Tacos, enchiladas, beans and salsas without meat or fish. (220 recipes)
Outside Mexican schools and parks, vendors fry little dried wheels and rectangles of wheat dough until they balloon into airy, crackly chicharrones de harina, also called duritos. They're handed over in a plastic bag drenched in lime juice and bottled hot sauce. At home you can buy the dried pellets (duros) at Latin grocers, and they puff in seconds. Chef's tip: fry just a small handful at a time; they triple in size.
Crisp potato tacos are a Friday and Lent staple in homes across central Mexico, and a cheap favourite at fondas near schools in Mexico City. Tortillas are rolled around buttery-soft mashed potato, fried until shattering, then buried under cool lettuce, crema, salsa and crumbled cheese. Children love them, and the potato filling is easy to make ahead. Fresh crumbly cheeses here are often set with animal rennet; a vegetarian queso fresco or a microbial-rennet feta keeps the dish meat-free. Chef's tip: mash the potatoes while hot and let them cool before rolling, so the filling is firm and doesn't ooze into the oil.
On the evening of 2 November, after the graveyard visit, many families in central Mexico sit down to a pot of steaming tamales, and rajas con queso is the meat-free favourite at every tamalera's stall. Soft, fluffy masa beaten with fat until it floats wraps a filling of charred poblano strips, a spoon of tomato salsa and a finger of melting cheese. Fresh Mexican cheeses such as queso Oaxaca or panela are often made with animal rennet; choose a vegetarian mozzarella-style cheese if that matters to you. The masa here uses vegetable shortening rather than lard. Chef's tip: test the beaten masa by dropping a pinch into cold water; when it floats, it is light enough.
Cuaresma, the six weeks of Lent, is cauliflower season in the markets of Puebla and Mexico City, and cooks turn the florets into these puffy capeados: each piece stuffed with a little cheese, dipped in whisked egg, fried until golden and then bathed in a brick-red sauce of tomato and guajillo chilli. They come to the table with white rice and a stack of tortillas. Queso Oaxaca and panela are often made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian melting cheese if needed. Chef's tip: dust the florets with flour before the batter so it clings rather than slides off.
In fondas around Mexico City and at Sunday carne asada gatherings across Puebla and the Bajío, guacamole is pounded to order in a basalt molcajete and carried to the table still in the stone. No sour cream, no garlic powder: just ripe avocado crushed over a paste of onion, serrano chile, cilantro and salt, sharpened with lime. It is a dip for warm totopos, a topping for tacos and a side for grilled meat, and it is best eaten within the hour. Chef's tip: grind the chile, onion and salt to a wet paste first, so the heat spreads through every bite instead of sitting in chunks.
From mid-October, bakeries from Mexico City to Puebla stack their shelves with these domed loaves, and families set one on the ofrenda for the souls who return on 1 and 2 November, then share the rest with hot chocolate. The crumb is soft and rich with butter and egg, scented with orange zest and orange-blossom water, and the knobbly strips across the top stand for bones, with a small ball for the skull. A sugar crust or a dusting of sesame finishes it. Chef's tip: shape the bones from dough you have held back and chilled, so they keep their ridges instead of melting flat in the oven.
Tender cactus paddles are sold cleaned and diced in bags at every market in Mexico City and Michoacán, and the quickest breakfast they make is this: nopales fried with onion, tomato and green chile until their sticky juice cooks off, then folded through softly scrambled eggs. It is light, green and tangy, and wrapped in a warm tortilla it becomes a taco to eat on the way out. Chef's tip: cook the nopales uncovered until the slime has gone completely before the eggs go in.
Named after a famous old Mexico City bakery, garibaldis are little dome-shaped butter cakes coated in warm apricot jam and rolled in white nonpareils, so they look like snowballs on the counter. Chilangos buy them by the bag for afternoon coffee and school lunchboxes. The cake is dense and buttery, the jam gives a sharp, sticky contrast and the sprinkles a light crunch. Chef's tip: brush the jam on while the cakes are still warm, as the sprinkles then stick evenly.
In the markets of Puebla, Tlaxcala and Mexico City, cocoles are the plain, honest bread of the morning: diamond-shaped, deep brown from piloncillo, fragrant with anise and studded with sesame seeds on top. They are not very sweet, so people eat them with café de olla or split them for a cheese torta. Old bakers used lard; this version uses vegetable shortening, so it stays vegetarian and vegan. Chef's tip: steep the anise in the warm piloncillo syrup, so its flavour runs through every bite.
Jamoncillo turns up wrapped in waxed paper at sweet stalls from Puebla to Coahuila, and in San Luis Potosí and Guadalajara whole shops are given over to it. Milk and sugar are cooked down slowly with cinnamon until they turn into a pale caramel-coloured fudge that is firm, slightly grainy and rich, then pressed into bars and topped with pecan halves. Chef's tip: keep the heat moderate and stir all the time near the end, because the paste can catch and burn in seconds.
In the cold months, when guavas from Aguascalientes and Michoacán perfume the markets, street vendors in Mexico City ladle atole de guayaba from big steaming pots beside the tamal cart. Ripe guava is blended with milk, strained and thickened with cornflour into a pink, creamy, fragrant drink. It contains dairy. Chef's tip: add the blended guava only once the milk is thickened and off the boil, so the milk doesn't curdle.
Pink, warm and sweet, atole de fresa is a children's favourite in Mexico City and Irapuato, the strawberry capital of Guanajuato, sold in polystyrene cups alongside tamales for breakfast. Fresh strawberries are blended with milk and thickened with a little masa, which gives a gentle corn flavour under the fruit. It contains dairy. Chef's tip: blend the strawberries raw and add them at the end, so the drink keeps its bright colour.
Raw green salsa sits in a bowl on nearly every taquería counter from Toluca to Mexico City, and families blend a fresh jar most mornings to spoon over eggs, tacos de guisado and grilled meat. Because the tomatillos are not cooked, it tastes sharp, grassy and almost citrusy, with a clean serrano bite. It takes ten minutes and keeps three days in the fridge, thickening slightly as the tomatillo pectin sets. Chef's tip: choose firm, bright green tomatillos that have split their papery husks; yellowing ones are sweeter and make a dull salsa.
In homes from Monterrey to Guadalajara, a big bowl of creamy apple salad is chilling in the fridge on Christmas Eve, ready to sit alongside roast pork or turkey, and the kids usually go back for seconds as dessert. Crisp diced apple, juicy pineapple, celery for crunch, raisins and toasted pecans are folded into a sweet dressing of cream, condensed milk and a little soured cream. Many versions add marshmallows, but most contain gelatine, so they are left out here. Chef's tip: chill it for an hour before serving; the dressing thickens and the flavours marry.
Mexican family parties, from birthday lunches in Monterrey to Sunday comida in Guadalajara, very often end with flan napolitano. It is richer and denser than a Spanish egg flan, because condensed milk, evaporated milk and cream cheese are blended into the custard, giving a cheesecake-like slice under a dark caramel. It contains eggs and dairy; standard cream cheese is made without animal rennet. Chef's tip: bake it in a gentle water bath and chill it overnight before turning out, so it slices clean.
Sold in twists of paper at bus stations and set out free with a drink in Mexican cantinas, these peanuts are fried slowly with whole garlic and dried chile de árbol, then tossed with chile powder, salt and lime. They're crunchy, salty, sour and hot all at once. Make a batch for a party or keep a jar for snacking. They contain peanuts, so warn guests with nut allergies. Chef's tip: let them cool fully on a tray before tasting; they only turn properly crunchy once cold.
Market cooks in Puebla, Tlaxcala and the State of Mexico still blister tomatoes, garlic and chiles on a dry comal and grind them in the same volcanic-stone mortar that gives this salsa its name. The result is chunky, smoky and slightly sweet from the charred tomato skins, and it is served warm or at room temperature with grilled meat, quesadillas and barbacoa. A blender works, but the molcajete gives a rougher, juicier texture. Chef's tip: grind the garlic, chile and salt first, then the tomatoes, so the hard bits break down properly.
Chiltomate is the everyday red sauce of the Yucatán Peninsula, ladled over papadzules, huevos motuleños, panuchos and grilled pork in Mérida's cocinas económicas. Tomatoes are charred on the comal, blended and simmered with onion, while a whole roasted habanero floats in the pan to scent it with fruity heat. It is mild unless you split the chile. Chef's tip: for real heat, slit the habanero before simmering; for a family table, leave it whole and lift it out.
Named for the leather sandals they resemble, huaraches are the pride of the market stalls around La Merced and the Jamaica market in Mexico City, where long ovals of masa are filled with beans, griddled and loaded with toppings at breakfast or lunch. This vegetarian version is topped with salsa verde, grilled nopales, crema, onion and crumbled fresh cheese. Most queso fresco is set with animal rennet; a vegetarian-labelled fresh cheese or a crumbly feta made with microbial rennet keeps it meat-free. Chef's tip: pat the beans into a log inside the masa before pressing, so they spread evenly to the edges.
Bocoles are breakfast across the Huasteca, the green hill country shared by Veracruz, San Luis Potosí and Tamaulipas, where they come off the comal at dawn to be split open and stuffed. The masa is enriched with fat (traditionally pork lard; vegetable shortening here keeps them vegetarian) so the cakes are tender and slightly crumbly. Fill them with beans, cheese and salsa, or with scrambled egg. If you keep a vegetarian kitchen, note that ranch-style fresh cheese is usually set with animal rennet; a vegetarian queso fresco or feta does the same job. Chef's tip: cook them slowly over a medium-low heat so the thick centre cooks through before the outside burns.
Peneques are a Lenten and weekday favourite in the fondas of Mexico City and Puebla: thin masa pockets are cooked on the comal, stuffed with stringy cheese, coated in a fluffy egg batter, fried and then simmered briefly in a light tomato broth, like a chile relleno without the chile. They are soft, comforting and served with rice and beans. Oaxaca cheese is commonly made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian mozzarella or stretched-curd cheese if that matters to you. Chef's tip: dust the stuffed pockets with masa harina before battering so the egg clings instead of sliding off.
Meatless Fridays in Lent turn Mexican kitchens toward tortitas: in Mexico City and across the Bajío, golden patties of mashed potato and cheese are fried, then slipped into a thin, warm tomato caldillo and eaten with rice, beans and tortillas. Children love them, and they stretch a few potatoes into a proper meal. Mexican fresh cheeses are often made with animal rennet; a vegetarian mozzarella or mild cheddar works well. Chef's tip: mash the potatoes while hot and let them steam dry, so the patties hold together without flour.
In the port of Veracruz and the coffee towns around Xalapa, morning cafés roll out a dark, savoury omelette that looks plain and tastes rich: eggs are 'thrown' into a pan of black refried beans and stirred, then rolled into a log and served with tortillas, fresh cheese and salsa. It keeps workers going till lunch. Chef's tip: the beans should be thick and fairly dry, like mashed potato, or the roll won't hold.
Red pleated paper cups give mantecadas away at once on the bakery tray, from Monterrey to Mérida. Inside is a tender, golden, slightly orange-scented sponge, richer than a cupcake and topped with a domed crust, eaten for breakfast or merienda with milky coffee. They contain egg, butter and wheat. Chef's tip: let the batter rest for 20 minutes before baking, which gives the tall, cracked dome bakery mantecadas are known for.
Late at night outside Mexico City's taquerías, the squeeze bottle of rust-red salsa is what regulars reach for to wake up tacos de suadero and al pastor. It is thin, very hot and a little sour from vinegar, with the toasty, nutty heat of chile de árbol balanced by cooked tomatillo. Small amounts go a long way, and it keeps two weeks in the fridge. Chef's tip: toast the chiles only until they darken and smell nutty, about 30 seconds; a minute too long and the whole batch turns bitter.
In Puebla and Oaxaca, leftover mole from a fiesta becomes enmoladas the next day: warm tortillas dipped in the dark sauce, folded around cheese and finished with onion and toasted sesame. This version makes a quick vegetarian mole from scratch with vegetable stock and oil, because market moles often contain lard or chicken stock. The cheese is the one ingredient to check, since queso fresco is often made with animal rennet; use a vegetarian fresh cheese or paneer-style curd instead. Chef's tip: keep the mole loose, like pouring cream, so it coats each tortilla in a thin glossy layer rather than a thick paste.
In Orizaba and Córdoba in the mountains of Veracruz, salsa macha is a jar that lives on the table: dried chiles, garlic, peanuts and sesame fried in oil and crushed into a dark, crunchy relish. It is spooned over eggs, tamales, beans, grilled vegetables and even fresh cheese, and a little goes a long way. The flavour is smoky and nutty rather than fiercely hot when made with mild chiles. This version contains peanuts and sesame, both common allergens. Chef's tip: let the oil cool for a minute before the chiles go in; they need gentle heat to release their flavour without scorching.
Few dishes say Good Friday in Mexico City, Hidalgo and Tlaxcala like a bowl of thick, golden caldo de habas, made from peeled dried fava beans cooked down until they almost dissolve. Tomato, onion and garlic give it body, cumin warmth and a handful of fresh mint lifts it, with lime and a pinch of chilli flakes at the table. Cheap, filling and protein-rich, it suits any cold weekday. Look for yellow, peeled split favas at Latin or Middle Eastern shops. Chef's tip: add the mint only at the very end, or it turns grey and loses its scent.
The name means 'sailing cactus', for the strips of nopal floating in a light red broth, and the dish is a standby of Lent in Hidalgo and the State of Mexico, when cooks want something warming and meatless. Eggs are cracked straight into the simmering caldo to poach, and the bowl is finished with fresh cheese, coriander and lime. It is light, cheap and ready in about forty minutes. Use a vegetarian cheese if you avoid animal rennet. Chef's tip: boil the nopales separately first and rinse well, so their slippery juice doesn't thicken the broth.
Late summer is tuna season across the central highlands, from Hidalgo and the Estado de México down to Puebla's Teotihuacán valley, and that is when the big vitroleros in markets and taquerías turn shocking pink. Agua de tuna is just the cactus fruit blended with water, lime and a little sugar, strained, and poured over ice with lunch. Red tunas give a vivid colour and a taste between watermelon and pear; green ones make a paler, more herbal drink. It should be light and thirst-quenching, never syrupy. The commonest mistake is blending too long: the hard seeds crack and the agua turns gritty and slightly bitter. Pulse briefly, just enough to free the pulp, then strain well. It is ready when the liquid runs smooth through the sieve and tastes clearly of fruit with only a lift of lime. Handle unpeeled tunas with tongs or gloves: even 'cleaned' ones keep tiny glochids. Chef's tip: chill the peeled fruit before blending; cold pulp keeps its colour bright and needs less ice to dilute it.
Families in San Luis Potosí and across central Mexico make this for a slow weekend breakfast or almuerzo: strips of charred poblano chilli simmered in a loose tomato broth, eggs poached right in the pan, and cubes of fresh cheese softening on top, with warm corn tortillas to mop it up. The name, "the mestiza's petticoat hem", is said to come from the ragged strips of chilli. The common mistake is cooking the sauce too thick: it should stay brothy, almost like a soup, or the eggs scorch before they set. Some queso fresco is made with animal rennet; for a vegetarian dish choose one made with microbial rennet, or use paneer. Cook the yolks until firm for pregnant people, young children, older or vulnerable people. Chef's tip: sweat the poblano strips in the oil before the tomato goes in, so their smoky flavour seasons the whole broth.
In the canyons of the Sierra Tarahumara in Chihuahua, Rarámuri runners set off at dawn carrying a pouch of pinole, corn kernels toasted on a clay comal and ground fine, to stir into cold water along the trail. Across northern Mexico it is still a breakfast drink, sweetened with piloncillo and cinnamon and stirred into water or warm milk. This version toasts coarse cornmeal at home for the same nutty, popcorn-like flavour. The common mistake is toasting over a high heat: the outside burns and turns bitter before the inside goes golden. Chef's tip: toast a big batch and keep it in a jar, so a morning cup is just two spoonfuls stirred into water.
Several towns along Mexico's northern border, from Tijuana and Ensenada to Ciudad Juárez, claim the margarita as their own, born in the 1930s and 40s when visitors crossed over for tequila and tacos. Today it is the Friday-evening drink of norteño restaurants and family parties, poured beside carne asada and guacamole. This version is for adults only and it is simple: good 100% agave blanco tequila, fresh lime and orange liqueur. It should be bright and tart first, then gently sweet, with the salt on the rim making the lime taste even sharper. The usual mistake is reaching for bottled lime juice or ready-made sour mix, which gives a flat, sugary drink with a chemical bite. Squeeze limes just before shaking. A second slip is salting the whole rim inside and out; salt only the outside of half the rim so each sip is your choice. It is ready when the shaker is too cold to hold comfortably and a thin layer of ice crystals floats on top. Enjoy one slowly and drink responsibly. Chef's tip: use coarse sea salt mixed with a little grated lime zest for the rim; it sticks better and smells of lime.
At Mexico City's torta stands and school gates, the chile relleno torta is the meat-free favourite: a whole poblano, roasted, peeled, stuffed with melting cheese, dipped in fluffy egg batter and fried, then pressed into a bolillo spread with refried beans and salsa. People buy them warm mid-morning or wrap them in foil for lunch. The common mistake is frying a wet chile: the batter slides off, so pat it dry and dust it with flour first. Oaxaca cheese and Monterey Jack are often made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian melting cheese, and check the refried beans are made without lard. Chef's tip: beat the egg whites to stiff peaks before folding in the yolks; that airy capeado is what makes it puff and stay crisp.
Every cocina económica and family kitchen in Mérida keeps a pot of frijoles colados for the midday meal, the smooth, almost soupy black beans that sit beside cochinita, poc chuc, eggs or simply rice and tortillas across the Yucatán. The beans are cooked soft with epazote, pushed through a sieve, then simmered with onion fried until sweet. Traditionally the onion is fried in pork lard; this version uses oil so it is vegan. The usual mistake is straining beans that are not fully cooked, which gives a gritty, floury purée, so cook them until they crush with no effort. Chef's tip: drop a whole habanero into the simmering purée for 5 minutes for perfume without much heat, then fish it out.
At home time outside primary schools in Mexico City's Coyoacán and Narvarte, carts sell jicaletas, thick rounds of jícama pushed onto a stick like a giant lollipop and painted bright red with sweet-sour chamoy. They are crunchy, juicy and cold, with salty, sour and spicy layers on the outside, and make a light afternoon snack on a hot day. Chef's tip: cut the slices at least 1.5 cm thick, otherwise they snap off the stick at the first bite.
Frijoles maneados are the rich party beans of Sonora in northern Mexico, cooked for carne asada gatherings, weddings and Sunday lunch, and spooned onto flour tortillas. Soft pinto beans are mashed and beaten (maneados means stirred or worked) with dried red chile colorado, milk and so much melting cheese that the pot pulls into strings. Serve them with flour tortillas, grilled vegetables and a sharp salsa. The usual mistake is adding the cheese while the pot is boiling hard, which makes it go rubbery and oily; take the heat right down first. Chef's tip: Sonoran queso regional or Chihuahua cheese is often made with animal rennet, so for a vegetarian pot choose a vegetarian Monterey Jack-style or mild Cheddar cheese labelled suitable for vegetarians.
Chileajo is a cold dish of the Mixteca and the Oaxaca valley markets, sold from big clay bowls on Sundays and during Lent, and piled onto crisp tostadas at family fiestas. Potatoes, green beans, carrots, chayote, cauliflower and peas are cooked just tender and folded into a brick-red sauce of guajillo chiles, plenty of garlic, cloves and vinegar, then left to soak up its tangy, smoky heat. It keeps for days and improves as it sits. The usual mistake is overcooking the vegetables before they meet the sauce, so they turn mushy once mixed; they should still have a little bite. Chef's tip: toast the chiles only until they smell fragrant and blister, a few seconds a side; burnt chiles make the whole sauce bitter.
In Guadalajara and markets across central Mexico, tepacheros sell this drink from big clay jars, ladled over ice into bags with a straw on hot afternoons. It is the thrifty drink of the house: the peel and core left after eating a pineapple are fermented for two or three days with piloncillo, cinnamon and cloves until the liquid turns golden, faintly fizzy and pleasantly sour, like a spiced pineapple cider. Wild yeasts from the peel do the work, so it makes a trace of alcohol, well under 1% when drunk young; the longer it sits, the sourer and more alcoholic it gets. The common mistake is leaving it too long in a warm kitchen, when it turns vinegary and cloudy; in hot weather check after 36 hours. It is ready when it has a layer of fine bubbles, smells sweet-sour and fruity, and tastes tart rather than syrupy. White, flat foam can be skimmed; fuzzy, coloured mould, a slimy texture or a rotten smell mean throw it away. Keep it in the fridge 3–5 days, and if you bottle it for fizz, burp the bottles daily so pressure cannot build. Chef's tip: use an organic pineapple and do not scrub the peel, as the yeasts live on its skin.
In the markets of Oaxaca city and San Andrés Huayápam, women sit behind wide painted gourds of tejate, scooping it into jícaras for anyone who needs cooling down in the hot middle of the day; it turns up at Guelaguetza in July, at village fiestas and at every Sunday tianguis. The base is maize, cooked with wood ash, ground on a metate with toasted cacao beans, the roasted kernel of the mamey seed (pixtle) and dried rosita de cacao flowers. That paste is worked by hand into cold water until a thick, beige foam rises and floats. Each sip is cool, earthy and faintly bitter, like cocoa without milk, with grainy body below and the airy flor on top; you sweeten it to taste with a thin sugar syrup. The usual mistake is mixing too fast with lots of water at once: the paste never emulsifies and no foam forms. Add water a little at a time and keep lifting and dropping the paste with your hand. It is ready when a firm, creamy foam a finger thick sits on the surface. Pixtle must be thoroughly roasted and only used in the small amount given, as raw mamey seed is not safe to eat. Chef's tip: grind everything twice; the finer the paste, the taller and longer-lasting the flor.
When the big, mottled chilacayote squashes ripen at the end of the rains, cooks in Oaxaca's valleys and the Mixteca of Puebla turn them into a drink you eat with a spoon. The flesh is cooked with dark piloncillo and cinnamon until it falls into translucent threads, then cooled and loosened with water; in Oaxaca it is ladled out of clay jars at fairs, weddings and the Day of the Dead, often with a little pineapple. It tastes like cinnamon-scented panela, with soft, slightly crunchy strands that slide up the straw. The usual mistake is boiling it to mush; overcooked flesh goes cloudy and the strands disappear. Simmer gently and stop when the threads separate easily with a fork but still have a little bite. It is ready when the syrup is amber and the strands look glassy. Chilacayote is hard to find outside Mexico; spaghetti squash is the best substitute and gives the same threads. Keeps 3 days in the fridge. Chef's tip: grate a little orange zest into the pot in the last minute to brighten the piloncillo.
Ask for a drink in a Guadalajara cantina or a family patio in the town of Tequila and you are more likely to get a paloma than a margarita. It is the easy Sunday drink of Jalisco, poured alongside birria, tortas ahogadas and plates of peanuts with chilli, and like every cocktail here it is for adults only. A paloma is tall, cold and fizzy: bitter-sweet grapefruit, a sharp hit of lime, the earthy agave of the tequila and a pinch of salt that makes the citrus pop. The common mistake is pouring the soda in hard and stirring like mad, which knocks out the bubbles and leaves a flat, sweet drink. Build it over plenty of ice, pour the soda down the side of the glass and lift once with a spoon. It is ready when the glass is beaded with cold, the salt rim is still crisp and the drink is still fizzing loudly. Keep a glass of water alongside and drink responsibly. If you cannot find Mexican grapefruit soda, use fresh pink grapefruit juice topped up with soda water and a little sugar syrup. Chef's tip: add a tiny pinch of salt to the drink itself, not just the rim; it softens the bitterness of the grapefruit.
Think of enfrijoladas as enchiladas that swap chilli sauce for beans: warm tortillas dipped in a silky black-bean purée, folded into quarters and scattered with fresh cheese and raw onion. In Oaxaca they are a breakfast and supper dish, made from yesterday's pot of beans, and the purée is perfumed with toasted avocado leaves, which taste faintly of anise. Serve two or three per person with a fried egg or a spoonful of salsa. Queso fresco is often made with animal rennet; use a vegetarian feta or paneer-style fresh cheese if that matters to you. Chef's tip: keep the bean sauce loose, like double cream; it thickens on the plate and a stiff sauce tears the tortillas.
Early morning at the Oaxaca City markets, women press masa into thick ovals, bake them on clay comales and pinch up the edges while they are still hot: these are memelas, eaten standing at the stall with coffee. Each one is smeared with asiento, the toasty unrefined pork lard of Oaxaca, then black beans, salsa and crumbled cheese. For a vegetarian version we use browned butter (or vegetable shortening for a dairy-free base), which gives a similar nutty richness. The masa should be soft and slightly chewy, the base speckled brown. Queso fresco is often made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian fresh cheese if needed. Chef's tip: pinch the rim while the memela is too hot to handle comfortably (use a damp cloth); once it cools, the masa sets and cracks.
Walk down Calle Mina in Oaxaca City and the air smells of cacao, cinnamon and almonds, roasted and ground into chocolate in front of you at the mills. Most Oaxacans drink it made with water, not milk, so the taste of the cacao comes through clean and slightly bitter, with a thick head of foam raised with a wooden molinillo. It is drunk for breakfast with pan de yema and at every wedding and Day of the Dead altar. The tablets already hold sugar and cinnamon; we give a version with dark chocolate too. Chef's tip: the foam is the point, so whisk hard just before pouring and serve in wide cups.
Nicuatole is a Zapotec sweet sold in little squares from glass cases at Oaxacan markets and at village fiestas, often with a bright pink top coloured with cochineal. It is made from corn masa cooked with water, sugar and cinnamon until it thickens enough to set when cool, a cousin of atole you can cut with a knife. The texture is soft, slightly bouncy and cool, and it is eaten as an afternoon treat. We give a coconut-milk option and use beetroot juice or a natural red food colouring instead of cochineal (which comes from insects) for the red layer. Chef's tip: cook it until the spoon leaves a clear path across the pan base for a full second; undercooked nicuatole never sets.
In Oaxaca's central valleys, the 'yellow' mole is the everyday one of the seven: lighter than mole negro, made on weekdays, sold at market fondas in Tlacolula and Ocotlán and folded into empanadas on the comal. Guajillo and costeño chillies give it a brick-orange colour, a few tomatillos make it tangy, and masa stirred in at the end thickens it to a soft, velvety sauce. Oaxacan cooks use chicken or beef broth; this version uses vegetable stock with chayote, green beans and potatoes, which is also how many homes make it during Lent. Serve it in deep bowls with corn tortillas. Chef's tip: the fresh hoja santa leaf (or a few fennel fronds) is what makes it taste Oaxacan, so add it for the last few minutes only.
On Sunday evenings in the old centre of Puebla, around the Barrio de San Francisco and the Paseo Bravo, stalls fry stacks of small, thin tortillas in shallow oil and paint them half red and half green with salsa. These are chalupas poblanas, sold by the half dozen on paper plates and eaten in a few bites. The Puebla version is usually topped with shredded pork; ours keeps the salsas, onion and cheese, which are the real flavour, and adds a few beans. The edges should be crisp, the middle still a little soft from the salsa. Cheese like queso fresco is often made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian fresh cheese if you prefer. Chef's tip: spoon the salsa on while the tortilla is still in the pan so it sizzles and soaks in.
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