Jazz and Cocktails: The Divas Go Mexican
Besides my passions for food and art, I have always been a jazz buff. As a teen growing up in New York, I would stalk the jazz clubs, listening from the street, sneaking into festival concerts during intermission, going to every free performance I could manage. I saw so many ‘greats:’ Diz, Basie, Bill Evans, Stan Getz. You name ‘em, I saw ‘em. But it was the singers I really fell for. To me, Sarah Vaughan was a Goddess and I saw her innumerable times. And Ella, Anita, Carmen, Betty Carter... the list goes on. How quaint, you say. But what does all this have to do with ‘Good Food in Mexico’? Well, read on, my friends...
Helen’s first album cover. “I cried when i saw it.”
Merrill at Midnight
Helen Merrill is my favorite living jazz singer. It was a thrill when, on a recent jaunt to New York, friend and music journalist Jim Gavin, author of several music biographies of Chet Baker, Peggy Lee and Lena Horne as well as hundreds of articles about music in myriad genres, arranged a dinner for the three of us.
Almost 30 years ago, as a young foodie and jazz enthusiast, the best employment I could garner was to work the swing shift at a smoke-filled jazz club in Cambridge. I’d arrive home at 4 in the morning and hopelessly hopped up on coffee and drink orders, I’d put on some of Helen’s old LPs, listening with headphones to her mysterious, hazy vocalizing. Her intense blue bebop and reworking of melody, the intoxicating balance of space and sound, always jibed especially well through ‘the wee small hours’. She’d breath ‘Lazy Afternoon’ with a musical sigh: “…there’s not another human in vieeew…but us twooooo,” and I’d agree. I only had a few old scratchy LPs from the ‘50’s – the early ‘80’s was a bleak time for jazz and little was available. So I figured she must be long dead, a tragic diva lost to the pitfalls of the jazz life. This couldn’t have been further from the truth. Helen was, and is, very much still here, putting that myth to rest and having produced an enormous body of work during a career that spans over 70 years. After her early successes in the New York jazz scene, Merrill--Bronx born of Croatian immigrants--spent time living and recording in Italy and Japan, returning to the US in the ‘70’s. She’s made more than 40 albums, all of them exquisite, but the most famous is her first, recorded in 1954, and simply entitled ‘Helen Merrill’. It features the trumpet master Clifford Brown (who did die young, in an auto accident) and was arranged by the then unknown Quincy Jones. When I asked Helen why this disk is so famous – in jazz circles, anyway - and appreciated, she paused before responding, “I don’t know, really…we were just a bunch of young people having a good time.” “It’s the mood it creates”, I suggested. “Even the upbeat songs are imbued with pain and longing – and that blue cover adds something as well.” On the angst-ridden cover, a black & white Merrill, tinted blue, screams ferociously into the microphone. “I cried when I saw it,” she lamented.
Helen knows I live in Mexico and she wanted Mexican food, assuming I’d lead her to the best. Normally I don’t pay much attention to the Mexican restaurant scene north of the border. But this being an emergency, I sent queries to several local chefs. It was Zarela Martinez (whose ‘Zarela’ is now closed) who suggested a recently inaugurated place in the Village, Empellón. This homey, classically decorated spot was the dream of former pastry chef of WD-50 and Alinea, Alex Stupak, who, despite being a gringo, appreciates the complexity of the Mexican lexicon and wanted to do something about the paucity of sophisticated Mexican cooking on the east coast. The menu is intriguing, offering many classics reinvented.
Jim suggested we choose a quiet venue but to my chagrin the room was cacophonous—a sound muffling renovation was later required. We were seated at a corner table, a spot we would occupy for the next 5 hours . “I want a Margarita,” Helen declared, oblivious to the din.
I ordered her a classic one, but she complained that it didn’t have enough tequila: “it’s not working” – so she joined me in a straight shot for round two. I loved our ceviches, one of octopus with ‘parsnip and salsa Papanteca (chile arbol, chipotle, pumpkin seeds). The other was a black bass with beets and guava puree that was tantalisingly perfumed. We followed with an array of artsy tacos: a simple chicken with yucca to add a sweet crunch hit all the marks. Why didn’t they think of it down here? Lamb barbacoa with salsa borracha was an artisanal version of the pit-roasted Bajio classic; it conjured the earthiness of the original. And the duck confit with swiss chard and guajillo was something you’ll never find here in Mexico or at your local taco truck--but it would make any Frenchman happy, the meltingly soft roast meat caressed and prodded by the mild sauce – a winner. We never even got to the main dishes. Chef Stupak’s re-thought classics, while reminiscent of the originals are modern, unpretentiously creative and successful--like a Helen Merrill album. We practically closed the place down, leaving at 1 a.m.. “Jazz people don’t go to bed early,” Jim opined. We talked of jazz and life, of feeling like black sheep for our ‘odd’ interests, and of the future. When I asked Helen if she will record any more, she replied, “I’ve done enough. But,” she mused, “who really knows…”
Twisted Sister
The next night I attended the performance of another jazz legend, the great Annie Ross (1930-2020). Annie was singing at the Metropolitan Room in Chelsea and was the author of that classic crazy-girl tune, ‘Twisted’ (“My analyst told me…that I was right out of my head…the way he described it… he said I’d be better dead than live…”), recorded by many others but ne’er as well. British-born Annie got her start in the movies - she played Judy Garland’s sister and made a name for herself in the ‘50’s by setting words to bop jazz instrumentals— vocalese— and later as member of the great trio Lambert, Hendricks & Ross. After hard times and precarious addictions she renewed her acting career, notably appearing in the Robert Altman film Short Cuts, where she plays a struggling jazz singer, a pessimistic version of herself. Her good looks, humor, swing, timing, and cool material made her the original hipster. That evening we were astounded to find a special guest in attendance: none other than Jon Hendricks himself. (Lambert died in a roadside accident in 1966.) It was a reunion of sorts, and the two blew the roof off with a couple of renditions of their old Basie and Ellington concoctions – as Annie herself proclaimed, “I’m 80 and he’s 90…we’re doing the best we can."
Neither of their voices was strong, and those high notes didn’t come easily anymore, but the rhythm and musicality were intact. Annie’s showstoppers were a haunting, introspective version of Billy Strayhorn’s 'Lush Life' and a raucous rendition of that sad diner’s lament ‘One Meat Ball’ :
“Little man felt so ill at ease, he said: ‘Some bread sir, if you please.’ The waiter hollered down the hall: You get no bread with ONE MEAT BALL.”.
After the show, I chatted with Annie and the topic naturally turned to food. She was known as a great cook. When she heard that I live in Mexico and am ‘in the food life,’ she told me she has the BEST guacamole recipe going. I pleaded with her to send it to me and she replied, “Honey, I’ll tell you right now.” And here it is:
Annie’s Guacamole
Take a nice firm avocado and cut it in half, discarding the pit and skin
Mash it with a potato masher or fork
Sprinkle on some lime juice and salt
Grate in a little onion (here she’s insistent: “don’t chop, GRATE!”)
Mix lightly and serve
“That’s IT!” Annie’s words, accompanied by a sweeping gesture.
And so you see, all roads DO lead to Mexican food. “The song has ended, but the melody lingers on.”
Note: This piece was first published in 2011; Annie Ross continued to perform at the Metropolitan Room until it closed in 2017 and released a new album in 2015. She died July 21, 2020; on the same day, Helen Merrill, who is alive and well, celebrated her birthday. She performed in Japan as recently as 2017. Sadly, her only son, renowned rock composer Alan Merrill, died in April 2020 of Covid-19.
Cover photo by James Gavin.
