This morning I arrive at the daily market early, by 9 a.m. I had chicken soup on my mind and want to make some, so I first stop at a stall where I know that cooking teacher Reyna Mendoza buys her pollo. Criollo, advises the woman standing next to me in the aisle as she points to the small whole, white chicken, saying pollo, es pollo, (chicken, it’s chicken) a Spanish lesson for the güera. I smile and nod.
Criollo means natural or wild or organic. They eat maize, she says. She then points to the big, plump yellow chickens sitting with their big breasts, proud birds, twice the size of the criollos, and says, these came from Oaxaca and they eat commercial grain (in Spanish, of course). Then, the vendor and the shopper move into Zapotec, a language I don’t understand. Some chismes (gossip), I’m sure.
I love following the little grandmothers, the abuelitas, through the market, with their wool checked faldas (skirts) folded around their waist and tied with a handwoven red wool cinturon (belt) with tassle ends. In the old days, these belts were dyed with cochineal. Some still are.
Plaid skirts, flowered blouses, sometimes aprons, always a traditional handwoven reed shopping basket balanced on the crook of the left arm, long hair braided with colored ribbons and tied together at the end or piled on top of the head like a crown, a rebozo (shawl) covering shoulders or head, sometimes the shopping basket. This is a passing generation.
This was not meant to be a long shopping trip. I left the house gate open because I intended to return immediately. A quick pass through the market for organic chicken, chard, a dozen fresh long-stem roses (40 pesos a dozen, that’s about $2.50 USD), criollo eggs from the gallina (hen), a couple of squash and mangos (it’s the season).
As I was loading my car I noticed a stream of abuelitas entering the doorway of the convenience store across the street. Such a good picture, so I decided to hang out. A few more entered, one at a time.
It was by now 10 o’clock in the morning. I waited for them to emerge but they didn’t. And, I remember that this is the ladies’ social hour and the convenience store is where they congregate before going back home to work, prepare meals, do laundry and take care of the grandchildren. So, I decided I was done waiting and would join them!
Believe me! A shot of mezcal at 10:30 a.m. can really get you moving. As I sidle up to the counter cum bar to join the ladies, they welcome me with warm smiles, ask where I live, how long I’ve been here, and admire my filigree Zapotec-style earrings and embroidered apron, sign that I am surely one of them. Or at least a trying hard wannabe. Then, invite me to take photos.
I get a Zapotec lesson, Xa-Yu (how are you?) and chichi-bay-oh (salud) as we raise the cup. I already know Zakchi! (hello, good afternoon). This is really a foreign language.
Rosa, as she introduced herself, buys my first drink. Good for the panza, she says, patting her belly. I agree. Mezcal is a medicinal when not abused! She offers me another. I smile and decline, realizing I need to drive home without bumping into any burros.
Next time, my turn to buy.
And, that’s village life in Oaxaca.
Norma’s Simple Chicken Soup Recipe
- 1 small, white organic chicken, cut up, skin removed
- include neck and gizzards and egg sack
- 1-2 chicken feet (just like grandma used to make)
- 4-6 cups water
- salt to taste
- 1 serrano pepper, dried
- 6 cloves garlic
- 2 whole onions, peeled
- 1/2″ fresh turmeric, peeled
Add chicken and all other ingredients to 6 qt. stockpot. Bring to simmer on stovetop, cover and cook for 4-6 hours*. Chill. Remove fat. Muy rico.
These local, skinny free-range chickens are pretty tough, so to get the meat very tender, it needs to good for a really long time! It’ the feet that give the flavor.
Another great post and set of photos, Norma. I can hear, see & feel Teotitlan from reading it. How refreshing!
Suzanne, thank you. How is the knee? I just donated my crutches from my surgery recovery to the village health clinic. You can too!
I second, Kevin. sad to hear and see the peaceful state rage and mourn
Yes. It’s a bummer. So many are holed up waiting. May we see a peaceful outcome. We can only hope!
Norma you are my hero(ine). I love this post. I love seeing the world of Oaxaca through your lens!
Audrey, so good to hear from you. I do this because people like you show me the world is sweet and kind and that what I do has meaning. Thank you. Norma
I love reading your blog. Although I’m 72 I think about being you when I grow up!!!! I will be headed to Oaxaca one day, and look forward to having some similar experiences that you write about. Perhaps we’ll connect in the market, or in one of the workshops that you offer in the not too distant future.
Warm regards,
Dorothy
Dorothy, I’m right on your heels. Come on down!
Thanks for another lovely view of Oaxaca. I know Reyna! She’s a cousin of the late Arnulfo Mendoza, who was a great friend to me and my husband, who did a beautiful portrait of him.
I, too, love the abuelitas, who will not be with us forever, alas.
Thank you, Kate. I only knew Arnulfo to say hello to him in the street and in his gallery. How lovely that your husband painted him, too. I know Reyna and her brother Tito and their family much better. Tito will be at the Folk Art Market this year. Kudos to a talented family. Best, Norma
That’s a sweet story, so far removed from the other violent Oaxaca news that been flooding my inbox.
Thanks, Kevin. They say the local is the universal. I dunno. I escaped the city to return to my pueblito early this morning after threats of massive demonstrations. There is no Right when there’s violence in either side. I’m back in the campo to bird song and construction hammers and bulls plowing fields for corn planting. Easier to live this way.