Article by:
Stephanie Elizondo Griest
Growing up Mexican American just 150 miles from the border, I thought I understood my ancestral cuisine. A tortilla was a fluffy, flour disc that your abuela (grandmother) warmed over the stove and slathered with butter and honey. Queso was a brick of neon-coloured Velveeta cheese your mum melted in a pot with a can of green chillies and served with Tostito corn chips during the Dallas Cowboys game. And tamales were a spicy blend of pork, masa and Crisco vegetable shortening that your tias (aunties) smeared over corn husks and steamed for Christmas dinner.
So, it was a shock when, on my first trip into Mexico’s interior 25 years ago, I opened a menu and recognised none of the options. Where were the fajitas sizzling on a platter? What made the enchiladas suizas (Swiss) and the eggs divorciados (divorced), and what happened to the complimentary chips and salsa? Read full food and drink here,
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