“I just got back a few days ago from doing some work in local markets in the east of Burundi, where an equivalent to buza is made of sorghum. It is low alcohol and high in nutrition. ‘Mamas’ – market ladies – Make this at home and bring it to the maket, where those who want a sip are given a long straw made of cattail or a similar, hollow reed. Then, you take a seat next to a big bucket of buza and sip till satiated. Usually up to 6 people will sit about a bucket, so it can be quite a social event.

But buza in the middle east is individually served and I’ve have very nice renditions in refugee camps in Sudan.”

One in a series on archaic drinks, largely grain drinks. What do I mean by archaic? That they are drinks that may very well go a very long way back in history but in many cases are gradually slipping out of use today.

A photo shows a cup crowned with white bubbles of boza and a dusting of cinnamon, with roasted chickpeas on the side. This is a Turkish recipe. The author cooked and fermented a mixture or bulgur and rice, though apparently other grains such as millet and maize can also be used. The drink, though, in various forms is found much more widely than present-day Turkey. Definitely a recipe to go on my enormous “must try” list.

Check out other entries on the Yogurt Land blog while you’re at it. It’s interesting on Turkish food.

One in a series on archaic drinks, largely grain drinks.  What do I mean by archaic?  That they are drinks that may very well go a very long way back in history but in many cases are gradually slipping out of use today.

So what are they? They are lightly sweetened drinks, usually fruit based but not always. They are the standard accompaniment to a Mexican meal, offered to visitors to the house, and on sale on street corners and small eateries. They are not juices. The word for that is jugo. Juices, and there are wonderful juices, are usually drunk for breakfast not as thirst quenchers though even knowledgeable tourists, such as the NY Times food writer Mark Bittman, sometimes confuse the two.

An agua fresca, a fresh water, is welcome in a country that is often dry and dusty. Up on the high plains of central and northern Mexico you run across sad little place names, Agua Salada, where the well water is too salty to drink. The fruits or other flavorings are delicious and, I suspect, in the past covered up various disagreeable tastes lingering in the sparse water brought to the house in a huge pottery jar on the back of a water carrier.

So how about an agua fresca for every week of the year? That’s my plan. Because travel and other interruptions mean I won’t be able to offer one weekly, I’m just going to number them 1-52. Sometimes I won’t comment because they are so easy to make. But lot’s lead into wonderfully interesting territory: forgotten grains, the Islamic connection that I’m always nattering on about, English candies, American icecreams. That’s all to come.

I’m starting with the one agua fresca that most people in the US and Europe know: lemonade. Or actually, I’m not quite starting with that because lemons are scarcer than hen’s teeth in Mexico. So what I am offering is limonada, a citrus drink of what in the US are called key limes and go for a fortune and here are called limones and are in everyone’s backyard or go for a few pesos a kilo.

Nothing to it. Everyone knows how to do this.

Cut your limes in half, squeeze them, pour juice into a pitcher and add water and sugar to taste, serve.

Just two points. Mexican lime squeezers are great. Just remember the lime goes in convex side up and is squeezed inside out. And you’re going to drink lots of this so not too much lime. Here we’re using about 8 limes for a big pitcher.

So what is pinole? To make it you toast grains of maize until cooked and gold-brown. Then you grind them on the metate (saddle quern, simple grindstone) until you have a powder. Today you may add piloncillo (sugar ground from brown cones), or regular refined sugar, and perhaps ground cinnamon or ground dried orange peel.

Here’s my current stash of pinole. I’m lucky that I live in an area where you can still buy it. It’s never really become a commercial product and leads a ghostly existence on the edges of commerce. I go to the market and look for an old lady sitting outside on a small stool with a plastic bucket of this powder. I’ve never seen it in a grocery store or supermarket.

Here’s a handful of the powder. It has a wonderful smell. And why is it so important?

Because for travelers and warriors every society needed a dried, portable, instant food (camping foods are just johnny come latelies). This was it for Mexico. Ready cooked, it kept for ever, was easy to carry on long trips, and could be eaten as is. Apart from the powder being a bit clinging in the mouth, it is really delicious.

Or if you have some, you can add cold water. The powder does not dissolve but makes a very refreshing (and again delicious) suspension. In the second photo you can see tiny pieces of ground grain floating in the liquid.

Or if you are even luckier, you can add hot water. The drink thickens quite a bit and even today the poor in Mexico relish this on a freezing winter morning.

A foodstuff that jumps the centuries.

One in a series on archaic drinks, largely grain drinks.  What do I mean by archaic?  That they are drinks that may very well go a very long way back in history but in many cases are gradually slipping out of use today.