Rememberances of Sinaloa

Just across from Conrad & Wong’s in dusty Hanapepe, the brick red façade of Sinaloa stood partially obscured by a thick shock of day-glo purple bougainvillea blossoms. Sweeping down from the front doors was a set of broad steps lined with terra cotta pots full of prickly cacti and riotus succulents. Each morning before lunch service, I’d spray the whole scene down with an old green garden hose while watching the cane haul trucks roar down Kaumualii highway.

The scene was full-on languid tropicalia, and the cast of personalities was the most bizarre I’ve ever been a part of. Although a complete roll-call would run into pages, I’ll introduce the lead characters: Transplanted from Santa Fe, Juanita and Emilio Gutierrez were both completely unhinged – I’d always know when the two of them were in the restaurant together by the screams and obscenities. Operating several personal ‘businesses’ from behind the office door, their eldest son Chico served as de facto manager, and did one heck of a job. José-Luis, a scarlet macaw of a man who sported an odd sort of pompadour and chain-smoked Virginia Slims, was the chef – by any measure he was an unqualified master of Oaxacan molé.

And then there was La Abuela. Born deep in a backwater valley of the Sierra Mazateca, she was regarded (by José-Luis and his sidekick whom we called ‘Don Bueno’) to be a deceptive and dangerous bruja. I simply knew her as a sweet old woman who cured me of a chest cold by rubbing my back with garlic-oil, as the source of the greatest fresh avocados I’ve ever encountered, and as the only person associated with Sinaloa who seemed in possesion of balance and sanity. Every time I eat an enchilada, I raise my fork to Ms. Benita Sabina Perez de Huautla…