
Chef Lupita
Agua de Chilacayota
Oaxaca's market agua fresca built on chilacayota squash, piloncillo, and Mexican canela, served cold with the spaghetti-like strands of squash and toasted seeds floating in the glass.
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The ceremonial drink of the Papaloapan basin, built on cold cacao, toasted rice, cinnamon, and the foaming root cocolmeca, whipped by hand into a thick white crown and served in a jícara at weddings and saint days.
Popo is from the Papaloapan basin. Specifically Tuxtepec, in the northern lowlands of Oaxaca, where the river runs flat, the cacao grows, and the Chinantec and Mazatec communities have been making this drink for celebration days as long as anyone remembers. It travels north into southern Veracruz too, into Otatitlán and Cosamaloapan, but the heart of popo is Oaxacan.
This is not chocolate caliente. This is not champurrado. Popo is cold, foamed, ceremonial, and served in a jícara, the dried calabash gourd that holds the drink without warming it. The crown of foam standing above the rim is what tells you it is popo. That foam comes from cocolmeca, a vine root that grows wild in the lowland forests of the Papaloapan, and it is what separates this drink from anything else in Mexico. No cocolmeca, no popo. Asi se hace y punto.
The technique is patience. The cocolmeca is simmered for an hour and a half until its saponins release into the water. The cacao is toasted on a comal and ground to a paste. The rice is toasted, soaked with cinnamon, and ground until it strains clean. Then everything is combined cold and whipped with a molinillo. Whipped. Not stirred. Not blended. In Tuxtepec the women whip in shifts at weddings and quinceañeras, talking and switching arms, until the foam rises like a meringue above the olla. No me vengas con atajos. The whipping is the recipe.
I traveled to Tuxtepec for the first time in 2009 and watched a woman named Doña Felipa make popo for her granddaughter's wedding. She whipped for forty minutes without stopping. When she lifted the molinillo out, the foam stood in stiff peaks. She filled fifty jícaras from one olla and there was foam to spare. My mother had nothing about popo in her notebook. Jalisco does not make this drink. But I sat with Doña Felipa for an afternoon and she gave me her version, written on the back of an envelope, and that is the version I am giving you. Saber cocinar es saber vivir.
The word 'popo' (sometimes written 'popoh' or 'pupu') derives from the Nahuatl 'popochtli,' meaning to foam or froth, the same root that gives 'pozole' its name. The drink is documented in the Papaloapan basin of northern Oaxaca and southern Veracruz from the pre-Columbian era, when Chinantec and Mazatec communities prepared a ceremonial cacao foam using ground maize and the saponin-rich root of cocolmeca (Smilax aristolochiifolia), a wild vine still harvested from the lowland forests today. The substitution of rice for maize is a colonial-era adaptation tied to the introduction of Asian rice varieties through the Manila galleon trade in the 16th and 17th centuries, but the role of cocolmeca and the ceremonial purpose of the drink, served at weddings, baptisms, and saint days, remain unchanged from their pre-Hispanic origins.
Quantity
4 ounces
broken into 2-inch pieces and rinsed
Quantity
8 cups, plus more as needed
Quantity
1/2 cup
or 4 ounces unsweetened cacao paste
Quantity
1/2 cup
Quantity
2 sticks
Quantity
1 cup, or to taste
Quantity
pinch
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| dried cocolmeca root (palo de cocolmeca)broken into 2-inch pieces and rinsed | 4 ounces |
| cold water | 8 cups, plus more as needed |
| raw cacao beansor 4 ounces unsweetened cacao paste | 1/2 cup |
| long-grain white rice | 1/2 cup |
| true Mexican cinnamon (canela de Ceilán) | 2 sticks |
| white granulated sugar | 1 cup, or to taste |
| fine sea salt | pinch |
| crushed ice (optional) | for serving |
Place the broken cocolmeca pieces in a heavy pot with the 8 cups of cold water. Bring to a steady simmer over medium heat and cook, partially covered, for at least 90 minutes. The water will turn the color of weak tea and feel slightly slick between your fingers. That slipperiness is the saponin, the natural foaming agent in the root. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve into a wide bowl, pressing on the solids. Discard the spent root. Let the liquid cool to room temperature. Cocolmeca will not foam when warm. This is not negotiable.
Heat a dry comal or heavy skillet over medium-low. Toast the raw cacao beans, shaking the pan, for 8 to 10 minutes until the shells crack and the kitchen smells like a chocolate market in Villa Alta. Cool until you can handle them, then rub the shells off between your palms. Discard the shells. Grind the toasted nibs in a high-powered blender with a few spoonfuls of the cooled cocolmeca water until you have a thick, dark paste. On a metate this would take an hour. The blender is one of the few shortcuts I will give you for this drink. Use it.
On the same comal, toast the rice over medium heat for 5 to 7 minutes, stirring, until the grains turn from white to pale gold and smell nutty. Transfer to a bowl and cover with cool water. Add the cinnamon sticks broken in half. Soak for 30 minutes minimum. The water softens the starch and the cinnamon perfumes the grain at the same time.
Drain the rice, reserving the soaking liquid. Place the rice and cinnamon sticks in the blender with one cup of the cocolmeca water. Blend on high for two full minutes, scraping down as needed, until you have a smooth pale paste. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve set over a large clean bowl, pressing hard on the solids. Discard what does not pass through. The strained liquid should look like thin horchata.
Pour the remaining cocolmeca water into the bowl with the strained rice liquid. Stir in the cacao paste, the sugar, and the pinch of salt. Whisk by hand until the cacao paste dissolves completely and the liquid takes on its full color, dark coffee brown with a slight cinnamon haze. Taste it now. It should be sweet but not cloying, with the cinnamon and cacao both present and the rice giving it body. Adjust the sugar before you start whipping. Once the foam rises, you cannot fix the sweetness without breaking it down.
This is where popo is made or lost. Place the bowl on a folded towel so it does not slip. Take a wooden molinillo, set it between your palms, and roll it back and forth at full speed. Do not stop. The mixture will look unchanged for the first ten minutes. Then the surface will start to lighten. Then small bubbles. Then a soft foam. Keep going. After 30 to 40 minutes of steady work, the foam will stand in stiff peaks above the rim of the bowl, the color of milky cocoa, and the molinillo will leave deep tracks in the surface. That is popo. In Tuxtepec the women whip in shifts, switching arms, talking the whole time. They have been doing this for generations. La cocina no es decoracion, es trabajo.
Place a small handful of crushed ice in the bottom of each jícara, the dried calabash gourds carved and painted in the markets of San Juan Bautista Tuxtepec and Huautla. Ladle the dark popo over the ice, filling the jícara about three-quarters full. Then spoon the standing foam on top so it crowns well above the rim. The foam should hold its shape on the way to the table. Drink immediately. Popo waits for nobody. Within 20 minutes the foam softens and the drink loses the visual signature that makes it a celebration drink. Recetas probadas y garantizadas.
1 serving (about 255g)
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