mexican sty pie

Almost every cuisine has one. A dish made from yesterday's leftovers.

Hash. Pork fried rice. French toast. All had their origins in repurposing food from the day (or more) before. Most have now become dishes in their own right (even though pork fried rice prepared with fresh rice does not quite work).

A week ago, I was thumbing through The Oregonian when a recipe headline caught my attention. "Mexican shepherd's pie." I am always on the outlook for new food ideas. And the incongruity of a Mexican version of England's signature leftover dish had possibilities. On its face.

As is often the case, the recipe did not live up to its title. The only thing Mexican in the list of ingredients was the addition of a small amount of chipotle chilies.

But the idea was fascinating. What would a Mexican cook do with the building blocks of Shepherd's pie? The combination is rather simple. Mashed potatoes, meat, an array of readily-available vegetables, and a roux-based sauce. Certainly those elements could be translated into something that echoed fiestas and clear, blue skies.

Here we will stop for a short anecdote. Somewhere in the 1990s, my friend Hilary and I were dining in a pub in northern England. I had developed a certain fondness for shepherd's pie during the years I lived there and on subsequent annual visits. So, I was happy to see shepherd's pie listed on the pub's chalkboard.

When it arrived, Hilary insisted on taking a bite. A look crossed her face combining disappointment and disgust with just a hint of moral indignation. "I thought so," said she. "This is not shepherd's pie; it is cottage pie."

And that is how I learned that this dish takes its name from the meat inside. If it is lamb, it is shepherd's pie. If it is beef, it is cottage pie. Having been mommed on the topic, it was a lesson I would not forget.

It is very difficult to get lamb in my village. And I was not particularly inclined to use beef.

The meat almost chose itself. Mexican pork is some of the best pork I have tasted in the world. It often tends to toughness, but in its ground form, it would be a good starter for my re-designed Mexican dish.

If lamb lends its character to shepherd's pie, my pork version could logically be called Mexican sty pie. And so it is.

I briefly toyed with the idea of swapping out the mashed potatoes for something else to serve as the equivalent of the pie's crust. I am not very fond of mashed potatoes.

Because I have corn meal, I thought about using it for the crust. But this was not going to be a tamale pie (even though that may be a good idea for the future). By default, I whipped up a bowl of mashed potatoes.

The trick to dressing up John Bull as Pancho Villa was going to be found in the vegetables. They were a far easier choice.

I had a lot of them on hand. Peas, carrots, onion, garlic, corn, and bell peppers. For a Mexican touch, I added tomatoes, black beans, a couple of those small zucchinis that put their northern giants to shame, habanero, serranoes, and chipotle. If I had had a chayote or two on hand, I would have added them. I have always considered the vegetables to be the most important part of the pie.

Then came the sauce. Because it is roux-based, it will not mix well with all spices and herbs. But it worked perfectly with oregano and a large dose of cumin -- two of the standard Mexican flavors. I also browned the pork along with fried whole cumin seeds.

When my friend Colette was in the catering business, she would refer to yesterday's process as puttery -- a dish that consumes time. And I did putter yesterday. From the moment of the first strip of peel came off of a potato to setting the dish on the counter to set after its staycation in the oven was just over two hours. Had I used leftovers, it would have taken no more than a half-hour.

The result? It looked delicious.

But, as is everything in life, looks often lean to deceit. The flavors were well-layered. More importantly, they complemented one another. But even with the chilies and the cumin, it lacked any zip.

This has happened to me before. I tend to like the idea of a food far more than I like the food itself. The building blocks of the dish tend toward nursing home food. Trying to tart it up does not change its basic nature.

When Hilary completed her tutorial on the naming of things, I reached for a bottle of HP sauce -- the traditional accompaniment to shepherd's (or cottage) pie. She looked me in the eye, and with a tone that she very well may be concealing a derringer in her purse, informed me: "When I make shepherd's pie for you, you will not do anything so common as put HP sauce on it. That is the equivalent of pouring tomato sauce on filet mignon."

I used the sauce anyway. I do tend to be contrary.

After the first taste of my creation yesterday, I remembered there was a bottle of HP sauce in the refrigerator. The sauce did not help improve the dish at the pub with Hilary. Nor did it help yesterday.

And today's moral? I love fusion food -- combining tastes from different countries and regions. But there are times when national dishes do not translate well to another culture's traditions. Yesterday's venture was a perfect example.

Now, how about that tamale pie I mentioned earlier? Maybe with a Korean or Thai twist.