Ninety-eight percent of all the soy that's raised goes to livestock. So people make fun of vegetarians for being tofu eaters, but no one eats tofu like steak eaters, by a long shot. It's also funny that tofu is held up as what a vegetarian eats. I mean maybe I eat tofu once a month, but other than that, never. All of it, statistically speaking, is going to livestock.
I can make fried tofu, boiled tofu, stuffed tofu. Cutlets and other fancy stuff, that's for other directors.
I think most people assume if you're a Latino in Texas, you're Mexican. It's not really a problem, and I love so much about Mexican culture and the Mexican people.
My brain still recoils at memories of the tofu stir-fries in my college co-op. A student 'cook' made them in a wok the size of a prosperous Martian's flying saucer, and, man, were they bad - steamy, crumbled bits of tofu and limp greens sloshing around in a warm bath of liquid aminos. I couldn't eat tofu for decades.
Mapo tofu is my favorite food in the world. We always have tofu at home. Like, a lot of it.
I'm Mexican and Kenyan at the same time. I've seen the quarrels over my nationality, but I'm Kenyan and Mexican at the same time. So again, I am Mexican-Kenyan, and I am fascinated by carne asada tacos.
There is a heavy Mexican Catholic streak in my movies, and a huge Mexican sense of melodrama. Everything is overwrought, and there's a sense of acceptance of the fantastic in my films, which is innately Mexican. So when people ask, 'How can you define the Mexican-ness of your films?' I go, 'How can I not?' It's all I am.
I think people couldn't really put me in [one race]. I wasn't Mexican, I wasn't white, I wasn't black, I wasn't Asian... I wasn't anything, and I didn't really fit into anybody's group. My dad is Mexican, and my mom is French and Danish.
I'm not a Mexican writer, but I think everything that happens in Mexico affects the Mexican writers I know, in their sense of being human and of being Mexican, even if they don't in any explicit way address these issues in their writing.
It wasn't a cutdown to call someone a Mexican. It would kill my career to refer to someone as Mexican today. It's like calling me an American.
My favorite Hodo Soy product is the firm tofu, a dense cryovac-ed block that isn't packed in water like most store-bought tofu and, therefore, doesn't need to be pressed before using (what a revelation!). It's nutty and mild with a firm - never spongy - consistency.
I think the biggest insult, the worst way you can offend a Mexican, is to insult their mother. A mother is the most sacred thing in life.
Let’s get one thing straight: Mexican food takes a certain amount of time to cook. If you don’t have the time, don’t cook it. You can rush a Mexican meal, but you will pay in some way. You can buy so-called Mexican food at too many restaurants that say they cook Mexican food. But the real food, the most savory food, is prepared with time and love and at home. So, give up the illusion that you can throw Mexican food together. Just understand that you are going to have to make and take the time.
I have never denied my background or my culture. I have taught my child to embrace her Mexican heritage, to love my first language, Spanish, to learn about Mexican history, music, folk art, food, and even the Mexican candy I grew up with.
You never forget your first tofu scramble. I was in college, and it was my first meal at the student-run co-op where I would be eating for the year. It was steamy kale and mashed tofu dripping with Bragg's Liquid Aminos, served directly from the bathtub-size wok it was cooked in. It was soggy, salty, and vaguely nutritive.
I think the great Mexican cuisine is dying because there are fast foods now competing, because there are supermarkets, and supermarkets can't afford to keep in stock a lot of these very perishable products that are used for fine Mexican cooking. Women are working and real Mexican cooking requires enormous amounts of time.