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Huatulco

Escaping the Heat of the Coast

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By Jane Bauer—

May is the worst time of the year on the Oaxacan coast. It is when the land is the driest, the ocean the warmest and it seems as though everyone is waiting for those first drops of rain. While many people come to the Oaxacan coast for the beaches, I am most enthralled by the mountains. Turn around and look behind you. They rise up in majestic tones of purple and blue. When it gets unbearably hot it’s time for a drive into the Sierra Sur, where the temperature drops, the air sharpens, and everything slows down. Within a few hours’ drive from Huatulco, a completely different world unfolds.

The journey itself is part of the ritual. Leaving behind the palms and salt air, the road climbs steadily, curling into the mountains. The vegetation shifts almost imperceptibly at first, dry brush gives way to greener growth, then to dense forest. Windows come down. The air cools. By the time you reach the higher elevations, you’re reaching for a sweater. This is the Sierra Sur: a region defined by altitude, cloud forests, and quiet.

San José del Pacífico: Where the Clouds Settle
Perched along the mountain highway, San José del Pacífico has built a reputation as Oaxaca’s most atmospheric escape. Known for its drifting clouds and panoramic views, the town often disappears into mist by afternoon, only to reveal dramatic sunsets hours later. It is also famed for the hallucinogenic mushrooms that grow there.

One of the highlights is that many cabins come with a chimenea, a fireplace, which keeps you warm and cozy. The pace is unhurried, slow, chilly mornings—listening for birds, watching steam rise from your café de olla. Travelers come for the cool weather, but they stay for the feeling of introspection and awe that the environment inspires. Whether sitting on a balcony wrapped in a blanket or watching the clouds roll through the valley.

San Mateo Río Hondo: The Quiet Alternative
A short drive, or an hour’s hike, from San Jose, lies San Mateo Río Hondo, a lesser-known but equally compelling destination. Down in the valley this town has some great hiking. Dirt roads, community life, and long forest walks define the rhythm. The smell of pine trees and woodsmoke. With fewer visitors, Río Hondo offers something increasingly rare: space to be alone with the landscape.

Pluma Hidalgo: Coffee in the Clouds
Just an hour from Huatulco, Pluma Hidalgo offers another kind of escape, one rooted in agriculture and tradition. This region is synonymous with high-quality coffee, grown under the shade of forest canopy and nourished by the same cool, misty climate that defines the Sierra. Visiting Pluma Hidalgo is a chance to see the slower cycles of rural life: coffee drying in the sun, families tending to their land, and a deep connection to place that feels unchanged by time. The air here carries the faint scent of earth and roasted beans, a sensory shift from the salt and sunscreen of the coast.

A Different Kind of Luxury
What ties these places together is not just the temperature, but the contrast. In a matter of hours, you move from heat to cool, from open beaches to enclosed forests, from movement to stillness. There are no beach clubs here, no urgency to fill the day. Instead, the luxury is found in simple things: a hot drink in cold air, a quiet night wrapped in fog, the sound of wind through pine trees. It’s the kind of reset that doesn’t announce itself loudly, but lingers long after you’ve returned to sea level.

For those living or visiting the Oaxacan coast, this mountain escape isn’t just a trip. It’s a seasonal rhythm. When the heat builds, you go up.

Jane Bauer is the editor of The Eye and a chef. You can follow her on Instagram @livingfoodmexico

Huatulco

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer—

In the woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can befall me in life—no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,) which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground—my head bathed in the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space—all mean egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing. I see all. The currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I am part or particle of God.
Ralph Waldo Emerson, Nature 1836

The month of May for me is always a time when I am changing gears. From October to April I work long hours, juggle many tasks and all the while try to move through the world with a smile.

As the busy season winds down in April and the temperature on the coast rises, my heartbeat softens, my muscles relax, and I come back into myself. I remember that there is no reason to rush. But who am I when I am not producing, organizing and planning? There is a meditation I like to do where I sit and close my eyes, I allow my mind to focus on my breath and then I imagine myself at younger stages of life. I sit like I did when I was 4 or 8 or 16. What is the essence of me? What is the essence of each of us when we strip away our tasks and obligations?

In May I get to enjoy leisurely mornings, long swims in the ocean or walks by the river with my dogs. With this slowing down I get to sit and contemplate my life’s purpose. Everything in nature exists in a symbiotic relationship with everything else: tree roots intertwine with fungi in the soil, nourishing flowers that feed bees, which pollinate fruit that sustains animals—and so the cycle continues. I recently read that nut producing trees don’t produce each year. In the years when there is an overpopulation of creatures that live on nuts, nuts will not produce and the population will be culled. How do the trees know? As a species do we trust in those cycles or are we pushing against them?

It is a cop-out to think our life’s purpose is amassing more stuff; homes, cars, financial security. While those things bring comfort do they really represent our purpose? I look at the tree outside my window; a large guanacaste. The sunlight flickers through its branches, a squirrel runs along a branch, a chachalaca hoots good morning, a magpie jay and a grackle screech at each other.

For me immersion in nature is as close as I feel to my life’s purpose. To just be and feel my soul as a part of something larger. Humans do not have dominion over nature, it has dominion over us and the sooner we accept that, we can stop struggling, let go, and enjoy it’s beauty.

Happy Summer,

Jane

 

San Miguel de Allende

From Bordeaux to the Bajío: The French Roots of Querétaro Wine

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By Jane Bauer—

About an hour from San Miguel de Allende, the vineyards of Querétaro stretch across a high, dry plateau that doesn’t immediately read as wine country. There are no rolling green hills or centuries-old estates. Instead, the landscape is open, sun-exposed, and shaped by a very different set of conditions. And yet, this region has become one of the most important wine-producing areas in Mexico, with a foundation that traces directly back to France.

Much of Mexico’s modern wine industry is built on French grape varieties. In Querétaro, that means Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, and Syrah, among others. These grapes were introduced as winemakers looked to established European models—particularly French—for structure, consistency, and quality. Over time, they became standard across many regions in Mexico, including this one.

What’s interesting is how those grapes perform here. Querétaro sits at a higher altitude than many people expect, often above 1,800 meters. The days are warm and dry, with strong sun, but the nights cool down significantly. That shift in temperature slows the ripening process and helps preserve acidity in the grapes. It’s one of the key factors that gives wines from this region their balance.

The soils also play a role. In parts of Querétaro, they are mineral-rich and well-draining, which forces the vines to work a little harder. That stress can translate into more concentrated flavors in the fruit. It’s not an easy environment, but it’s one that can produce very precise results when managed well.

One of the defining features of Querétaro’s wine scene is its focus on sparkling wine. The region has become known for wines made using the traditional method—the same process used in Champagne, where a second fermentation takes place in the bottle. This method is labor-intensive and requires careful control, but it produces wines with fine bubbles and a clean, structured profile.

The climate in Querétaro supports this style. The preserved acidity in the grapes makes them particularly well-suited for sparkling production. Over the past couple of decades, several wineries have focused on refining this approach, and the region now has a reputation for it. It’s not an attempt to recreate Champagne, but it clearly draws from the same technical foundation.

That said, the wines here are not French in identity. The influence is there in the grapes and the methods, but the outcome reflects local conditions. The intensity of the sun, the dryness of the air, and the elevation all shape the final product. There’s also a different mindset at play. Many Mexican winemakers are less constrained by tradition, which allows for experimentation alongside more classical styles.
You’ll see that in the range of wines being produced. Alongside structured reds and sparkling wines, there are blends, rosés, and small-batch projects that don’t always follow a strict model. Some producers are working with international consultants; others are entirely self-taught. It’s a mix of approaches, and that variety is part of what defines the region right now.

For visitors, Querétaro is relatively easy to navigate. There are established wine routes with clusters of wineries, tasting rooms, and restaurants open to the public. The infrastructure is there, but it hasn’t tipped into overdevelopment. Many of the wineries are still small to mid-sized operations, and it’s common to find yourself speaking directly with the people involved in the production.

A typical visit might include a tasting, a walk through the vineyard, and a meal on-site. Some places are more polished than others, but the overall experience tends to feel accessible. You can visit multiple wineries in a day without it becoming overly structured or commercial.

For those based in San Miguel de Allende, the region feels close—both geographically and culturally. It fits into the same broader landscape of central Mexico, where outside influences have been absorbed and reinterpreted over time. Just as San Miguel reflects layers of history and migration, the wine in Querétaro reflects a similar process.

French grapes, introduced through a long history of exchange, are now rooted in Mexican soil. The techniques may come from elsewhere, but the results are shaped here. It’s not about replication. It’s about adaptation.

And that’s what makes Querétaro worth paying attention to.

Huatulco, San Miguel de Allende

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer—

“Peace cannot exist without justice, justice cannot exist without fairness, fairness cannot exist without development, development cannot exist without democracy, democracy cannot exist without respect for the identity and worth of cultures and peoples.”
–Rigoberta Menchú Tum (Guatemalan
Indigenous Rights Activist, 1990 UNESCO Prize for Peace Education, 1992 Nobel Peace Prize Winner

Mexico is often misunderstood. For many outsiders, the country exists as a kind of postcard: bright colors, mariachis on every corner, sombreros, tequila, and fiesta. The image has become so exaggerated that it borders on parody. Mexico is reduced to a handful of clichés that flatten the depth and diversity of the country. The reality is much more layered.

One of the things that has struck me most during my years living here is how strongly people identify simply as Mexican. In Canada or the United States, identity is often expressed through hyphenated heritage; Italian-American, Chinese-Canadian, Irish-American. Cultural roots remain visible and frequently celebrated.

In Mexico, those histories are often quieter, woven into the fabric of everyday life rather than worn on the surface. The result is a national identity that feels cohesive, but it can also obscure just how many different cultures have helped shape the country.

Like many countries, Mexico wrestles with questions of identity, belonging, and prejudice. Conversations around gentrification, migration, and “foreigners” have become increasingly heated in recent years. At the same time, Mexico itself has been shaped by centuries of migration.

Indigenous civilizations laid the foundations of this culture long before the arrival of Europeans. Spanish colonization profoundly altered the landscape. Later came immigrants from France, Lebanon, Germany, China, and beyond. Each group left its mark—sometimes subtly, sometimes dramatically. We see these influences in architecture, food, language, music, fashion, and even urban planning.

This month, The Eye explores one of those threads: the French connection. From pastry techniques that transformed Mexican bakeries to artistic exchange, architecture, and politics, the relationship runs deeper than many people realize. Recognizing these influences does not diminish Mexico’s Indigenous heritage. One of the country’s greatest strengths is that Indigenous traditions are visible in daily life in ways that are rare in the rest of North America.

But culture is never static. It evolves, absorbs, adapts, and reinvents itself. Mexican culture, as we know it today, is the result of centuries of exchange layered together into something entirely its own. That complexity is not a weakness. It is one of Mexico’s greatest strengths.

Thanks for reading and see you next month!

 

Huatulco

Why Oaxaca Is One of the Most Fascinating Cuisines in the World

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By Alicia Flores—

Travelers often arrive in Oaxaca, Mexico expecting tacos and margaritas. What they discover instead is one of the most intricate and culturally rich cuisines on earth.

Oaxacan cooking is not simply a collection of recipes; it is a living expression of geography, agriculture, and tradition. Corn, chile, cacao, herbs, seeds, and seasonal ingredients combine in ways that have evolved over centuries. Many techniques still used today predate the arrival of the Spanish.

At the heart of this cuisine is corn.

For thousands of years, Indigenous communities across Mexico have cultivated and refined maize varieties adapted to different climates and soils. The process of nixtamalization—soaking corn in an alkaline solution before grinding it into masa—is a technological achievement that transformed corn into a nutritionally complete food.

From this simple ingredient comes the tortilla, the foundation of daily life throughout Mexico.

Visitors are often surprised by how different a handmade tortilla tastes compared with the versions they may know from supermarkets. Fresh masa, pressed and cooked on a hot comal, produces tortillas that puff slightly as they cook, releasing a warm aroma of toasted corn.

It is a small moment that reveals just how deeply food and culture are intertwined.

Another hallmark of Oaxacan cuisine is mole. These complex sauces can contain dozens of ingredients—various chiles, seeds, spices, chocolate, and nuts—slowly toasted and blended into a deeply layered flavor profile. Every region and family has its own variation, and recipes are often passed down through generations.

Sourcing food play an essential role in the culinary landscape. A walk through the street of Huatulco reveals mountains of chiles, fresh herbs, cacao beans, cheeses, tropical fruits, and handmade tortillas. Cooking here begins with the ingredients themselves.

For travelers who want to understand these traditions more deeply, cooking classes can offer an extraordinary window into local culture. Learning how ingredients are prepared, how flavors are balanced, and how techniques have evolved over centuries brings the cuisine to life in a way that simply eating at restaurants cannot.

Food becomes a story.

In Huatulco,  cooking experiences give visitors the chance to explore this culinary heritage firsthand—preparing traditional dishes, learning about regional ingredients, and discovering why Oaxaca has earned a reputation as one of Mexico’s great gastronomic destinations.

Those curious to explore further can learn more about the experience offered by Chiles and Chocolate Cooking Classes, where guests dive into the history of Oaxacan cooking through hands-on preparation and discussion of the ingredients and traditions that define the cuisine.

Discover Oaxacan Cooking in Huatulco

For travelers who want to go beyond restaurant dining and truly understand the ingredients and traditions behind Oaxacan cuisine, hands-on cooking classes offer a unique perspective.

In Huatulco, Chiles and Chocolate Cooking Classes, led by Chef Jane Bauer, invite guests into the kitchen to explore the foundations of Mexican cooking. Participants learn about regional ingredients, traditional techniques, and the cultural stories that shape the cuisine of Oaxaca.

The cooking studio has eight stations which allows everyone to take part in the preparation of several dishes while discussing the role of corn, chiles, cacao, and other essential ingredients in Mexican food traditions.

By the end of the experience, guests leave not only with recipes but with a deeper understanding of why Oaxaca is considered one of the most important culinary regions in Mexico.

Classes run regularly in Huatulco and advance booking is recommended.

Learn more or reserve a spot here: http://www.huatulcofoodtours.com

Alicia Flores writes about food, culture, and travel in southern Mexico. She is particularly interested in traditional ingredients and the culinary heritage of Oaxaca.

Huatulco, San Miguel de Allende

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer—

“We are here to awaken from our illusion of separateness.”
Thích Nhat Hanh

When you rant or retort obnoxiously on social media, it is like holding a hot coal in your hand and expecting someone else to burn. Your comment affects everyone who reads it — including you. Cortisol rises. Stress follows.

I opened my phone this morning and within minutes my nervous system was lit up. News of a cartel shooting. Messages asking if I was okay. A fire in Xadani. Canadians ranting about Mexicans ripping them off. Mexicans ranting about Canadians being cheap and gentrifying their country.

Stress — the invisible toxin.
Every time we open our phones and consume outrage, our bodies release cortisol. Heart rate increases. Inflammation pathways activate. The nervous system does not distinguish well between physical danger and social conflict; it simply reacts. Living in a constant state of judgment is physiologically corrosive.

Yes, we are living longer than previous generations. Medicine has dramatically extended lifespan over the past century. But we are also surrounded by more environmental toxins than ever — pollutants in our water, plastics in our oceans, chemicals measurable in human blood. Chronic disease now dominates modern life. We have prolonged years, but have we protected vitality?

To be healthy is to be whole — regulated, connected, integrated. Healthcare, at its root, should mean caring for that wholeness.

We often talk about “coexisting,” as if we are separate entities sharing space. In reality, we are deeply interconnected. Like a tree that depends on the quality of the river from which it drinks, the tree and the river are one. Separation is an illusion.

Be more understanding. Be more open. Assume good intentions more often than not. Regulate your nervous system. Put the phone down. Cook something real. Hug a tree and a stranger. Sit across from someone different from you and listen.

Wholeness isn’t optional; it’s essential. And in a time like this, choosing calm may be one of the most radical health decisions we can make.

See you next month,

Jane

Huatulco, San Miguel de Allende

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer—

“I’m going to Graceland, Graceland, Memphis, Tennessee
I’m going to Graceland
Poor boys and pilgrims with families
And we are going to Graceland
My traveling companion is nine years old
He is the child of my first marriage
But I’ve reason to believe we both will be received in Graceland”
Paul Simon, singer and songwriter

If you are reading this, you have probably already undertaken a lot of journeys to get here. A pilgrimage is often associated with religion, but there are many other roads than the one to God that lead to salvation. Maybe salvation is too powerful a word for some journeys- communion, perhaps.

It would make sense for this topic to tell of my own journey to my Mexican life almost 30 years ago, but when I think of pilgrimage, I think of a road trip I took with my daughter.

Even though I had already been living in Mexico for close to 15 years, I had several items in Canada that I didn’t want to part with: art my father left me when he died, a few pieces of furniture. We all have things we don’t want to part with just yet. I purchased an old Canada Post truck, filled it up, and my nine-year-old daughter and I took a road trip from Montreal to Huatulco.

It was hot, like driving in a sardine can. The radio didn’t work, but we had an iPod that played music through a speaker. In college, I was briefly obsessed with a book called Reflections on the Birth of the Elvis Faith, which likened the Elvis following to a religious phenomenon. So when my daughter and I found ourselves rumbling along the highway near Memphis, Tennessee, the words to Paul Simon’s Graceland came back to me: “My traveling companion is nine years old.” Without hesitation, we veered towards Graceland.

What back in the 1970s what was considered a mansion now just looked like a large suburban house. I asked people on the shuttle if it was their first time, and for most, it wasn’t. For many, it was an annual pilgrimage; for some, like us, a curiosity. Were we part of the pilgrimage or observers?

We toured the house, and when we reached the Jungle Room, my daughter said, “Like the song.” She meant Walking in Memphis – we had listened to it on some stretch of highway through Ohio.

Saw the ghost of Elvis
On Union Avenue
Followed him up to the gates of Graceland
Then I watched him walk right through
Now security they did not see him
They just hovered ’round his tomb
But there’s a pretty little thing
Waiting for the King
Down in the Jungle Room

As people, journeying, searching, and having faith in something other than our own immediate existence is perhaps the most unifying human experience. Does it really matter if we call this feeling and belief by different names?

See you next month,

Jane

Huatulco, San Miguel de Allende

Editor’s Letter- January 2026

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By Jane Bauer—

“We did not weave the web of life; we are merely a strand in it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves.”— Chief Seattle

It’s the New Year… again.

Suddenly it is 2026, and at times I feel as though I’m living in a science-fiction film. The kind where a woman goes to sleep and wakes up to find that ten or twenty years have passed. Everyone looks a little older, the world is a little less shiny, yet the headlines remain stubbornly familiar. Immigration crises. War. Corporate takeovers. The looming threat of environmental collapse. Will we ever learn?

As humans, we try to make sense of the world by dividing it into fragments. We divide the vastness of space into time — years, months, days, minutes, seconds. We divide land into countries and cities, drawing imaginary lines that we then defend and fight over. We separate ourselves by identity, ideology, belief. And in all this dividing, we search for meaning: Who are we? What is our purpose? Why does harmony feel so elusive?

There is no shortage of resources on this planet for all of us to live well. And yet, as a species, we continue to make decisions from a frequency of lack. We are taught, explicitly and implicitly, that things are limited, that if someone else has more, there will be inevitably less for us. I believe scarcity is something we have learned, reinforced by systems that benefit from fear and competition rather than trust and cooperation.

This year, according to Chinese astrology, is the Year of the Fire Horse, a cycle that comes around only once every sixty years. Rare, not quite a Halley’s Comet moment, but close. The Fire Horse (Bing-Wu) is associated with vitality, momentum, and spiritual transformation. It represents a powerful alignment of motion and illumination, a time when people feel called to take bold steps, to embark on pilgrimages, and to pursue both outer and inner journeys. So what does this mean for us?

Perhaps it means that speed is no longer the answer. That moving faster, consuming more, and fragmenting the world into ever-smaller pieces has not brought us closer but only further from one another. The Fire Horse does not ask us to escape what feels difficult, but to meet it with courage, clarity, and movement that has direction, not reaction, but intention.

Fire does not simply destroy; it illuminates. Let us step out of patterns rooted in fear and into a different way of being, one where there is enough when we move in alignment rather than competition.

Let us choose presence over paralysis, connection over fragmentation, and curiosity over certainty. To take our own quiet pilgrimages, inward or outward, and to participate more consciously in the systems we belong to. Not to fix the world all at once, but to move differently within it. Sometimes, that is where real change begins.

See you next month,

Jane

Huatulco

Editor’s Letter

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By Jane Bauer —

“Buy less. Choose well. Make it last” – Vivienne Westwood, English fashion designer and businesswoman.

Fifteen years ago, the first issue of The Eye rolled off the press. It was nothing more than two sheets of oversized newsprint, and the writers and I sat around a table folding each copy by hand. What pushed us to begin this project? By then, I had already lived in Mexico for more than a decade. I had married a Mexican, my daughter identifies as Mexican, and I’ve always preferred the rhythm of a small, non-touristy village to resort life. I could have continued drifting between two cultures, or I could create something that connected them. I also knew I wasn’t the only one navigating this space.

The Eye became that bridge.

Our mission is simple: to collect and share the stories, history, and layers of Mexico that readers might otherwise miss. We spotlight local businesses and give them a platform to reach new clients. We support organizations doing important work by helping them connect with volunteers and sponsors. At its heart, The Eye is about building community—not a parallel community that sits apart from the Mexican one, but a pathway into it. Learn about this place. Get involved. Participate. That has always been the purpose. And fifteen years later, it still is. We are very excited to announce the launch of The Eye San Miguel de Allende. Be sure to check it out.

This month, our writers explore fashion, a topic that can seem frivolous at first glance but is, in truth, a revealing lens through which to examine human behavior. The choice of what to wear is something each of us makes every day. Our clothes carry meaning, whether cultural, historical, or environmental. What are you wearing right now as you read this? What does your choice of fabric or brand say about you? Like all consumer goods, the items we choose to spend our money on have a rippling effect that, in an increasingly globalized world, can reach as far as the shores of Africa.

As we prepare for the New Year, let each of us take stock of the choices we make and the echoes they create.

Happy New Year, and see you in January.

Jane

Huatulco

Nothing Wasted: The Beauty of Leftovers

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By Jane Bauer

I once met someone who told me their least favorite food was leftovers. When you hear the word leftovers, you might picture day-old pizza or a casserole that has overstayed its welcome. But leftovers can be the start of something delicious—far beyond simply heating them up for another round of the same old, same old.
Here are a few dishes that are enhanced by leftovers:

Leftover: Stale Bread
Solution: French Toast
In French, it’s called Pain Perdu—“Lost Bread.” I’ve always found the name poetic. It conjures an image of a piece of stale bread sitting on the counter of a Parisian apartment. This isn’t bread for the birds or the trash, it’s magic waiting to happen.

Crack an egg into a bowl, pour in a little milk, and add a dash of cinnamon or vanilla. Beat with a fork until blended. Slice your bread, then heat a frying pan and add just enough fat—butter or oil—to keep things from sticking.

Dredge the bread in the milk mixture until the outer layer absorbs some of the liquid—don’t let it get soggy. Fry until the slices turn a beautiful golden brown. Plate and drizzle with syrup.

Super hack: Have a jar of jam that’s been sitting in your fridge forever? Add the jam to a small saucepan with a bit of water. Simmer slowly, stirring until you have a warm jam sauce. Add more water as needed to reach your desired texture.

Leftover: Corn tortillas
Solution: Chilaquiles (a.k.a. Nachos for Breakfast)

One of the best Mexican breakfasts is, in essence, a celebration of leftovers. Tortillas are typically sold by the kilo—a lot for just a couple of people. You can wrap them in a dishtowel and place them in a plastic bag to stretch their life another day, but really, tortillas are best eaten fresh.

So what to do with the extras? Make totopos—corn chips. Cut the tortillas into quarters. Heat about an inch of vegetable oil in a saucepan. When it’s hot, drop in a few pieces and fry until firm, but not brown. They’ll continue cooking after you remove them, so if they’re already brown in the pan, they’ll end up overdone. Place on paper towels to drain.

Now you’re ready for chilaquiles. Heat about half a cup of your house salsa (because of course, you always have one). When it’s hot, toss in a handful or two of totopos, stirring gently until they’re coated in the sauce. Plate immediately—don’t let them linger or they’ll get soggy. Top with cheese, sliced onions, avocado, and a dollop of cream.

Salsa Roja
8 Roma Tomatoes
1 jalapeño
3 garlic cloves
½ teaspoon of salt
Roast or boil ingredients. Blend. Season to taste. For extra heat add a couple of chile de arbol (small dried chiles).

Leftover: Boiled or roasted potatoes
Solution: Bauernfrühstück (Farmer’s Breakfast)

My last name is Bauer and as a girl my father would often make this dish on Sunday mornings. This German dish is all about turning yesterday’s potatoes into today’s comfort food. —it’s a rustic skillet of fried potatoes, eggs, and whatever else is on hand.

Slice up your leftover boiled or roasted potatoes. Heat a generous spoonful of butter or oil in a frying pan, and toss in the potatoes until they start to crisp and brown at the edges. Add chopped onions, peppers, or bits of ham if you have them.When everything smells irresistible, pour in a few beaten eggs and let them set slightly before stirring. You want a balance between soft and crisp, not scrambled.

Season with salt and a generous amount of pepper, maybe a sprinkle of fresh herbs if you have some around.

Each of these dishes celebrates the beauty of using what’s left—transforming the forgotten and the stale into something comforting and new. A reminder that good food doesn’t begin with perfection. It begins with creativity, care, and respect for what we already have. In the kitchen, as in life, nothing needs to go to waste.

Jane Bauer is the owner/operator of Café Juanita and the Chiles & Chocolate Cooking School.