A Taste of Mexico
by Dorothy Dow Crane

The three enormous orange papayas on the check out counter barely leave enough room for the cash register. Green pads of tender cactus and corn tortillas reside side by side in the refrigerator case. Cantaloupe-flavored drink powder, salsa, and Maseca instant corn mix line up in neatly organized rows on the shelves. There is a box of corn husks in the corner and banana leaves in the freezer. Crinkled dried chiles—guajillo, pasilla, ancho, arbol, with crinkled skins from dark purple to bright red—line the back wall.

La Pequena Oaxaca (Little Oaxaca) is a small bit of Mexico across from the fairgrounds on Route 9 in Rhinebeck. It is also the dream that Elvio and his wife Yolanda have labored towards for years on a journey that has covered literally thousands of miles. Fifteen years ago, Elvio realized that his future in Mexico would not hold much more than the ownership of a few milk cows he might eventually sell for meat. He left his hometown of La Cienega in Oaxaca and headed north to wash dishes in Chicago. From Chicago he traveled to Coppola's in Hyde Park, where his employer helped him obtain his legal papers. He eventually came to Rhinebeck, and between kitchen jobs at Foster's and Schemmy's, worked 16 to 18 hours a day, six days a week. Eventually he saved enough to open this small packed-to-the-brim grocery. And, after eleven years of bureaucratic backlog, his wife Yolanda's legal papers have finally been approved. They have three children—the oldest two attend Rhinebeck schools.

Just three miles north of La Pequena Oaxaca, Tomasa Gonzalez arrives to open La Mexicana at mid-day. This is Red Hook's small bit of Mexico. Tomasa is from Zacatecas in the hills of central Mexico. Although the historical center of Zacatecas is a world heritage site, there are not enough jobs to offer a secure future. It was her husband's work that brought them to the Hudson Valley. He was born in Texas but, like Elvio and Yolanda, Tomasa first entered the country without legal papers. Her first years in the Hudson Valley were so tough that she went back to Texas for a while. Even today Tomasa's face clouds over when she talks about how lonely she was. They lived in Poughkeepsie, New Paltz, and Hyde Park before settling into Red Hook, a choice they made because she learned that the schools here were among the best in the area. "Schools are the most important thing," she says emphatically. She was determined that her children learn English and that her family not move around. Her focus and determination have paid off—her oldest daughter will soon return to college, her middle son graduates from high school this spring, and her youngest son will receive his diploma next year.

Tomasa dreamed of having a store long before she was able to open one. She looked for years for a good space. Finally, in 1999, a small storefront on Market Street became available. La Mexicana began as a large room that Tomasa initially stocked as a small grocery store. Over the years it has been transformed into restaurant with affordable, authentic Mexican food that one can take out or enjoy with a Mexican beer or a Jarritos (a popular Mexican soft drink that comes in fruit flavors) at one of Tomasa's vintage enamel-topped tables. Her customers come from all over—Bard, the Culinary, and even from Woodstock and Pine Plains—to get food which she describes "as close to food in Mexico without actually going there." She points out that "Mexico is a big country and not all Mexicans cook the same." Her menu includes Mexican sandwiches, both Mexican and Texas style tacos, and even flor de calabaza (zucchini flower) quesadillas.

Like most small business owners, both Elvio and Tomasa put in long hours. Elvio works an early morning shift on a nearby horse farm before he opens La Pequena Oaxaca. Every Monday he drives to Passaic, New Jersey, to buy stock for the store. Tomasa works a full shift at Thompson House before she comes to La Mexicana to open for her lunchtime customers. When I comment on how tiring it must be to work double shifts, "Nothing comes easy," she replies, "we all have to work." Both stores are open until 8 or 9 each evening.

These small, locally owned businesses offer much more than Mexican ingredients and authentic Mexican food. Each functions as a sort of small community center. Elvio has a TV behind the counter, usually tuned to the soccer channel. (Mexico's Chivas is his favorite team. His nine-year-old proudly plays in the Rhinebeck soccer league.) Fellow countrymen wander in to make a purchase, watch the game for a few minutes, and catch up on news. One rents a Spanish language video. Another wires money back home. Elvio tries to help ease the transition for recent immigrants by finding them jobs. Sometimes he's able to put them on a crew for someone who has a big project. Occasionally he accompanies a newcomer to the doctor to translate. And his small store carries piñatas, birthday banners, and wedding banners to help celebrate important occasions.

At La Mexicana Tomasa knows by sight, if not by name, many people in Red Hook. The propane man walks in with his delivery slip. They both lean on the refrigerator case—he, with his blond hair just barely subdued by his baseball cap and Tomasa, with shiny dark eyes and her hair efficiently pulled back in a barrette—as they chat about her new granddaughter, compare notes about how fast their children are growing up, and commiserate about a mutual friend who just had an accident. After he leaves the steady stream of lunchtime customers begins, and the small simple room becomes a sort of town square where people wander in to catch up on local news.

Every Saturday afternoon Yolanda leaves La Pequena Oaxaca and goes home to make tamales. She brings them in midday on Sunday. Unable to make a decision, I request at least one of each flavor—pork, beef, and chicken mole.. Moments later, after I reheat them in the microwave as instructed, they come to the table steaming with the aroma of moist roasted corn husks and mole. Gracias.