For some reason Americans just can’t get comfort food right.
Compare our craving for humble mac and cheese, meatloaf topped with ketchup — catsup, if you must — or grilled cheese sandwiches to the rich and hearty savor of French beef bourguignon.
Oh, one can also scoff at Japan’s penchant for curry rice with all that fresh seafood around. But sample Vietnamese pho, Tuscan ribolitta, Czech svickova or the otherworldly experience Canadians create when they pour warm gravy over fries and cheese curds and you can see the point.
In parts of Mexico, the stew of meat — goat or beef — herbs and spices known as birria reach elevated levels. In Jalisco, home of tequila, it’s a much celebrated form of comfort (and, some might add, hangover relief).
It starts with braised meat, rubbed in an adobo of chile. Clever chefs also soak dried chiles in the water that forms the eventual broth, lending a dense, piquant spice. At some point garlic, onion, oregano, bay leaves and other elements are introduced.
“There are a lot of items,” said Josephina Martinez, owner of La Fiesta Restaurant in Lakeport. “But it’s not the meat — most important are the chiles and the other ingredients.”
The beef in La Fiesta’s version is remarkably tender, but she is right. While the rustic savor of red meat seems an indulgence, you are soon swooning to the intricate siren call of the broth.
It drips through everything in the stew. Meaty and rich, with rivulets of tangy tomato fending off a foundation of earthy spice, its a sauce reticent to reveal its secrets. From the dense foundation, layers of dried and toasted chile soar into spires of varying heights. Brazen bits of onion dart from this, as well, defining in their progress dusty herbal sensations.
Still, the neatly woven combination of flavors refused to drown out the familiar smack of slow cooked beef. They work in concert — a rare and wonderful feat.
Martinez credits her husband, chef Gerardo Martinez, as well as a talented team of cooks: Amelia Garcia, Claudia Goday and Anabel Velazguez.
But the experience only begins with their patience and finesse.
You see, birria traditionally arrives on the table with sides. In Jalisco tradition these are chopped onion, cilantro and wedges of fresh lime. La Fiesta, however, serves Michoacan style birria — subtle differences, for the most part, until you come to the relish of chopped vegetables, herbs and the vicious habanero added to the lineup on the side.
The amounts, if any, added vary from guest to guest, of course. But the tray of sides transform birria from an already rich, Gordian stew to something even more intricate and beautiful.
Just a dab of onion, herbs and biting habanero braces the layered broth. Fiery bits of chile reach out to the huskier heat in the marinade. A touch of lime cuts through the richness, at the same time snapping at the chile, taming it.
The bright, vegetal burn clutches at the meat, yet soars above it at the same time. It’s a unique and compelling adventure — a trip through almost every flavor sensation.
Yet it is simple, homespun Michoacan comfort food. And, perhaps, a cure for the previous evening’s excesses.
La Fiesta serves birria only on weekends, along with other specials. Like beef bourguignon, svickova and other national favorites, it requires some time to prepare. But it is definitely worth the wait.
“Saturday and Sunday, people order it a lot,” Martinez said.
Dave Faries can be reached at 900-2016
