Marquesitas, tacos al pastor, sushi, and more cravings

This time, they weren't from Méridacapital y ciudad más poblada del estado de Yucatán, México - but some Tabasqueñas marquesitas with Dutch Edam cheese and Coronado cajeta win over any craving, no matter where it's from.

The marquesita is one of the simplest and most perfect things in the street food of southeastern Mexico: a thin dough of flour, water, and sugar cooked on a hot iron mold until crispy like a cookie, still warm, filled and rolled over itself. The real luxury is never in the dough - it's in what you put on top.

And in this house, the combination is non-debatable: Dutch Edam cheese (the same cheese that arrived in Yucatán over a century ago through maritime trade and is now more Yucatecan than many dishes with Mayan names) and a generous drizzle of cajeta. The contrast of salty, semi-hard cheese melting against a goat's milk caramel inside a crispy crepe is, simply, unbeatable.

• The name 'marquesita' has no known relation to any real marquise - nobody in Méridacapital y ciudad más poblada del estado de Yucatán, México knows where it came from, and nobody seems to care.
• The original recipe is just flour, water, and sugar rolled in a hot mold - the real luxury is 100% in the filling, not in the dough.
• The Dutch Edam cheese that almost all marquesitas have arrived in Yucatán through maritime trade with Holland since the 19th century - a European cheese that ended up being more Yucatecan than many 'traditional' dishes.
• Although this time it wasn't from Méridacapital y ciudad más poblada del estado de Yucatán, México, any Yucatecan with honor will swear that the only real marquesita is the one from their trusted stall - there's no neutral marquesita.
• With cajeta and cheese - and Nutella, if you dare - a single marquesita can have more sugar than a whole cake, and yet it's eaten like it's light.

One of the things I love the most, without competition: fresh amashito pepper, chopped with red onion and bathed in lime. No fancy names or presentation - it's raw, spicy, and homemade, prepared in two minutes and finished in less.

Amashito (also spelled amaxito) is a wild, small, and round pepper, typical of southeastern Mexico - especially Tabasco and Chiapas - a close cousin of the chiltepín. It's almost always used fresh and green, never dry, and packs more heat than its pea-sized appearance suggests.

• It's from the same family as the chiltepín, but is identified by being eaten fresh and green, not dry or smoked.
• Its heat isn't measured by size: the smaller, the spicier - amashito is no exception.
• It's not a cooked or blended sauce: it's chopped raw, mixed with red onion and lime, and served immediately.

How to prepare

1. Finely chop the red onion.
2. Finely chop the amashito peppers - be careful, they're spicy even to the skin.
3. Squeeze lime over the mixture, add salt to taste, and serve immediately.

Those who know say the best tacos al pastor are marinated with Coca-Cola. I, who don't know anything about that, just eat them. These in the photo have pineapple, and although some swear it's just for show, the pineapple gives the meat a great flavor while it's roasting on the trompo.

The family and friends of Larry, when they visit from the savannah, head straight to El Farolito - sometimes the Condesa branch, sometimes Insurgentes, sometimes Pedregal - but always, always for some tacos al pastor.

I, for my part, will eat eight this time. Just in case I lose weight.

• The taco al pastor was born from the shawarma technique brought by Lebanese immigrants to Mexico in the early 20th century - meat stacked and roasted vertically on a trompo, but with marinated pork instead of lamb.
• The slice of pineapple on the tip of the trompo isn't just decoration: as it roasts, it drips onto the meat and helps caramelize it while it spins in front of the fire.
• The name 'trompo' comes from the shape of the meat stack on the vertical roaster, which spins like a toy top while cooking.
• El Farolito is one of the most beloved taquerías in Mexico City, with branches - like Condesa, Insurgentes, or Pedregal - that fill up at any time of day or night.

This marinera paella - shrimp, clams, mussels, chorizo, and artichoke on yellow rice - is one of those meals that demands silence at the table. It's served from the same container where it was cooked, in the center, and everyone takes what they can before it's gone. The one in the photo, because it has chorizo along with seafood, would be, strictly speaking, a homemade mixed paella - although nobody at the table stopped to discuss the classification.

And since we're here, a clarification that makes every orthodox Valencian proud, although the rest of the world ignores it cheerfully: 'paella' isn't, strictly speaking, the name of the dish - it's the name of the pan. It comes from the Latin patella (small pan), through the Valencian language, and refers to that wide, low pan with two handles where the rice is cooked. What's inside, speaking properly, is called arroz a la paella - 'rice made in the paella', the same construction as 'chicken a la plancha' or 'fish a la parrilla'.

And what about the paellera? It depends on who you ask. In several Latin American countries, 'paellera' is synonymous with the pan itself. But among families, 'the paellera' is often not the object, but the person: the one in charge of the rice kitchen that Sunday. The curious thing is that in Valencia itself, making paella is traditionally an almost exclusively male rite, outdoors and over wood - so the family paellera and the Valencian paellero of Sunday are, culturally, two quite different characters.

• 'Paella' comes from the Latin patella (small pan) through the Valencian language - the name of the container, not the dish, which is strictly called arroz a la paella.
• Traditional Valencian paella has chicken, rabbit, garrofón, and green beans - no seafood, which is a later coastal variant and, for a Valencian purist, almost a heresy.
• The yellow color of the rice comes from saffron, the most expensive spice in the world by weight - although many domestic recipes stretch it or substitute it altogether with food coloring.
• The socarrat - the lightly toasted and crispy layer of rice that sticks to the bottom - isn't a cooking error: it's the most coveted result of all, and whoever gets it wins the meal.
• Paella is traditionally cooked over orange or vine wood fire, never on a stove - the smoke and dispersed heat of the wood are, according to Valencians, impossible to replicate in a normal kitchen.

If you ask me what my favorite dish of all is, without thinking much: salmon nigiri, with a touch of wasabi. Simple, direct, no frills.

And although sushi takes the crown, I'm also an absolute fan of poke bowls - with cauliflower rice, salmon, tuna, corn, and edamame. Why am I fat?