How Mexicans in LA Survive Lent without Meat

Between carne asada, al pastor, birria, carnitas, chorizo, and every crispy variety of offal placed atop tortillas and doused with salsa, Mexicans eat a lot of meat.

However, you wouldn't know this if you were eating lunch or dinner anywhere in Mexico—and consequently Los Angeles—on any given Friday during the Lenten season. It's miraculous, really. That's the meat-restraining power of Catholicism on a country that consumes around 1.765 million tons of beef, 3 million tons of chicken, and 1.2 million tons of pork per year. But even though Catholicism is the main religion in Mexico, this is an impressive feat to behold—whether you are religious or not.

How does an entire country cope with restricting such an animal protein-heavy diet?

Ceviche, potato tacos, and seafood tacos are one way. But the real secret weapon are eggs, and plenty of them. Whether they're used to batter a cheese-filled vegetable like the mainstream chile rellenos or the slightly more complex preparation of whipping an egg into a stiff meringue and then deep frying it, Mexican gastronomy has a way of being innovative with richness even when eating beef, pork, or chicken is simply out of the question.

Exhibit A are tortitas de camarón. It is a relatively hardcore dish of egg fritters fortified with ground, extremely odorous dried shrimp. If you are Northern Mexico, these fritters are stewed in a bright chile sauce made from dried red chiles and swimming with sliced, tender cactus. If you are in Southern Mexico, a mole-like sweeter sauce takes the chiles' place. And instead of cactus, there are romeritos (piney sprigs of a wild plant known as seepweed).

In LA, every single restaurant will turn pescatarian during Lent on Fridays and advertise tortitas de camarón under the words "cuaresma" (the Spanish word for Lent) all over their windows and menu. Still, only a few restaurants in LA features huazontles rellenos, a.k.a. fried goosefoot stuffed with cheese. El Huarache Azteca, located on the neighborhood's hippest boulevard, is one of these proud establishments. The thriving community's demographic has drastically changed over the last decade, but the Friday-only Lenten menu hasn't.

These vegetable-centric dishes are enjoying a second life thanks to the quasi-vegetarian Millennials who are moving in and discovering the time-honored traditional recipes. On a Friday evening's early dinner rush, every single table inside El Huarache Azteca is filled with locals from all backgrounds enjoying both their huazontles and tortitas with romeritos (as well as the occasional heathen gorging on a carne asada huarache).

Maria Eugenia Solis, a cook from Michoacan who has worked in the restaurant's tiny kitchen for 13 years, was ecstatic that I ordered both dishes for myself. She affirms that some people make the drive from all around the city to eat her Lenten dishes, and that they aren't only enjoyed by Mexican grandmas anymore.

This is somewhat surprising, given how eating huazontles can be an intimidating for noobs due to the plant's woody, inedible stems. Because of this, a fork and knife will not help you when eating them. It involves squeezing your jaw as tight as you can and then pulling the stem out of your mouth while your teeth are still clenched. This leaves only the edible, broccoli-like tender buds and melted cheese in your mouth.

Eating the pungent, spongy tortitas de camarón isn't a walk in the park, either. Imagine a vegetarian meatball but loaded with the briny funk of dried shrimp, and then the piney-ness of romeritos. The flavors in these dishes are unlike any in the world.

Lastly, it wouldn't be a religious festival without a gluttonous dessert. In Lent's case, it is capirotada—a Mexican bread pudding with everything but the kitchen sink in it. Chopped nuts, shredded coconut, sprinkles, candied cactus (biznaga), dried fruit, tortillas, and even cheese are known to make it into this dish. In LA, you can find a tasty, ideal version at La Monarca bakery during the short season. Theirs has cotija cheese and white raisins soaked in a piloncillo (Mexican-style unrefined brown sugar) and cinnamon syrup.

These timeless dishes, as uniquely pungent as they are, have prevailed against the odds set forth by the meaty standard that Mexican food has set. And as gourmet taquerias continue to open all over the US, they are worth studying and experiencing—at least once.