Huitlacoche or (equally tricky to pronounce) cuitlacoche is a black, bulbous fungus that grows on corn. It looks revolting and distantly related to The Blob, so I can only assume that some poor Aztec thousands of years ago must have been either starving or being subjected to punishment when he first tried it. Famished daredevil or criminal, whoever was the first to eat it made a wonderful discovery. Sometimes referred to as smut, huitlacoche has also picked up a swankier moniker: corn truffle. Smut or truffle, huitlacoche is earthy, velvety, and intensely rich. In Mexico it’s sold canned at the grocery store (often with chiles and onions), but lucky for you, you don’t have to book a ticket to the D.F. to get it — simply order a few tins on Amazon with your next book or DVD purchase. It’s surprising, unexpected, and luxe layered in a quesadilla, stuffed into fried squash blossoms, wrapped inside crêpes, or tossed with pasta.

LINGUINE with HUITLACOCHE-MUSHROOM SAUCE
Serves 2

8 ounces linguine or spaghetti
1 tablespoon olive oil
1 onion, finely chopped
Salt and pepper
1 (10-ounce) box cremini or button mushrooms, cleaned and thinly sliced
4 garlic cloves, minced
1 (215 gram / 7.5 ounce) can huitlacoche, chopped
½ cup heavy cream
¼ cup grated Parmesan or Asiago cheese
4 scallions, thinly sliced

- Bring 4 quarts water to boil in a large pot.

- Heat olive oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat until shimmering. Add onion and ½ teaspoon pepper and cook until onion begins to soften, about 3 minutes.  Add mushrooms and sauté until golden brown, 6 to 8 minutes. Stir in garlic and cook until fragrant, about 1 minute,

- Stir in the huitlacoche and cream and simmer over medium heat until slightly thickened, about 5 minutes. Stir in cheese and season with salt and pepper.

- Add 1 tablespoon salt and pasta to boiling water and cook until al dente. Reserve ¼ cup pasta cooking water, drain pasta, and add to huitlacoche sauce in skillet. Toss to coat, adding reserved pasta water 1 tablespoon at a time if necessary. Serve in bowls and top with sliced scallions.

Sinking your teeth into the sweet, tender crunchiness of a fresh ear of corn is one of summer’s indubitable pleasures, the butter-slathered kernels yielding to your eager bite, the salt crusting your upper lip. For many of us, that first bite acts as a time machine, transporting us to the county fair or the Sunday afternoon backyard barbecue of our youth. My corny time machine takes me to Reino Aventura, a Six Flags-like amusement park in Mexico City where I had a Corn on the Cob, The Extreme Version: grilled corn generously schmeared with mayonnaise, sprinkled with grated cheese and chile piquín, and finished off with a squirt of lime.

But, regardless of whether it’s consumed in English or en español, nibblers will agree that eating corn on the cob has some unattractive side effects; bits and pieces of kernel stubbornly fix themselves in our gums, between our canines, incisors, and molars, making our faces contort and twitch as we not-so-discreetly attempt to dislodge them with the tips of our tongues. Even in the comfort and privacy of my own home, I can’t stand the struggle.

So, the other day when I was craving Mexican street corn, I decided I’d deconstruct the local treat and serve it forth in a bowl. It would be a much more Emily Post-ish eating experience, besides which I would be able to get larger mouthfuls (not so Emily Post, in the end).

Though versions abound, this is my recipe for Mexican Corn Off the Cob. Serve it as a side dish to grilled steak, fajitas, or as a topping for quesadillas.

MEXICAN CORN OFF THE COB
Serves 2 to 3

6 ears of corn, husks and silk removed (yields approx. 3 cups of kernels)
2 tsps. corn oil
2 to 3 TBSP. mayonnaise
Juice of one lime
chile piquín or chile de árbol flakes, to taste
1/3 C. grated cotija cheese

-With a small, sharp paring knife, scrape the kernels off the cob. Work in a large shallow bowl so you can catch the kernels as well as any milk that may leak out.

-Heat oil in a large skillet over high heat until shimmering. Add kernels and toss to coat in oil. Either stir or shake kernels constantly until they are nicely toasted – I prefer mine a bit charred.

-Pour corn into a serving bowl and season with salt and pepper. Stir in mayonnaise, then sprinkle with chile and cheese. Drizzle with lemon juice and serve.

“De-cobbing.”

Enchiladas rojas at ¡Lotería!

I like to eat Mexican whenever possible. I lived in D.F. as a child and I have many a fond memory of life and food there. Classmates at Instituto Irlandés, my all-girl, plaid-green-jumper Catholic school, quickly taught me to train my taste buds to accept and in most cases like, a wide array of picante foods. Soon, I too was bringing chile piquín-dusted cucumber slices bathed in lime juice in Hello Kitty Tupperware to recreo and sprinkling the vibrant red dust on oranges and mangos. I also learned to appreciate Mexican counterparts to American candy bars and other sweets: Pulparindo, a chewy tamarind and chile bar; mazapán, a peanut-based marzipan; and Duvalín, vanilla and hazelnut cream that came in tiny packages with a plastic stick for an eating utensil.

I came to know Mexico through its flavors and to understand that it was made up of a vast and complex array of ingredients, textures, and colors that distinguished it from everything else I’d ever eaten. To this day I am shocked when people equate Mexican with Taco Bell or when that fine cuisine is reduced to an overstuffed burrito. Happily, though, there is some authenticity and variety to be found. I had the opportunity to experience Mexico all over again at two spots in LA:

¡Lotería!: Grab a table in the center of the LA Farmer’s Market or hop on a bright red stool and eat right at the counter. Eager to try everything on the menu, I ordered a sampler platter containing miniature versions of the twelve different taco fillings available, including, nopalitos (cactus salad), mole poblano con pollo (chicken with mole sauce), papa con rajas (potatoes with roasted poblano peppers), and chicharrones en salsa verde (pork rinds in tomatillo sauce). I can’t say I had a single favorite, but surprisingly for carnivorous me, the vegetarian nopalitos made a lasting impression.

De todo un poco.

The colorful aguas.

Luckily, I had a few people in tow and was able to taste enchiladas in hot and spicy red chile guajillo sauce that was eagerly mixed into the accompanying rice so as not to waste a drop; crunchy, crispy, corn tortilla tacos; and a mountain of chilaquiles verdes (fried corn tortilla strips sautéed in house-made sauces – either green tomatillo, chile guajillo, or mole) topped with eggs and dressed with queso fresco, crema, chopped onions and cilantro. Oh, and of course, no meal is complete without an agua fresca, fresh fruit drinks in a variety of seasonal flavors. My pick: agua de jamaica, the refreshing, floral, bougainvillea-hued hibiscus tonic.

Crispy tacos.

As fate would have it, owner Jimmy Shaw happened by and we got to talking in English at first until we realized he was Mexican himself. We talked about food, of course, and childhood memories revolving around food…of course. It was a lovely encounter and made us feel like we’d just dined at a dear friend’s home.

Eat right at the counter.

Monte Albán, Mexican eatery with Oaxacan roots, was also a big crowd pleaser. Señor O and I headed there for breakfast with my little brother, and, quite embarrassingly, I was presented with a colorfully sprinkled bun and cup of hot chocolate…because it as Mother’s Day and the hostess took me for my sibling’s mom. I was going to play along, but vanity took over and I just had to clear up that I was not old enough to be this 11-year-old’s mother. Well, technically I am, but still.

…I digress. The food: I had enfrijoladas, with eggs naturally. Enfrijoladas are similar to chilaquiles, only these corn tortilla triangles are smothered in thick black bean sauce. Señor O had a large plate of eggs scrambled with chorizo, and little brother opted for salsa de queso, melted cheese in a pool of spicy tomato sauce, a sticky mess that can be neatly folded into a slender and pliable corn tortilla.

Tamal con mole.

Zucchini blossom quesadilla.

Chorizo and potato molote.

We made a return visit later that very same evening with family members who’d missed out on breakfast and had tamales with black mole, dense and chocolaty, zucchini blossom quesadillas, potato-and-chorizo molotes, deep-fried and crisp, as well as another round of enfrijoladas, this time with a side of cesina, thinly sliced, salted beef. For dessert: ripe plantains, sliced and fried, then topped with condensed milk. As we like to say, barriga llena, corazón contento. (Full belly, happy heart).