At the close of our stay here, we experienced another close miss of a fascinating Hanal Pixan tradition. This was the Maya practice of bone washing, as practiced in the nearby village of Pomuch, more famous among locals for its bakeries. These produce the eponymous Pan de Pomuch, advertised on a procession of highway signs in its vicinity, and Pan de Pichon (“Pigeon Bread”), both baked year round but associated particularly with the holiday. Our friendly AirBNB host was actually on her way to Pomuch as we headed out of town, and offered to take us with her, a favor we would have certainly accepted had we not had a bus to catch.
The city of San Francisco de Campeche, while blessed with a fairly mellifluous name in Spanish, disguises a less palatable one in its original Mayan, where “Campeche” translates to “Place of Snakes and Ticks.” Such nuisances are by now long gone, and while the place remains a bit off the beaten path in terms of American tourism, it’s still a popular destination for Mexican nationals and European backpackers. The city is the capital of the state of the same name, yet just as the local refining boom town Ciudad del Carmen represents the region’s modern industrial aspirations, Campeche reflects its sleepy, Baroque past. The food culture here, along with that stemming from the inland, colonial-era hub of Valladolid, is steeped in old-world flavors, with a particular emphasis on the fruits of the peak-period spice trade. The city’s modern foodways link to Tabasco to the south and Veracruz across the water, but the cuisine as a whole tilts more Spanish than that of the peninsula’s Eastern Coast, likely a legacy of its former status as a cross-Atlantic trading center, significant stopover point for ocean journeys, and general locus of Gulf shipping activity. All of these influences were glimpsed here in our first meal, at the lovely La Palapa del Tio Fito, where we were served more Sikil P’ak, a small platter of pickled beets, and little glass of Veracruzan Chilpachole Broth as complimentary botañas. The main course was Pulpo en su Tinta (octopus cooked in its own ink), which like many dishes here had a distinctly European taste, a quality that paired nicely with the waterfront, plein-air atmosphere. This impression was furthered by a late night meal at the grandiose Don Gustavo, in which all other diners were stationed at tables laid out on the street, giving us the entire expansive courtyard to ourselves. Although I’d eaten Pan de Cazon before on our previous trip, I felt it necessary to try it here, in the city of its birth, and so had to skip the extravagant Costrada Campechana, which I sadly did not see again. I was luckily able to recreate it later at home, marveling over that particular blend of sweetness and savor you get from fragrant, excessive Enlightenment-era cooking. Also in this vein was Queso Relleno, utilizing the region's famous queso de bola in supremely sumptuous form. I originally assumed this to be an antique nouveau-riche dish designed to exhibit largesse (everyone gets their own cheese wheel!), and while this may at some point have been the case, this cheesy concoction actually has a more humble origin, with kitchen workers taking the hollowed-out wax wheel home, using the preparation as a means of utilizing the scraps still clinging to the wax. As with Mérida, Campeche was also a major trading hub for the sisal hemp boom of the late 19th century, which peaked as US-Spanish conflict in Cuba and the Philippines blocked supplies from those countries and drove up demand. Known also as jute or henequen, the cultivation and production of this fiber, used mostly for making rope and twine, attracted new Lebanese immigrants, many of them Maronite Christians driven out of their occupied homeland due to Ottoman Empire pogroms, the most successful of whom ended up constructing elaborate Haciendas in the city or the surrounding countryside. One likely product of this process was the garlic sauce we were served with fresh bread at El Bastion. I knew it tasted familiar, and upon later research discovered that it was in fact Crema de Ajo, originally derived from Lebanese toum, an aioli whose name traces back to the local Arabic word for garlic. The Yucatan may not boast anything as famous as al Pastor, another crossbreed resulting from Levantine emigration, but still has its share of adapted Middle Eastern flavors, from kibbes to pan arabe to X’nipek, a salsa preparation that the late Chef David Sterling speculates may have originally stemmed from tabbouleh. At the close of our stay here, we experienced another close miss of a fascinating Hanal Pixan tradition. This was the Maya practice of bone washing, as practiced in the nearby village of Pomuch, more famous among locals for its bakeries. These produce the eponymous Pan de Pomuch, advertised on a procession of highway signs in its vicinity, and Pan de Pichon (“Pigeon Bread”), both baked year round but associated particularly with the holiday. Our friendly AirBNB host was actually on her way to Pomuch as we headed out of town, and offered to take us with her, a favor we would have certainly accepted had we not had a bus to catch. That bus led us to our next stop in the centrally located Valladolid, another colonial-era destination that was a bit more rustic than our previous stop, but still bore clear signs of culinary sophistication. It also has an amazing cenote smack dab in the center of town, which finally gave us an opportunity to experience once of these magical pools. Most are located some ways out into the countryside, making them hard to reach without access to a car or as part of a tour group, but Cenote Zaci, with its eyeless black catfish (not the common blind brotula, apparently, but the rarer Rhamdia Guatemalensis) and towering diving platform, was more than enough. It also offered a more-than-sufficient lunch, in our case a heap of local specialty Lomitas de Valladolid, accompanied by a refried pinto beans, a mashed potato botaña and some fried sweet plantains. A few other notable meals followed. After enjoying the history lightshow displayed upon the wall of a sprawling, ruined convent complex, we supped at the gourmet restaurant next door. Taberna dos Frailes serves a house-made version of the local Longaniza de Valladolid, which despite its name is generally made in the nearby town of Temozon. My vegetarian companion opted for empanadas campesanas, a name which appears to be a generic descriptor for hearty veggie-stuffed pockets, rather than a specific regional dish. Finally, we closed out our brief one-day stay here with a sampling of Sac Col, another rich turkey stew similar to relleno blanco, at Méson del Marques. Half Maya, half Spanish, the dish features both raisins and capers, a trademark of Valladolid cooking, and another firm link back to Mediterranean culture. Even smack dab in the middle of the peninsula, in a place whose rhythms hearken back to simpler times, it’s easy to find connections to the larger world.
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