For turkey leftovers, why not pipián?

I spend a lot of my spare time exploring the outer reaches of New York City in search of authentic and delicious Mexican food. Lately, I’ve been spending a lot of time in Elmhurst, a Queens neighborhood right off the 7 train. Like most of the Mexican immigrants in New York City, the dominant Mexican population hails from the state of Puebla. This means you find lots of tingas, cemitas and moles. And it seems that now pumpkins are in season, you’re also seeing lots of pipián—a salsa made out of pumpkin seeds.

The first time I had pipián, it was a beige, thick sauce dotted with brown specks. It didn’t have much heat and tasted like pureed pumpkin seeds more than anything else. I didn’t like it and was reluctant to try pipián again.

On a recent Saturday, however, I wandered into a lively joint on Roosevelt Avenue. Two men in cowboy garb were singing Mexican karaoke and the crowd was a mix of large families and young couples. And almost everyone seemed to be eating chicken covered in a green sauce. I asked the waitress what it was and she pointed to the menu: on special that day was pipián.

I have a few rules about deciding where I’ll eat Mexican food. One is that if it looks like I’m the only one who speaks English and there’s not an empty table in the joint, then the food will probably be good. Another rule is that I usually order the specials as these are often the cook’s specialty. So that Saturday afternoon, I squeezed into the last chair available and ordered the pipián.
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Uncle Richard's sweet potato pie

In times like these, I’m in need of some serious comfort. I work in magazines and it’s very grim seeing your industry on a downhill slide. Not a day goes by that I don’t hear about a spate of media-industry lay-offs or a publication closing. So to assuage my fears, I’ve been eating lots of pie. Sweet potato pie.

Sweet potato pie is always on our Thanksgiving table—my family prefers it to pumpkin pie, though the two are similar in texture and taste. But sweet potatoes give the custard a bit more heft and are, as the name implies, more naturally sweet than pumpkins.

I asked my grandma for the family recipe but she pointed me in the direction of my Uncle Richard. “Richard makes the best sweet potato pie,” she said. And after years of eating it, I have to agree that indeed he does.

Richard loves his pies, and when my brother got married in September my uncle helped coordinate the marathon pie-baking party that side of the family held. See, my brother had decided that instead of a groom’s cake he wanted a table filled with pies. And so my family’s repertoire was on full display—chocolate, chess, apple, peanut butter and, of course, Uncle Richard’s sweet potato.
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Collard greens, Facebook and Twitter

My new friend Amy sent me collard greens last week. The gift was much appreciated and they were gorgeous, but there was only one problem—I couldn’t eat them because they were on Facebook.

Are you on Facebook? I just signed up about three weeks ago, and I’ve already reconnected with so many friends—both old and new. I’ve even discovered that worlds can collide as, say, I discover that a work friend is friends with a high school friend, unbeknownst to any of us that we all know each other.

Twitter is another application that has been occupying my time lately. It’s a microblogging site where you only have 140 characters to say your piece. There are many uses for Twitter, but I use it to chat with people and post the occasional query or inane thought. It’s kind of silly and sometimes feels a bit narcissistic—but it’s also a quick and easy way to connect with people, which for me is the great appeal of the Internet.

All this virtual living is fun, especially when you’re tethered to your computer for eight hours a day. But a girl still has to eat.

And that brings me back to collard greens.
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Pinto beans, three ways

It doesn't take much to please me. Give me a big, steaming bowl of charra beans, borracho beans or even plain, porky pinto beans and I will be delighted.

Beans were a big part of my diet growing up. At least once a week, we’d have beans for supper, either in the guise of bean salad or in big bowls served with a side of cornbread or tortillas. Sometimes it would be black beans and sometimes it would be navy beans but our core staple was pinto beans. As my mom says, “Pinto beans are close to a perfect food.”

Mom would soak them overnight and slow cook them all day with garlic, onions, spices and her secret ingredient—jalapeno juice. She’d add pork if it was available, but it was the jalapeno juice that gave her beans their fantastic flavor.

When I was little, I figured that we ate beans all the time because we were poor. But when our economic situation turned for the better we continued to eat beans. Why? Because we just enjoyed eating them so much.

I wasn’t alone in loving these beans; I had a friend who claimed them as her favorite food as well and she was known for being a picky eater, especially when it came to eating at our house. See, my mom was a health-food nut who had a reputation of being quite liberal with the wheat germ. And (it seemed) that not a dish was prepared without the addition of the cardboard-flavored sawdust stuff. (I have to admit, however, I actually enjoy wheat germ now that I'm more sophisticated, but that will just be our secret.)

I hated it—but since she was my mom, unless I wanted to starve I had to eat everything she gave me. My particular friend, however, had the luxury of not eating one of mom’s wheat-germ concoctions. Without fail, she refused to touch just about everything my mom offered.

Except for mom’s pinto beans.

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