The Adventures of a Non Professional Chef: A Day With Frida Kahlo

Have you ever been asked the question, “If you could spend the day with one person, living or not, who would it be?”

Actually, I believe that I squealed with excitement.

Just thinking about it was enough to transport me through time and space to Frida’s San Miguel de Allende:

Feeling that strong Mexican heat, smelling the terra-cotta bricks under my feet, and arriving at her door. The gorgeous pink bougainvillea against the indigo blue of her home, a blue that matches the Mexican sky so well, you can’t tell where the house ends and the sky begins. Just breathtaking.

Upon reaching her door, a housekeeper opens for me. Ranchero music is playing on a Victrola with a horn. I’m mesmerized . Not only are the walls painted in vibrant colors, it’s decorated with gorgeous furniture, beautiful porcelain, pottery, plants…and the artwork! Autoportraits. Portraits. Still lifes. Animals. Some very serious paintings depicting her accident, some about revolutions—but also very whimsical ones with fruit and animals too.

Mixed in with her work were as many by her husband Diego Rivera. Small paintings, huge paintings, even the Revolt of Zapata claiming an entire wall. A real museum. I can’t even absorb what I see; I’m dumbfounded and I’m awestruck.

The housekeeper brings me to another room, and there, oh my God—there is Frida. In front of a canvas, doing some final strokes on a still life with fruits and flowers. She cleans her brushes and wipes her hands.

Next to her are her three Mexican Hairless dogs and hanging on her chair is her Spider Monkey. She lovingly motions all of them to go outside.

Outside being an enormous courtyard adorned with Indian pottery carefully placed on steps, niches, and balustrades.

She stands up, looks at me, and gives me a hug, and says “Welcome to La Casa Azul.” I’m in tears. I can’t believe I am here with the great Frida Kahlo. Her assistant comes with a large silver tray lined with a linen embroidered doily, carrying two beautiful green, blown glass goblets, and a pitcher of lemon Agua Fresca, excellent for this heat.

Then, in her traditional Mexican dress, hair in braids, she leads me to her kitchen and asks me if I’m ready to cook…

Ok, I have to snap out of this very vivid daydream and come back to reality, although I really wish I could stay there.

On a day like today, in a country going through extreme unrest, things are becoming very expensive and hard to find. Keeping that in mind I had one requirement for myself, which was to choose recipes that I already had all the ingredients for in my pantry.

This seemed like a tall order, but then I got to thinking: Mexican cuisine, although culturally and historically quite different from Caribbean cuisine, is actually not too different after all. Save for cilantro and cumin, the different chilies and their way of being processed, we basically use the same ingredients. So cooking from this cookbook today, as it turns out, would not be as tricky as I thought.

Going through the book, I was naturally interested and very excited by the idea of making Mole Poblano, Tortillas, Enchiladas, and Stuffed Squash Blossoms, but today, none of that would be possible. They didn’t fit my pantry requirement.

However, I did happen to land on page 107 to find a lovely recipe for Fish in Scallop Shells, and further down, Baked Macaroni with Spinach. Perfecto!! I had a package of whiting—as the recipe called for a firm fish—tomatoes, breadcrumbs, and shells, as in the the scallop shells used to make Clams Casino and Oysters Rockefeller. Which I actually have! They are relics from my moms kitchen when they were popular in the 70’s. Today, I am just grateful I have, even if I never use them again.

For the pasta, it called for a béchamel sauce, fresh spinach, Parmesan, and jalapeños. I had everything! This was turning out to be entirely doable, and the more excited I was getting, the more my mind began to wander back to La Casa Azul.

Frida planning and prepping…

I see the table she would set with lovely, vibrant Talavera dishes, Mexican blown glasses, fruits and flowers, all very festive just like in her paintings.

She tells the help to turn up the music. From time to time, she moves her shoulders as if to dance and sings some as she’s cutting up the onions, flaking the fish, and cleaning the spinach—all while preparing to make the béchamel…

This was the most fantastic atmosphere, as intense and whimsical as her paintings. Of course, how could it be any other way?

Ok, ok back to my own little reality again…

One of the first things I learned in cooking school was how to make a Béchamel.

It’s one of the things you think you know how to make until you really learn how to make it. It requires the proper proportions, and proper patience, while browning the flour in butter. Patience adding the milk and turning the sauce.

More patience and more turning of the sauce.

Adding some spices at will, until you get a velvety, unctuous sauce. In the book, the method is very straightforward and simple. I wanted to go the extra mile, but also wanted to do it as Frida did. She was a master artist and a home cook, which is wonderful. I know she held her own in the kitchen—without any fancy training—because after all, she was Frida: a force of nature.

The recipe called for blanching the spinach and then adding it to the sauce. Seasoned with salt, pepper, and some minced jalapeño, it is then poured over the cooked pasta, which specifically calls for it to be al dente. Then a generous amount of grated Parmesan sprinkled on top, and it is all cooked in the oven until crispy and golden brown.

The fish filets were to be poached in some water, with onions, cloves, bay leaves and more…then he fish was flaked, adding to it a reduction of tomatoes and jalapeños (which I did happen to buy the day before), topped with breadcrumbs and butter, and finally spooned into the shells, and placed in the oven until golden as well.

I see Frida. Generously filling the shells and sprinkling them with a fresh squeeze of lime. She’s sweating in the summer heat, but nevertheless enjoying the moment.

On a piece of blue tortilla, she scoops up some of the leftover fish mixture from the bowl and gives it to me to try. Magical. I can taste every single ingredient that went into it, but mostly, I can taste her wild spirit and I wonder if my version will compare.

The aroma of the pasta, the cheese, that wonderful smell of fish cooking was so delightful. I couldn’t help but wonder if the smell was coming from her kitchen, mine, or maybe it was a communion between the two….

Everything in my kitchen looked good; no mishaps, no extra cooking time needed.

Everything came out great.

I set the table in a festive way with a bright red tablecloth, ceramic plates, colorful glasses—that actually are Mexican. I also made sure to add Starfruit and bougainvillea to the setting as I think Frida would have done.

In my heart, I still wanted to believe I was there with her at The Casa Azul and that made me laugh from deep within. There’s a time and place for dreaming, and this was one of them.

Although these recipes are from the 1940s—possibly long before that if handed down from her mother, and grandmother, and so on—a time when gastronomy wasn’t at it’s highest, they came out really good!

I didn’t add or subtract anything; I followed the instructions to a T and couldn’t help but wonder what Frida would have thought of my interpretation of her cooking. Not too spicy, and very tasty. Everyone went for seconds and planned on the leftovers that may (or may not) be there by tomorrow.

For dessert, I didn’t have enough of ingredients to make any of Frida’s recipes, but I did have a lemon cake I had made the day before. I thought that if she had any type of cake she would have possibly served it with quince or guava preserves, the latter of which I had.

If I had been invited to The Casa Azul for lunch one day in the past, I would have probably brought the very same cake with a jar of homemade guava preserves to serve alongside of it—just like we do in the Caribbean—and I think she would have liked that very much.

I also want to believe we would have gotten along very well. At least, I really hope so.

I know she was a most gracious host and any day at her home, in her company, eating her food would be a magical moment, to say the least.

Unfortunately Frida wasn’t with me physically, but I’d like to believe that she was with me in spirit.

To honor this, I had playing Ranchero music from the 1940’s and made sure my three dogs were alongside me. They aren’t Mexican Hairless, but Pugshire and Bichon mixes, which I think would have enchanted Frida.

I’m sorry I can’t share the exact recipes here—her estate doesn’t allow them to be shared, and I want to respect that—so you’ll have to get the book. There are quite a few different ones, all beautiful.

However, I will (happily) share with you my recipe for the Lemon Cake.

It’s really quite good!

This was a wonderful day, and I will continue to try out her recipes. There’s magic in every kitchen, in every recipe, and in every pot. My love of Frida, food, and art created a very enchanted day for me in my little kitchen. So much so that up to this day I wonder what really happened.

Maybe I really did go back in time.

Food is the glue that brings us all together. The living and the not-so-living. Past and present. When we cook, we create and we give love. What more is there to life?

“Long live life” ~ Frida Kahlo

Lemon Cake

Ingredients:

>> finely grated zest of 3 large lemons
>> 1 1/2 cup granulated sugar
>> 2 large eggs
>> 2/3 cup of high quality extra virgin olive oil
>> 1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
>> 2 teaspoons lemon extract
>> 2 teaspoons of vanilla extract
>> 1 2/3 cup of cake flour
>> 1 teaspoon baking powder
>> 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
>> 1/2 teaspoon salt
>> 2/3 cup whole milk
+
>> 1 cup powdered sugar

Instructions:

1. Preheat oven to 350°F with a rack in the center of the oven. Line the bottom of a 9-inch round pan with parchment paper. Grease the pan and set aside. Note: the cake pan should be at least 2-inches high.

2. Set aside a small portion of the lemon zest for the completed cake. In a large bowl, whisk the remaining lemon zest and sugar until combined. Add eggs, oil, lemon juice, and both the lemon and vanilla extracts, whisking until well combined.

3. In a separate bowl, combine flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Add half the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients, whisking until just combined. Whisk in the milk followed by the remaining dry ingredients, being careful not to over mix.

4. Pour the batter into the prepared pan. Tap the pan on the counter a few times to remove air bubbles. Allow the cake batter to sit for another minute or two and then tap on the counter again to remove the last of the air bubbles.

5. Bake for 35-40 minutes or until golden brown on top and a toothpick inserted into the center comes out clean. It is important not to open the oven during bake time or to move the cake around before it is set as that can cause the cake to sink in the middle. Remove the cake from the oven and place the pan on a wire rack to cool completely.

When completely cool, sprinkle with powdered sugar, the remaining lemon zest, and serve with guava preserves if possible!

~