant in southeast Tulsa. “It is the dish that must be on the table of any Honduran, and those who know this, do it with a sofrito.”

Puerto Ricans have turned ​​ sofrito into the essential foundation of their stews, rice dishes and their famous beans. In fact, a master of Puerto Rican cuisine, Carmen Aboy, included in a 1950s work, Creole Cuisine, three kinds of Caribbean sofritos, thus demonstrating the range of this condiment-rich base.

In a way sofrito is a constant; it is almost invisible, but essential in the Latino kitchen. It is a kind of indelible memory of our roots, and nothing brings that to mind than an aroma, particularly if it contains garlic, onions and tomatoes. The presence of sofrito will continue gracing Latino tables, dressing our favorite dishes with its juices.

Other names for sofrito

Colombia: Hogao

Ecuador: Hogo

Perú: Refrito

Photos by Juan Miret

Sweets: far from just candy

Imagine a tamarind lollipop soaked in chili powder and drenched in salt. Well, such a thing exists.

In the world of Hispanic sweets, the best ones are often those that are the hottest, the spiciest and the most sour.

These flavors may not be attractive to some people, but for a good many of the 50 million Hispanics living in the United States, they are a tasty treat and a sort of link to their childhood.

“I used to hide some soft candy, very salty and with fruity flavors, from my brothers,” said Clara Sarmiento as she placed some spicy snacks to her shopping basket in a Hispanic market in southwest Tulsa. “‘Pulparindo’ is my favorite, but the red kind – that one is spicy. The yellow one not so much.”

Sarmiento’s choices illustrate the variety in the sweets industry, which the U.S. Chamber of Commerce says is worth $24 billion a year. These treats have shifted from being sweet to the heat of spiciness, or more so – to the very spicy.

“Salty and spicy candies are everywhere,” said Jesús González as he paid for his purchase at a store in east Tulsa. In his grocery bag was some candy for his children. “I had not seen this one before. It is called ‘Atomic.’ I will try it first and then give it to them.”

For Lupe Coronado, enjoying a sweet-and-sour lollipop takes her on a trip back to her childhood. “You started with ‘Chicaleta,’ the least sour one, then the ‘Ricaleta,’ and if you passed that test, then you graduated to the ‘Rockaleta,’ she said, describing what for her are the best lollipops in her hometown of Zacatecas in Mexico. “They are very difficult to find. People always bring me a box of Rockaletas,” she said, referring to the caramelized candy with three types of chile and which within have some gum of a tropical fruit flavor.

The favorite for Luis Manzanares, a native of the state of Guerrero, Mexico, is the ‘Pica Limón’, which comes in little packages of seasoning to pour over fruit, such as mango. “But you can eat them without anything else, by themselves,” he said, adding that “in my time, that was how you learned to eat with chile.”

Others, such as Eduardo Montero, who works at a Hispanic supermarket in east Tulsa, create their own spicy sweets. “You take chewy caramelized milk candy –caramel with dulce de leche– and you dip it in chamoy [a sweet and sour mixture] and salt,” said Montero while tidying up some shelves. “That’s much better than the ‘Pelón Pelo Rico’ [a tamarind flavored candy].”

If you haven’t tried a spicy hot candy, or if it has been a while since you had one, dare to do so, and if it is very hot, don’t worry – even the best of us make mistakes.

Photos by Juan Miret

Shoes with history: ‘huaraches’

More than sandals, huaraches are literally a kind of walking history.

As Conti González explains in “The History of Shoes,” our ancestors had to invent a way to protect their feet from sharp rocks and searing ground during their journeys seeking food and shelter. The skilled hands of Hispanics have historically possessed a sot of magic when creating things, whether they are made of clay, wood, ceramics, wire, copper, stone, glass, and, of course, leather for footwear.
 “Many people come looking for huaraches from the city of Leon, Guanajuato,” said José Sánchez, who has a shoe store in east Tulsa. “The best huaraches in the world come from that part of the country. I myself go every year to the famous ‘Plaza del Zapato’ shoe mall in Guanajuato and I bring back a thousand pairs of sandals.”

According to Sánchez, these days “young people like to wear huaraches. Before they were for country folk, but now all kinds of people show up,” he said. “Adults and children.”

Miguelina Sanabria, who works in a store in north Tulsa that specializes in typical Mexican footwear and clothes, says huaraches vary depending on the region. “The way in which they tie and weave is different,” she explained while displaying several pairs. “The ones from Puebla have a lot of things. Those from Jalisco are simpler.”

Over time materials have changed significantly; it is not common to see soles made of calf leather or of a rope made of plant fibers. “Now there are even rubber huaraches,” she said. “They also come in all sorts of colors.”

Rafael Puentes, a regular customer of Sanabria’s, said he has several pairs. “It’s a tradition. In my farm (Tamaulipas, Mexico), I was always in huaraches.” He said that back home they were made using his very foot as the mold and then fashion it on the spot. “Then they would make the holes to insert the straps. And sometimes you had to put some beef tallow on it to be able to work the leather. Those were the huaraches of another time.”

Whether made of leather or of plastic, huaraches are like an anchor that sets our feet in the past.

Did you know?

According to the dictionary of the Royal Spanish Academy, the word “huarache” comes from the Tarascan word “kuarache” and means “a rough leather sandal.”

It is also the name for a Mexican dish made with a tortilla-like base toped with beans and salsa.

Photos by Juan Miret

Menudo: soup or miracle cure?

Many claim that there is a soup that has the ability to “raise the dead” and rid one of the dreadful hangovers following parties and late night outings.

This concoction has several names in the Hispanic world, including menudo, mondongo, pancita and guatita.

This kind of elixir, with its origins in the old Spanish cookbooks, transformed the classic tripe soup of Madrid into a very spicy soup ​​that is based on the cow’s stomach.

Its legacy goes back to the end of the 16th century, when Diego Granado, author of the “Book of the Art of Cooking,” talked about a recipe book of dishes including portions of cow stomach. That broth from yesteryear is much like today’s miraculous potion, but containing spices from Latin America.

Some insist that this dish is to be enjoyed only at roadside restaurants, but this popular stew requires the rigor of haute cuisine. As the Venezuelan chef Armando Scannone said, “the beauty of the dish is in the palate.” Chef Mercedes Oropeza said in an article in the Mexican newspaper El Universal in May 2007 that this soup is not “an ordinary meal,” but one of “quality and sublime delicacy.”

For Manuel Romero, a cook located in an eastside restaurant, Mexican menudo is like tortillas: “it has to be part of the meal.” However, it is more common as part of Saturday meals. “I have been preparing menudo on weekend for eight years,” he said as he carefully and without hurrying thoroughly cleaned the stomach using a knife to scrape the inside. “This takes time. Menudo either ends up cooked well or not; that’s why you have to clean it very well.”

Romero cooks the stomach in boiling water with a few unmeasured additions of lemon, baking soda and vinegar.

Various Mexican regions claim to have created menudo. Some say it was born in the north of Mexico, appearing there as a typical food among country folk who used the offal of butchered cattle, including internal organs, tail, feet and tongue. Others say it originated in the central part of the country.

Red menudo is a version that is a symbol of the city of Guadalajara in the state of Jalisco, and in the northern state of Chihuahua. White menudo is common in Culiacan, Sinaloa, served with chile tepín. For Romero, a native of Zacatecas, “all are very similar, since they have the same base,” he said. “The stomach and the feet.”

Romero said the feet should be scraped under warm water, removing any skin that might remain. “And then they are left soaking in lemon juice.”

The flavor arises courtesy of onion and garlic, which are cooked until tender. Then one adds leek, green onion, paprika, chilies, tomatoes and tomato sauce. Romero also adds carrot slices, corn and potatoes.
Once cooked, the Zacatecas menudo “should be served nice and hot,” said the cook. “And if we have an ice cold beer to go with it, so much the better.”

Other menudos

Patasca is what Peruvians call the their version, which is very common in the Tarma Valley region. Besides the key component, other ingredients include pig meat, corn, celery and salt. The preparation is especially done at night, when corn and meat are placed into a large pot to boil. To decide when it is ready, one should verify that the broth has taken on a white color. The broth is served first, then the pieces of stomach and meat. It is garnished with chopped parsley.

In Ecuador, this stew is known as guatita, which is very thick and has a base of peanut, tomato and chunks of stomach. In Ecuador it is well known because eating it reduces the effects of the holiday indulgences. That is why there are restaurants that specialize in preparing this meal on the weekends. It is served with rice.

Venezuelans call it mondongo. It is basically a soup whose main ingredient is stomach, which has been cleaned and cut into small squares that are then cooked in a deep pot with ingredients such as potatoes, cassava, carrots and cornmeal dumplings. Often ripe plantains are added. The cooking process requires considerable time, yielding a thick soup that is colorful and somewhat sweet. Sometimes pork feet, sliced or chopped, are added.

Be it fact or popular legend, menudo remains a highlight of the Saturday menu as a cure for cruel hangovers. Even if they are not curative, at least they make diners forget for a while as they enjoy a soup bearing flavor and history.