I would say that the mouth is the most capricious part of the body. It, a construction of memory, speaks of what it has had the chance to taste, of that which has chiseled a moment for it. And due to the controversial column written by Enrique Olvera, the topic of how Mexicans eat is back on the table. The Mexican, defined by the blessings of our biodiversity and culture, has a taste like no other. The green, white, and red pierce our taste buds like a conqueror's flag. Without resorting to nationalism, our taste, like that of any other citizen of the world, is an acquired training. Those born in a tropical area like Bali will not have the same palate as those born in cold Reykjavik. Nor will the sensory range of a person who has always eaten locally be the same as that of a traveler. Physics, chemistry, tolerance to the new, and even the emotion that makes us salivate just as much as we cry come into play.The great writer, diplomat, and founder of the Mexican Gastronomic Culture Conservatory, Gloria López, states that what we like to eat as Mexicans is related to nature and the geographic space we occupy. “Our territory is situated in a tropical zone, another semi-desert, and highland. This defines our tastes. In tropical areas, there are pronounced and spicy flavors. One only has to look at North Africa, Asia, or Southeast Asia. In these tropical bands, we find chiles and peppers: spices that enhance the flavor of the vast majority of their foods.”In my opinion, flavors are also cultural constructions. The senses are shaped by culture. What is “ugly,” “good,” or “silly” to someone may not be so in another place. The Maya, for example, considered it beautiful to have dental implants made of semi-precious stones. The same happens in culinary matters. Many foreigners find it terrifying that we toast grasshoppers and eat them in a bag, sprinkled with chili and a little salt. To me, they are popcorn for watching TV. And I do not deny it: what we Mexicans like to eat is peculiar. Rather, it is original, divergent, unique.Without a doubt, what most defines the taste of Mexicans is spicy and seasoned food. “They are substantial in our way of eating. Another flavor is the sweet and sour,” assures Gloria López. I would add acidity to the mix. But the topic of flavors is also physical. Chemically, humans like sugar and carbohydrates because they give us strength; their presence inhibits bacteria. Bitter flavors, on the other hand, generate greater aversion because their composition reminds us of what is spoiled. If for some reason we were to do a #lemonchallenge with a one-year-old, the grimaces from their first drops of citrus would end up on humanity's TikTok. The biochemical explanation is called palatability. The phenomenon has to do with the body and how the senses interpret a food according to their ancestral survival memories. If something is liked, it will relate to how much nutritional satisfaction it provides to the body.Being honest – and thinking of fermented foods like pulque or bitter and concentrated flavors like achiote – palatability is not everything. The way Mexicans appropriate biodiversity and the environment (a.k.a. culture) has shaped what we like. In the territory, there were chiles and tomatoes. There was stone, there was fire. We threw everything into the molcajete and made salsas. To this appropriation, we added creativity, perception, and what we learned along the way: trial and error. Children who interpreted. Parents who taught.In Mexico, we like sweet things. We like sweet things with spice. We like sweet things with spice and acidity. If not, remember how old you were when you tried your first spicy tamarind lollipop or a cart-sold raspberry snow cone with lime. Perhaps we were no older than eight when recess tasted like Cazuelitas from the cafeteria, or Cazares with Miguelito – that mix of sugar and chili that makes our tummy feel like a raisin but makes our taste buds dance just thinking about it. Since we were little, we trained our palate to receive food with streamers and confetti. We turned our mouths into a party.Boiled food seems as sad to us as death. And although flavors change with each region – with each home – none escape a strong stimulating current. Perhaps, the further south you go, the more complexity (sweet, salty, bitter, sweet-sour). But in the north, flavors are concentrated: very spicy and smoky are pieces that make the tasting exercise interesting.Crema and cheese help to temper the heat of the chili. Lettuce adds freshness to what burns our mouth. Lime “cuts the fat,” but not in the way those who would wish to turn garnachas into salad with a squeeze of juice think. Lime balances the heaviness of fat, slightly lowers the spiciness. And well, if you think about it, what craving escapes the frying, the spice, the warmth? Hence, lime harmonizes in all things Mexican, whether it’s well-liked or not.Octavio Paz said that, “Old or young, Creole or mestizo, general, worker or graduate, the Mexican appears as a being who encloses and preserves: mask the face, mask the smile.” And there is no Mexican that escapes masks. Who can blame us for covering everything with lime, chili, or layers of sugar and cinnamon? To stop doing so is probably to stop being Mexican.If you feel like making your taste buds dance, I share with you this recipe that I love:
Tamarind Popsicles.