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Angel Medina

@smalltimegenius

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Award-winning Writer, Filmmaker, & Restaurateur.
Lover of Coffee & Mezcal
Founder: TODOS Media.
Co-Owner: República & Co.
@watchtodos
@republicapdx

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By now, the secret is out.
Is it a secret though? Considering how much I’ve hinted at this for the last 2 years?
The flights to Mexico, the cameras, the instagram stories of someone in our team shooting something or other? It has all led us to this point.

And believe me, the journey hasn’t been easy, not in the very least. And despite not having anything guaranteed or knowing whether or not this is going to work, the mere fact that once again we are about to go against the norm of how something is built, is truly what makes this next chapter of our journey all so familiar.

Look, when we built República we didn’t have a tenth of the experience and resources we have now. What we had was drive, intentionality, and a vision for what would one day be the greatest Mexico-forward concept. We lacked the things that typically make or break a business: capital, mentoring, and resources. And yet, here we are.
However you choose to define success, our story is right there with it.

With TODOS, we have a lot more resources than we do mentoring, and we have a lot more mentoring than we do capital… and yet despite that, we are about to create something that doesn’t currently exist and in the process of it change the industry for the better.

Let me make you uncomfortable, doubtful, or hopeful and run that back one more time:
We are about to create something that doesn’t currently exist and in the process of it change the industry for the better.

That’s it.
That is all that you need to know.

You don’t have to subscribe yet, but you should.
You don’t have to go and watch yet, but you will.
You don’t have to wait and see it to believe it, you’ll just have to believe it when you see it.

Con todo, menos con miedo.

Angel
—

What is TODOS Media:

A content production studio.
A community-centric media platform.
Original and relevant content created and/or told by our people.

More details:
To start, the platform will feature short-form programming by way of episodic micro-series(10-12 episodes, 2-3 minute long episodes).
It will be accompanied by editorial content including, essays, galleries, and curated travel guides.
Subscribe at www.youtube.com/@watchtodos by @smalltimegenius

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2 years ago

Oaxaca, in a glass.
Agave, fire, time, and a tradition that goes deeper than most will ever see.

A spirit made for celebration; distilled with fruit, spice, and time, carrying the weight of tradition in every drop.

This is how it’s made.
Watch it now on Substack.
----

(watchtodos.substack.com/p/memorable) by @smalltimegenius

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7 months ago

You could argue about pan de muerto for hours. Not about its significance. I think we can all agree on that. It's a beautiful expression of remembrance, a bread made to celebrate the people who left us long before we were ready to say goodbye.

But the bread itself? That's where things get interesting.

You could trace its history to the Portuguese, to European traditions surrounding All Saints' Day, to Día de Muertos and the beautiful collision of cultures that eventually gave us the marigolds, the ofrendas, and the extraordinary feast of colors and flavors we recognize today.

But I like to go back a little further. To the conquest of Mexico, to La Noche Triste, when Hernado Cortés and his men fled Tenochtitlan, leaving hundreds dead behind them. And eventually to a man named Juan Garrido, a free Black conquistador whose life was entangled in the complicated and often brutal history of slavery and conquest.

As the story goes, Garrido planted three grains of wheat that had arrived among a shipment of rice. From those few grains came what is remembered as the first wheat harvest in New Spain.

Think about that for a moment. Three grains of wheat.

And from there, centuries of evolution. The arrival of Maximiliano and Carlota, the European influences and techniques that followed, and generations of Mexican bakers who took something foreign and made it unmistakably their own. Birote, bolillo, pan dulce; the concha, and, of course, the pan de muerto. Every one of them carrying a history much greater than the ingredients that make them.

Which brings me back to this bread.

There's something remarkable about the fact that it exists at all. That centuries of conquest, migration, adaptation, and tradition have brought us to something so beautifully simple. A bread that, for all its complicated history, asks very little of us except to remember.

So we make it for them. For those who came before us, those who taught us, those we loved, and those we still miss.

Simple things, complex beginnings.

Pan de muerto. At República. by @smalltimegenius

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2 days ago

For much of their history, carrots weren't orange. They were purple, yellow, sometimes even white.
Then the Dutch got their hands on them, and somewhere along the way, orange became the color we all recognize today. Sweeter, more consistent, and eventually the standard. Which makes sense, I suppose. When I think of the Dutch, I think of those bright orange soccer jerseys. But that's a conversation for another day.

Even the word carrot has an interesting history, tracing back through Greek to a word associated with a horn. Which, when you look at the shape, makes perfect sense.

All of which is a very long way of telling you that we have some extraordinary carrots.

Thanks to my dear friend Josie at Little Benji, who has supplied us with enough carrots for the next three weeks, we're making something rather beautiful.

Zanahorias, three ways. Twice-cooked carrots, requesón whipped with their own greens, and tender carrot sprigs to finish. A little salsa negra, candied pepitas for texture, and a few more pieces of that beautiful requesón. We're using the whole carrot, from the root to the leaves, giving every part a reason to be there.

Nothing unnecessary. Nothing added simply because it looks pretty. Although, admittedly, it is pretty fucking beautiful.

That's it. That's the dish. Come try it, or better yet, go buy whatever carrots my friend has left at her stand. Either way, you win.

- @smalltimegenius by @smalltimegenius

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4 days ago

Last week, we said goodbye to summer. Apparently, summer didn't get the memo.

Or maybe it did and simply chose to ignore us. Either way, the farmers are still bringing us beautiful tomatoes, and we're not about to argue.

So here we are. Tostada de fin de verano, parte II.
One more week of summer on the plate. Maybe two, if we're lucky.

Beautiful collection of heirloom tomatoes, sliced thinly and cut individually, allowing them to become part of the tostada rather than overwhelm it. Because as beautiful as a dish might look, you should still be able to eat the damn thing without it being entire pulled apart.

Ground cherries for their delicate sweetness, and raw tomatillos, which, for reasons I've never understood, everyone seems obsessed with cooking. Have you ever eaten one raw? To me, they taste like green apples. Bright, tart, and carrying a little magic all their own.

Then there's the salsa. You could call it salsa macha, but that name has become so overplayed that I'd rather just tell you what's in it: cacahuate, ajonjolí, chile morita, among other beautiful things. A little of that to bring everything together.

Finally, wasabe flowers, marygolds, a touch of totomoxtle (charred corn husk). A reminder that what you're eating belongs to a season that's slowly slipping away, and that even as it leaves us, it still has something beautiful to give.

Enjoy it while it's here. The seasons have never been particularly interested in waiting for us. by @smalltimegenius

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5 days ago

Saturday mornings at the PSU Farmers Market have a way of changing your plans. You arrive with a list, convinced you know exactly what you came for. Then the market reminds you that it knows better.

We went in for what we needed for the week’s menu. On our way out, we realized there was apparently one more week of corn.

Olivia and I looked at each other.

“Get it.”

So we did. As much as we could.

And here it is. A maiz tetela with sweet corn, two ways. Roasted corn on top, with a salsa made from roasted corn and roasted Hungarian peppers. Fig for sweetness. House made requeson for that soft, creamy filling inside the tetela. That’s really it.

Simple things. Nothing pretentious. Nothing added just to make the dish sound more interesting than it is. Truth is, when something is this good, your job isn’t to show people how clever you are. Your job is to know when to leave it alone.

As the old saying goes... and by old saying, I mean something I keep saying:

Don’t add anything that doesn’t belong. Whatever belongs, make it more beautiful.

I can’t think of a better example than this. by @smalltimegenius

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9 days ago

Tomato season is coming to an end, and my abandonment issues are at full bloom.

I’m preserving everything I can get my hands on. Fermenting, sun-drying, roasting, confiting, pickling; anlything that might buy me a few more weeks. Every time I go to the market, I hold my breath a little. Every time I call one of our farmers or vendors, I ask the same question: How much longer?

Not much.

So while we still have them, I'm giving them the whole plate.

Huarache de tomate, three ways.

It starts with a salsa fermentada made from fermented cherry tomatoes and their juices, black garlic, chihuacles. and roasted leeks. Then cherries, Bumble Bees, and Sungolds; some roasted, some confit. A little house-made queso fresco, all sitting on maiz criollo cooked until crisp on the outside and still tender underneath.

That’s it. Nothing there to distract from the thing we’re going to spend the next nine months missing.

One of my favorite dishes on the menu right now.

Come get it before I have to let go. by @smalltimegenius

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12 days ago

It Starts with the Coffee

I had a chance to travel over the last couple of weeks, and everywhere I went, I found myself wondering about the coffee. I had some incredible food, but for the most part, the coffee was a poor showing.

For some reason, coffee is the thing that always gets lost. You either get something pressed out of a machine, or there's simply no attention given to taking the time to make a proper pour-over.

For me, the pour-over is so important. There's so much control over what you're serving. You can choose from four or five different coffees depending on what someone is eating, what their mood is, or even what your own mood is that morning.

I rely on blends. I blend almost daily, depending on whatever I'm feeling that morning. It's one of the more important parts of what we do.

Yes, come for the food. The food is incredible, and everything is driven by the seasons. But the coffee? The coffee is what sets us apart from everybody else in this town.

-Angel by @smalltimegenius

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19 days ago

I’ve been gone for three weeks.
I missed this place. I missed you all.

My niece @maddsmedina and the República team have been crushing service while I’ve been away, but goddamn, it’s nice to be back.

For once, I didn’t even have to make coffee this morning. Coffee was made for me. Everything was in order. The place hadn’t missed a beat.

So, back to it. Back to what we do best: cooking with the seasons. And those seasons continue to move, just as we continue to move.

Today, that means squash adobada. More specifically, the huarache. That’s the thing you want to try. I think it’s one of the more special dishes we’ve made in a while.

A little side note: when we created this direction for brunch, we did it with the intention of making as much of the menu vegan from the beginning as possible.

I have many opinions about the vegan movement. Some of it gets on my fucking nerves. Mostly because I’ve never understood the obsession with turning plants into some bullshit imitation of chicken or meat just so you can put it in a taco. There is so much incredible stuff growing around us. Cook that. Make something new. Make something that belongs.

Which is also why I hate categorizing our food in the first place.

You make something vegan for the same reason you make anything else: because it tastes better that way.

As you know, I have a saying:

Don’t add anything that doesn’t belong. Whatever belongs, make it more beautiful.

This huarache is an expression of that.

And I’ll leave you with something I found while I was gone. During one of my early morning walks, I came across a plaque dedicated to Don José Manuel Zavala—a writer and reporter—bearing a line that stopped me:

“El que no vive para servir, no sirve para vivir.”

If that isn’t a motto for hospitality, I don’t know what is.

Thank you for having me back.

-Angel by @smalltimegenius

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a month ago

This is not going to sound as elegant as our posts normally do, because the birthday boy is the real writer, but we wanted to take a moment and say happy birthday to our founder, @smalltimegenius.

The vision for what República could be, while formed by many hands, was always something that came from his deep love of the food and culture of Mexico and his faith in Portland; his belief that both Portland and Mexico deserved more in how the food was portrayed here.

He is someone who seems fearless, but more importantly, does through the fear. He has an extraordinary ability to believe in things before they exist, and then is brave enough to will them into existence. He embodies the original Republica slogan, Sin Miedo al Éxito.

It is not true of most people that a place would genuinely be different without them, but it is true of Angel. The people around him are better for his existence in their lives and the places he goes are touched by his contributions, Portland more than any.

We can’t imagine a world where Angel was not here to see magic in the world around him and to create magic for the world, through food, through film, through stories, through writing, and through vision.

He will be back next week, so come see him then, and, in the meantime, bother him with a story about how he’s touched your life. by @smalltimegenius

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a month ago

Quesadillas De Madre.

Last week, while we were filming Memorable, I found myself standing in the middle of the kitchen at this perfectly square table, watching Chef Miguel and Chef Carolina put together dish after dish.

And the standout for me was this fucking quesadilla.

First bite, I turned to Miguel and Carolina and said, “I just want you to know, I’m stealing this. This is going on the menu the second I get back to Portland.”

That was a lie.

I’m still not back in Portland.

We put it on the menu this week.

Ours is a little different because, of course, it is. We use chilhuacle in the salsa because I love chilhuacle, and I love what that chile does to everything around it. But what really got me about their dish wasn’t one ingredient. It was the combination: the mint with the quesillo, the cactus with the purslane. Things I know. Things we use throughout our own kitchen. Things that have basically been sitting in front of me this entire time.

Somehow, when these two put them together, they did it in a way that made me taste every one of them differently.

That’s the beautiful thing about eating someone else’s food. Sometimes they show you something completely new. Sometimes they show you something you’ve been looking at your entire life and somehow never saw.

And maybe my favorite part of it all wasn’t even the quesadilla itself.

It was being there, in that kitchen, with both of them, watching them work. Standing around this perfect little square while plate after plate came out, watching them build these beautiful little things one after another, knowing that everything we had seen that day; the farm, the cactus, the herbs, the people, the place—eventually found its way onto those plates.

And then this beautiful quesadilla showed up.

So yes, I stole it.

Two quesadillas are on the menu now. All the things I remember from that first bite, recreated by a team I trust, even though I still haven’t tasted ours myself.

So if you’re in town, come try it before I do.

And tell me if we got it right. by @smalltimegenius

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a month ago

To some, these are ground cherries. To the people of the Andes, where they have been cultivated for centuries, this is aguaymanto; and here, it is the protagonist.

How it eventually made its way to the United States is its own strange little journey. From South America, it traveled through Europe and Africa before finding its way back across the world. Some call it a Cape gooseberry. Here in Oregon, we know it as one of those things you wait all year for: the ground cherry, closer to a tomatillo than a cherry, growing and ripening inside its own papery husk.

These came to us from Cohesive Farms, and this is the second week we've been able to work with them. That is one of the great things about cooking this way: you wait for something to arrive, and when it does, you build around it.

We don't do much to them because we don't need to. Remove the husk, clean them, muddle them just enough, and let them be what they are. A little crème fraîche. Brioche, fried and brûléed. That's the whole dish.

Another beautiful seasonal ingredient, given a bigger stage. The right stage. by @smalltimegenius

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2 months ago