Why do I volunteer for projects like this? I mean, it's not like I'm getting extra credit or anything.
Several months ago a dear amiga of mine (who shall remain nameless as I am convinced that she is in the country illegally. I keep asking for her Green Card which is futile because she just keeps showing me a card that happens to be green. I'd turn her into INS but I love her too much.) and I decided to make a batch of fresh tortillas from scratch. It was entertaining to watch us to say the least. Did we have a tortilla press? Hell no, that would have been too easy. Three comals, yes. Tortilla press, no.
As we gathered around the table, savoring our creation and swilling tequila the conversation turned to fresh homemade salsa. And, of course, to do that you need a molcajete to do it right. Now, we both know how to use one of those things but neither of us have one. I've held those things in my hands in Mexico so many times that it hurts. Did I buy one? No. Reason? REALLY overweight luggage. Which should never have been a reason to stop me. Hell, when I come back from Mexico my luggage usually weighs about as much as big block V-8 car engine from the '60's. What can I say, shopping is my drug of choice.
So we're sitting there at the table and all of a sudden her mouth drops open, she points over my shoulder at the bookcase behind me and says "Where the hell did THAT come from???". I turn around, thinking I'm about to be attacked by death adders and find myself eye to eye with an authentic lava stone molcajete. So damned dusty that it hurt. My heart sang. I turned back to her, took another bite of my taco and said "HOW THE HELL CAN YOU NOT KNOW THAT YOU OWN A MOLCAJETE???". Good lord, it's a stone pig. How do you overlook that sort of thing? So I drag the damned thing into the kitchen, wash it off and realize that it is virgin. New. Never been used. My heart sank...
Molcajete's are a strange animal. I've done my research. Curing and seasoning these little piggies is not an easy task. They are lava rock. They are rough. They need to be broken in before you even consider trying to use them. I scour estate sales for dead Mexican grandmothers looking for these things. I want one that is at least 50 years old and heavily used. So, last Saturday she hands me this thing and says "Make it go". WHAT?!?!
Do not ask me why but I decided to take up the challenge. First, I soaked it in water overnight. I started out grinding raw uncooked rice into dust in this thing. About two pounds worth of it. Yeah, that was fun. On day two I switched over to course grind kosher sea salt. About 8 freaking pounds worth of course grind kosher sea salt got ground into something akin to talcum powder. Finally, half way through the last box I met with success. No black grit. And an inside surface that was about as smooth as I was gonna waste my time making it. I damned near wore my left arm off! Then I scrubbed the shit out of it. Then, it was time for a test drive. Three heads of garlic, a couple of diced onions and some olive oil. Yes, the smushing and gushing had begun. In less than 5 minutes I had more aioli than I knew what to do with. Well, of course, you have to let this concoction set in the molcajete overnight so it permeates the lava stone. We woke up the next morning to an apartment that wreaked of garlic. Imagine an Italian restaurant on the brown acid. Once again, I scrubbed the shit out of this damned thing. It has the most wonderful aroma to it now.
Success. Yes, SUCCESS! This was like giving birth to a child. And worth every curse word that I tossed out at it. SUCCESS!
The best part? My amiga has decided that little piggy is to be named "Donaldo". And she has granted me visitation rights. I am a happy camper and there is homemade salsa in my future...
Life is good!
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