Mistaken Identity

In this week's review of Los Rosales, the charming Mexican restaurant in an unassuming Antioch strip mall, I praise the simple broth that preceded our meals. Studded with cubes of chayote squash and carrot, the soup was lightly salty and soothing, punctuated by the vegetables, which were tender but not soggy. It was like nothing I had ever tasted in a Mexican restaurant, yet it was vaguely familiar. An imaginary dialogue kicked off in my brain:

Me: Hey, Chayote, don't I know you? Have we met somewhere before?

Chayote (sheepishly, looking over his shoulder): Uh, no, I don't think so. I'm not from around here.

Me: But I'm sure we've met. Your texture, it's so familiar, like a green tomato. I know we've met before.

Chayote: Look, woman, I said No! I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just a humble pear-shaped chayote squash from Mexico. Leave me alone.

Me: Gosh, sorry. Pardon the intrusion. You just remind me of someone.

Then it hit me. I have met that squash before, but he called himself “Mirliton,” and he was the centerpiece of an elegant Southern-inspired entree. Why the subterfuge? Did he remember me? Did he not like me? Was he ashamed to be seen in this lowly supporting role? Was he part of a melon witness-protection program?

In fact, mirliton and chayote are the same food, the plump, green-skinned squash found in the Southern U.S. and Central and South America. (Photo swiped from frutisandveggiesmatter.gov). While Los Rosales delivers chayote in a simple broth, chef Joe Shaw at The Standard restaurant on Eighth Avenue prepares a gorgeous and decadent mirliton in the Louisiana tradition, deep-fried and topped with bacon, crawfish and hollandaise.

With the firm texture of an unripe tomato, the fruit lends itself well to both preparations. It is a versatile—dare I say wily?—chayote.

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