Baking in High Altitudes

Hugo and I drove up into the mountains last week in search of a sink for one of the new rooms that Joaquin and El Maestro are building on the first floor. Two of the most famous ceramicists in the area are brothers, whose names are Capelo and La Cruz, and they have houses right next to each other -- just beyond the hillside town of Valenciana. Along with sinks, both studios offer expansive vistas of the surrounding mountains and the city below. . . and in each house, we were greeted by a man with his fly wide open. Still formulating hypotheses about the significance of this startling phenomenon.

I've been enjoying having the time and mental space for nurturing my inner June Cleaver here in Mexico, and decided to do some baking last week for the printmakers who were visiting from Seattle and working in Hugo's studio. I made some cranberry-orange white chocolate cookies, but was disappointed when they came out flat and crispy rather than dense and profoundly delicious. After consulting both Hugo and my pastry chef homegirl in Portland, Oregon, I learned that one must a) reduce liquid and increase flour and b) use more baking powder and less baking soda when engaged in sweet endeavors above sea level. I also learned that the flour is softer here in Mexico. That explains a lot. . .

A travel writer for Frommer's visiting from Austin earlier passed through last week, as well. Really cool guy. He studied anthropology and did his thesis on psychadelic drugs. He was interesting and jovial and didn't seem to be any worse for the research he had done -- spoke perfect Spanish and was a wealth of information about travelling in Mexico.

Veronique, the sassy French bohemian who owns my favorite lunch spot, El Midi, hosted an evening of belly dancing and Moroccan music last week in commemoration of the Dia de San Valentin -- it came in stark contrast to the red, pink and chocolate spilling out of every plaza and street corner in town. . . U.S. imperialism reared its helium-filled head.