Black bean tacos with lime slaw
Proof that a meat-free taco night can be the best one. The beans are mashed with chipotle and cumin so they hold together in the tortilla, and a quick lime slaw adds crunch.
Tacos, enchiladas, beans and salsas without meat or fish. (214 recipes)
Proof that a meat-free taco night can be the best one. The beans are mashed with chipotle and cumin so they hold together in the tortilla, and a quick lime slaw adds crunch.
Chipotles are ripe jalapeños smoked slowly over wood until leathery; in Puebla and Veracruz the reddish, plump mora type is the everyday one, and the tan, leathery meco is prized for its deeper smoke. Simmered in a sweet-sour adobo of tomato, onion, garlic, vinegar and piloncillo, they become the soft, glossy chillies that go into tinga poblana, albóndigas en chipotle, bean soups and a quick chipotle mayonnaise. Homemade, they are smokier and less sugary than the tinned kind, with sauce that is brick red, tangy and thick enough to coat a spoon. Common mistake: toasting the dried chillies too long; a few seconds a side is enough, because scorched chillies make the whole jar bitter. This is a low-acid chilli preserve, so it is kept in the fridge or freezer, never canned in a water bath. It is ready when the chipotles are plump and soft enough to crush with a spoon and the adobo has reduced to a glossy sauce. Chef's tip: blend one or two chillies with their sauce and freeze it in an ice-cube tray, so you can add a single cube to a pot.
The pasilla mixe is a small, wrinkled, red-brown chilli smoked in the Sierra Mixe mountains east of Oaxaca City, and it tastes of campfire, tobacco and dried fruit. Ground in a molcajete with roasted tomato and garlic, it becomes the salsa that sits on every table in Oaxacan fondas, spooned over memelas, eggs, beans and grilled vegetables. It keeps a week in the fridge and improves after a day. If you cannot find pasilla mixe, use chipotle mora plus one ancho. Chef's tip: grind the garlic and salt first, then the chillies, then the tomato; working in that order gives a rough, clinging texture rather than a watery purée.
On hot afternoons in Guadalajara, vendors ladle tejuino from big clay pots into plastic bags or glasses with ice, a squeeze of lime, a pinch of salt and often a scoop of lime sorbet. It is made from corn masa cooked with piloncillo and left for two or three days to ferment a little, which gives it a tangy, slightly sour taste. The fermentation is light and the drink is sold as non-alcoholic, but a trace of alcohol can form, so keep the fermentation to 2 days and serve it well chilled. Skip the fermenting stage entirely for children: drink it fresh as a sweet atole-style cooler. Chef's tip: taste it each day; take it to the fridge as soon as it tastes pleasantly sour, like a mild yoghurt.
Evening in Mérida's Plaza Grande means the smell of marquesitas: thin batter pressed in hot hinged irons until crisp, then rolled like a cigar around grated Edam cheese and a sweet filling such as cajeta, chocolate-hazelnut spread or jam. Edam came to the Yucatán through the port trade with the Netherlands and became part of the local cooking, and the salty-sweet combination is the whole point. At home you can cook them in a thin, wide frying pan. Edam is usually made with animal rennet, so check the label or use a vegetarian Gouda-style cheese. Chef's tip: roll while the crêpe is still in the pan and hot; within seconds it hardens and will crack.
Soft wheat and maize flatbreads rolled around a spicy kidney bean and potato filling, baked in a fiery tomato and red chilli sauce and topped with sour cream and cheese. Serve with extra hot sauce, sour cream, spring onions or salad.
A smooth, tangy tomato salsa of blanched tomatoes, sautéed onion, garlic, chilli and plenty of oregano, with a touch of cumin and coriander seed. Serve it with nacho triangles, tacos, quesadillas or as a dip for any snack.
Sliced tomatoes, creamy avocado and spring onions in a honey, mustard and red wine vinegar dressing, with tortilla chips stirred in at the end for crunch. It is a quick, Mexican-style side for parties and barbecues. Add the chips just before serving and eat it straight away, before they soften.
Crisp nacho triangles layered with a garlicky sour cream, jalapeño chillies and cheddar, baked for just 5 minutes until the cheese melts. Serve straight away with hot salsa. You can also serve the sour cream and salsa separately as dips.
A guacamole-style dip of ripe avocado mashed with tomato, onion, green chillies, coriander, a little sour cream, Tabasco and lemon. Make it smooth or chunky, as you like. Chill it and serve with nacho triangles.
Every 12 December, millions of pilgrims walk to the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City ('La Villa'), and all around it women cook gorditas de la Villa on clay comales: small, thick, sweet cakes of corn masa with piloncillo, cinnamon and a little anise, wrapped in coloured tissue paper to take home. They are soft and slightly chewy, with toasty spots. They are gluten free. Chef's tip: cook them on a dry, medium-low griddle; too hot and the sugar burns before the middle cooks through.
In central Mexico, Lent and Holy Week bring meatless Fridays, and huauzontles capeados are a beloved vigil dish. Huauzontle is a leafy, broccoli-like green with tiny seed buds; little bundles of the blanched sprigs are pressed around a piece of fresh cheese, dipped in fluffy egg batter, fried and then simmered briefly in a light tomato and chile broth. If you can't find huauzontle, use tenderstem broccoli tips or quelites. Queso fresco is usually made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: squeeze the blanched greens very dry, as wet greens make the batter slide off.
Each October the arcades of Toluca, in the State of Mexico, fill with the Feria del Alfeñique: stalls of little skulls, lambs, coffins, baskets and fruit, all modelled from sugar paste and painted bright colours for the Day of the Dead altars of 1 and 2 November. Children buy a skull with their own name on it; families place them on the ofrenda beside marigolds, candles and pan de muerto. The paste is snow-white, smooth and brittle once dry, with a clean sugar and lime taste. The old Toluca paste is egg-free, kneaded with chautle, a gum from an orchid bulb; here gum tragacanth plays that part, making the paste stretchy enough to model and helping it dry hard. The decorating icing is egg-free too, made from icing sugar, lime juice and a pinch of the same gum. Chef's tip: work the syrup while it is warm and keep the paste wrapped; the common mistake is letting it sit uncovered, so it dries out and cracks as you shape it.
Chileatole is a thick, savoury atole made in Puebla and Tlaxcala during the rainy-season corn harvest from July to September, sold steaming from big pots at markets in the evening and made at home when fresh corn is everywhere. Fresh corn kernels and pieces of cob simmer in a broth thickened with masa harina and tinted green with blended chilli and epazote. It is comforting and corny, with a gentle heat, and about 6 g of protein per bowl from the corn and masa. The most common mistake is adding the masa dry, which makes lumps: always dissolve it in cold water first. Chef's tip: simmer the stripped cobs in the water before you start, for a sweeter, deeper corn broth.
Across Mexico, from the orchards of Zacatecas and Puebla to every abuela's pantry, duraznos en almíbar are how the summer peach crop is kept, and a bowl of them chilled from the fridge is a classic Sunday dessert. Peeled peach halves are poached in a syrup of piloncillo, the cone-shaped raw cane sugar, with cinnamon and cloves, so they turn tender and glossy and soak up a warm, molasses-like sweetness. Serve them cold in their syrup, on their own, or with a spoon of crema or thick yoghurt. Nothing needs setting and no egg is involved: the fruit simply poaches in the sugar syrup, which thickens lightly as it cools. Chef's tip: choose ripe but firm peaches and poach them gently; the common mistake is boiling the syrup hard, which turns the halves ragged and stringy.
In Mexico City, Puebla and the towns of central Mexico, sopa de nopales is cooked at home during Lent and on any warm day when tender cactus paddles are cheap in the market. Diced nopales simmer in a light tomato and chilli broth with onion and coriander, giving a soup that is tangy, fresh and a little green-tasting, like green beans crossed with okra. It is very light, with about 3 g of protein per bowl; add a can of pinto beans or crumble fresh cheese on top for more. The most common mistake is putting raw nopales straight into the soup, which turns it slimy: boil them separately first and rinse them. Chef's tip: add a few tomatillo husks or a pinch of bicarbonate to the boiling water for the nopales; it helps set the slime so it rinses away.
In Guadalajara and the towns of Sinaloa, raspados are sold from carts and little shops from noon until late on hot days: a paper cup of finely shaved ice soaked in bright homemade syrups like tamarind, mango, strawberry and deep-red hibiscus, sometimes with fresh fruit and a squeeze of lime. They are the cheapest way to cool down, and children and adults line up alike. They are naturally egg-free and plant-based: there is nothing to set or bind, just fruit and sugar cooked into syrups thick enough to cling to the ice. The hibiscus is tart and floral, the mango sweet and thick, and the two side by side make a striking cup. Make the syrups and cool them quickly over iced water. Chef's tip: shave the ice as fine as you can and pour the syrup slowly; the common mistake is using coarse crushed ice, which lets the syrup run straight to the bottom.
Quelites is the Nahuatl-rooted word for the edible wild greens of central Mexico, such as quintoniles (amaranth), verdolagas (purslane) and huauzontle, and in the markets of Mexico City, Puebla and Tlaxcala they are sold by the bunch in the rainy season and cooked this way for everyday lunches. The greens are blanched, then sautéed with onion, garlic, tomato and serrano chilli until soft and savoury, and piled into hot corn tortillas with salsa and, if you like, crumbled fresh cheese. Without cheese it is vegan, with about 6 g of protein per portion including two tortillas. The common mistake is leaving the greens wet: they steam and turn watery instead of frying. Spinach, chard or amaranth leaves work if you can't find quelites. Chef's tip: cut the serrano in half lengthways and fry it with the onion; it flavours the oil gently and you can lift it out if it's too hot.
Campechanas take their name from the port of Campeche, but now they shatter all over the coffee tables of Mexico City and Veracruz: oval, paper-thin layers of dough with a glossy, caramelised sugar crust that cracks as you bite. Mexicans buy them in the evening from the panadería, along with conchas, to dunk in café de olla or hot chocolate. They are traditionally made with lard; this version uses vegetable shortening, which gives the same light flakiness and keeps them vegan. Butter also works but browns faster. The trap is a timid oven: below full heat the sugar stays grainy and white instead of turning to glass. Chef's tip: press the sugar firmly into the top before baking so it melts into an even shiny layer.
Papas a la mexicana carry the colours of the flag, red tomato, white onion and green chile, and they are cooked in kitchens all over Mexico as a taco filling, a breakfast side or a cheap supper with beans and tortillas. The potatoes are fried until golden at the edges, then folded with a quick sofrito so they soak up the fresh, spicy juices. The usual mistake is adding the tomato before the potatoes are cooked through, which leaves them hard in the middle and stewing rather than frying. Chef's tip: parboil the diced potatoes for 4 minutes first; they fry to a crisp edge in half the time.
In Hermosillo and across Sonora, caldo de queso is the soup cooked on cool desert evenings: a light tomato broth with potato and strips of roasted green Anaheim chile, poured over cubes of fresh cheese that soften into chewy, milky pieces in the bowl. It is eaten with flour tortillas, Sonora's own, and a squeeze of lime. The common mistake is boiling the cheese in the pot, where it melts into strings and sticks to the bottom; add it at the end, off the boil. Queso fresco and Oaxaca cheese are often made with animal rennet, so look for a vegetarian queso fresco, or use paneer, which keeps its shape the same way. Chef's tip: blister the chiles in a dry pan until black, then sweat them in a bowl under a plate for 5 minutes and the skins slip off.
Tortitas de calabacita are a Lenten and everyday favourite in Mexican homes from Puebla to Jalisco: grated courgette, crumbled cheese and egg fried into soft little cakes, then served with a warm, thin tomato salsa spooned over, plus rice and beans. They make a meatless Friday dinner that children happily eat. The mistake is crowding the pan, which drops the oil temperature and leaves the fritters greasy and pale; fry in batches. The fresh cheeses often used are made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian queso fresco or a vegetarian mild Cheddar. Chef's tip: let the batter rest 2 minutes after adding the flour so it thickens and holds together in the pan.
Coricos come from Sonora in Mexico's northwest, where maize has always been ground for more than tortillas. They are rings of sweet corn dough flavoured with cinnamon, baked until golden: firm and a little crunchy on the outside, with the slightly gritty, toasty taste of corn inside. Families make them by the dozen for coffee in the afternoon and for visitors, and Sonoran panaderías sell them in plastic bags by the counter. They are traditionally made with lard; this recipe uses butter (vegetable shortening works too), so they are vegetarian. A little wheat flour keeps the rings from cracking. Chef's tip: if the ropes split when you join them into rings, the dough is too dry; work in milk a teaspoon at a time until it bends without breaking.
At weddings, quinceañeras and Christmas gatherings in Nuevo León and Coahuila, someone always brings a platter of hojarascas, the name meaning 'fallen leaves' because they crumble as lightly as dry leaves underfoot. The cookies are short and sandy, spiced with cinnamon, and rolled while warm in more cinnamon sugar so they look frosted. Monterrey families serve them with café de olla or hot champurrado. They are traditionally made with lard; this version uses vegetable shortening, which gives the same tender crumb and makes them vegan, or you can use butter for a richer taste. Overworking the dough once the flour is in is the classic mistake, because it develops gluten and makes them tough. Chef's tip: steep a cinnamon stick in the water first and use that tea to bind the dough, which doubles the spice flavour without bitterness.
Mexican cafés, school bake sales and Sunday family lunches all have a pay de queso, the country's own take on cheesecake. Cream cheese, condensed milk and evaporated milk are whizzed in a blender with eggs and vanilla, poured onto a crust of crushed plain tea biscuits and baked into a dense, creamy slice with a caramel note from the condensed milk. Serve it chilled with coffee, or with strawberries or a spoon of cajeta on top for a party. The usual mistake is blending at full speed for too long, which whips in air and makes the top rise and crack. Chef's tip: blend on low just until smooth, then tap the filled tin on the worktop a few times to bring big bubbles to the surface.
Huevos al albañil, 'bricklayer's eggs', come from the fondas and food stalls of central Mexico that feed builders a filling breakfast before the sun gets hot: scrambled eggs cooked gently and then bathed in a spicy salsa of charred tomato and serrano chile. They are eaten with warm corn tortillas and refried beans, and they make an equally good quick dinner. The mistake is cooking the eggs fully before they meet the salsa; they keep cooking in it and end up dry and rubbery. Chef's tip: char the tomatoes and chiles until properly blackened in spots, which gives the salsa its smoky depth.
Huevo con papa is a breakfast and supper standby in kitchens all over Mexico: small cubes of potato fried until tender, then scrambled with egg and rolled into warm tortillas. Mild, soft and easy to hold, it is a favourite for toddlers from a year old, and the grown-ups add salsa to their own. It contains egg; made with 100% corn tortillas it has no gluten, and it has no milk, nuts, soya, sesame or fish. Chef's tip: cut the potato into small 1 cm cubes and cover the pan for the first few minutes, so it steams tender before it browns.
Mexican families nearly always have a pot of frijoles de la olla on the stove, and before the salt goes in a cup of caldito is set aside for the baby. Black or pinto beans are cooked slowly with a piece of onion until they collapse; the broth is offered first on its own and, a week or two later, thickened with the sieved bean flesh into a smooth, earthy purée. Families from Oaxaca to Monterrey give it at midday, the time of the main meal. It has none of the common allergens (milk, egg, gluten, peanut, tree nuts, soya, sesame, fish). Chef's tip: soak the beans overnight and change the water; they cook more evenly and are easier on small tummies.
In central Mexico, from Mexico City markets to kitchens in Hidalgo and Puebla, gorditas de nata were traditionally made with the thick skin of cream (nata) skimmed from boiled milk, and grandmothers still cook them on the comal for an afternoon merienda with hot chocolate or milky coffee. They are soft and cakey inside with a lightly crisp, golden face, somewhere between a scone and a pancake. Double cream stands in for nata here. They contain gluten, milk and egg. Chef's tip: keep the comal on a low-medium heat; these brown quickly because of the cream and sugar.
Atole is the warm, thick drink Mexicans have sipped since before the conquest, and in many homes the first version a baby tastes is atole de arroz, ground rice cooked with a stick of true cinnamon. For grown-ups it is sweetened with piloncillo and drunk at breakfast or on cold evenings around Día de Muertos; for babies the sugar stays out and it is thickened enough to eat from a spoon. It contains milk; there is no egg, gluten, nuts, soya, sesame or fish. Chef's tip: grind the rice yourself in a spice grinder; shop-bought rice flour works, but freshly ground rice tastes sweeter.
In Sonora and the rest of northern Mexico, where wheat tortillas are an everyday bread, a burrito of refried beans and cheese is one of the simplest things to wrap in foil for a child's school lunch or an after-school snack. The beans are fried with a little onion and cumin until thick and creamy, then rolled up with cheese and toasted so it melts. It contains milk and gluten (wheat tortillas). Chef's tip: warm the tortillas before filling them; cold ones crack when you roll them.
Sopa de letras is the soup almost every Mexican child grows up on, served as the 'sopa aguada' course at the midday meal: tiny letter-shaped pasta, toasted golden in oil, then simmered in a broth of blended tomato, onion and garlic with soft diced carrot. For toddlers it is made with a no-salt vegetable stock, so the sweetness of the tomato comes through. It contains gluten (wheat); it has no milk, egg, nuts, soya, sesame or fish. Chef's tip: toast the pasta until it smells nutty and turns light gold; that is where the flavour comes from.
Sesame-flecked and burnished almost to mahogany, Oaxaca's pan de yema is made for dunking. Bakeries in the city and in the bread town of San Antonio de la Cal turn it out daily, but it is most loved around Día de Muertos, when it sits on the family altar with marigolds and a painted dough face, and is broken into bowls of frothy Oaxacan hot chocolate made with water or milk. The crumb is dense, yellow and close, with a gentle orange note. Some bakers use lard; butter and vegetable shortening are used here so it stays vegetarian. A pale loaf is the giveaway of skipping the second yolk wash: brush twice for that deep, shiny crust. Chef's tip: the dough is heavy and sticky with yolks, so knead it by machine and resist adding flour; it firms up as it develops.
Without teleras there would be no torta, Mexico City's great lunchtime sandwich. These wide, flattish oval rolls, marked with two long grooves, have a thin, tender crust and a soft, close crumb that holds refried beans, avocado, queso and pickled jalapeños without falling apart. Every neighbourhood panadería piles them on metal trays next to the crustier bolillos, and street stalls toast them on a griddle before filling. Some bakers add a spoonful of lard to the dough; vegetable shortening gives the same softness and keeps these vegan. Pressing the grooves too gently is the usual mistake, because they puff closed in the oven and you lose the three-part shape. Chef's tip: for a proper torta, split the roll, pull out a little of the crumb and toast the cut sides on a hot comal with a smear of oil or butter.
At Mexican children's birthday parties and family gatherings, a big tray of espagueti blanco usually sits next to the chicken and the salads: soft spaghetti in a mild, silky sauce of cream, cream cheese and butter, sometimes with a little onion and garlic blended in. Some families add diced ham; this version keeps it vegetarian with sweetcorn. It contains milk and gluten. Chef's tip: blend the sauce while it is warm so it is perfectly smooth, then toss it with the pasta off the heat so it stays creamy.
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.
Every Mexican home and fonda keeps a jar of pickled jalapeños for tortas, tacos, rice and a plate of beans, and the homemade kind is crisper and more fragrant than anything in a tin. Whole or sliced chiles are briefly fried with carrot coins, onion and garlic, then simmered in a herb-scented vinegar brine with bay, thyme and Mexican oregano. They are ready the next day and keep a month in the fridge. Chef's tip: wear gloves when slicing the chiles and keep your hands away from your eyes.
Mexican market juice stalls make agua de melón with the ripest, most fragrant cantaloupes, and many cooks blend in the seeds and the soft pulp around them, which adds a creamy body and a nutty flavour. It's served in tall glasses on hot afternoons from Guanajuato to Veracruz and is a favourite with kids. Chef's tip: smell the stalk end of the melon before you buy it; if it smells sweet, the drink will too.
Coconut pops are a classic of the paleterías of Michoacán and of the beach carts of Acapulco and Veracruz, where fresh coconuts are cracked open to order. They are milky, sweet and chewy with shreds of coconut, more like frozen coconut cream than ice. It contains dairy. Chef's tip: toast a third of the coconut lightly before using, which brings out a deeper flavour without changing the snowy colour much.
A milpa is the traditional Mexican field where corn, beans and squash grow side by side, and this soup puts the summer harvest from that field into one pot. A light tomato broth carries chunks of corn, courgette, roasted poblano strips, a handful of black beans and squash blossoms, with epazote for its earthy, herbal note. In Central Mexico it's a healthy everyday lunch in the rainy season. Top it with cubes of panela cheese, which is usually made with animal rennet; choose a vegetarian one. Chef's tip: cut the corn into rounds rather than taking off the kernels, so everyone gets a sweet piece to gnaw.
Pipián verde is one of the oldest sauces in central Mexico, thickened with ground pumpkin seeds long before chocolate moles appeared, and in Puebla it is often served during Lent with vegetables. Toasted seeds are blended with tomatillo, green chiles, herbs and lettuce leaves into a pale jade sauce that tastes nutty and gently tangy. Here it coats tender chayote and green beans; the same sauce is also made with poached chicken. Serve with rice and warm tortillas. Chef's tip: once the seed paste is in the pan, keep it at a lazy simmer, because boiling makes the sauce grainy and split.
When watermelons are piled high in the markets of Jalisco and Sonora in summer, almost every taquería has a jar of bright pink agua de sandía next to the horchata. It needs only ripe watermelon, water, a squeeze of lime and a touch of sugar, and children love it. Chef's tip: a very ripe melon may need no sugar at all, so taste before you sweeten.
In the Mixteca region between Oaxaca and Puebla, tetelas are folded into neat triangles on the comal and sold at village markets, often filled with black beans scented with avocado leaf and a little stringy quesillo. The masa turns toasty and slightly crisp outside while the filling stays creamy, and they are eaten with salsa as a snack or light supper. Quesillo is traditionally made with animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian stretched-curd cheese or a mozzarella labelled suitable for vegetarians. Chef's tip: fold the third side over last and press the seams with your fingertip so nothing leaks onto the comal.
Mexico City cafés such as the old breakfast halls of the Centro serve bisquets split hot with butter and strawberry jam alongside café con leche. They are taller, sweeter and more cake-like than American biscuits, with a shiny egg-washed top and layers that pull apart. They contain wheat, egg and dairy. Chef's tip: cut straight down with a sharp cutter and never twist, so the sides stay open and the bisquets rise tall.
In April and May, when Ataulfo mangoes from Chiapas and Manila mangoes from Veracruz flood the markets, agua de mango becomes the drink of every comida corrida. It is thick, golden and very fruity, sharpened with lime. Chef's tip: use soft, fully ripe yellow mangoes with wrinkled skin; they need far less sugar and give a smooth, fibre-free drink.
Entomatadas are what many families in central and northern Mexico make on a weekday evening, from Querétaro to Chihuahua: corn tortillas warmed in oil, bathed in a mild, garlicky tomato sauce and folded around fresh cheese. Without dried chiles they are gentle enough for children, and they are often served with refried beans and a fried egg on the side. Check the cheese label: many fresh Mexican cheeses use animal rennet, and a vegetarian queso fresco or ricotta salata works just as well here. Chef's tip: warm each tortilla in a little oil before it meets the sauce, so it bends without tearing.
Late on 24 December, families in Mexico City and the central states gather for the cena de Nochebuena, and on the table, next to the romeritos and bacalao, sits this jewel-bright salad. Beetroot stains the crisp jícama pink, sweet oranges and apple balance its earthiness, and roasted peanuts and pomegranate seeds scatter over the top with a little lettuce underneath. It is fresh relief among rich Christmas dishes and children love the colour. Chef's tip: dress the beetroot separately and add it at the last minute, unless you want everything magenta.
On the evening of 5 or 6 January, offices, schools and families all over Mexico cut a rosca de reyes for the Three Kings, washing it down with hot chocolate. The soft orange-scented ring is jewelled with candied fig, quince paste and cherries and striped with crunchy sugar paste; hidden inside is a tiny figure of the baby Jesus, and whoever finds it in their slice must host a tamales party on 2 February. Always tell guests there is a figurine and warn little children, as it is a choking risk; a whole almond is a safer stand-in. Chef's tip: push the figure in from underneath after baking, so it does not melt or show.
Few snacks are as simple or as refreshing as this one, sold in bags from street carts and made at home all over Mexico as an after-school or pre-lunch nibble. Jícama tastes like a cross between apple and water chestnut: crisp, juicy and barely sweet. Lime, salt and chile powder are all it needs. Chef's tip: a short soak in iced water makes the sticks extra crisp.
Unlike the sauced enchiladas of Mexico City, the enchiladas of San Luis Potosí are small turnovers of masa kneaded with red chile paste, filled with fresh cheese and onion, cooked on the comal and quickly fried. In the city's plaza they are sold by the dozen with crema, shredded lettuce and pickled vegetables, and they're a favourite for Sunday family suppers. For a fully vegetarian plate, swap the usual animal-rennet queso fresco for a vegetarian fresh cheese or a mild microbial-rennet feta. Chef's tip: let the chile paste cool before kneading it into the masa, or the dough turns sticky.
In homes across Puebla, Hidalgo and Mexico City, 'drowned eggs' are what you make when the fridge is nearly empty and breakfast must still be hot: a thin, brothy salsa of tomato, chile and onion is brought to a simmer, a sprig of epazote goes in, and the eggs are poached right in it. Spooned into bowls with tortillas or a crusty bolillo for dunking, it is lighter than it looks. Chef's tip: keep the salsa thinner than a pasta sauce, so the eggs can sink and poach evenly.
Born in the 1990s at a juice stand in Guadalajara, Jalisco, the biónico is now the city's favourite breakfast on the go: a tall cup of chopped papaya, melon, apple, banana and strawberries drenched in a sweet cream of yoghurt, soured cream and condensed milk, then scattered with granola, coconut and raisins. Kids adore it and it takes fifteen minutes. Chef's tip: cut the banana last and fold it straight into the cream, so it stays pale.
Before dawn in Mexico City, León or Puebla, neighbourhood bakeries pull trays of bolillos from the oven for tortas, molletes and the morning coffee. The rolls are oval with pointed ends and one deep slash, a thin crackly crust and a light, slightly chewy crumb, born from the French bakers who worked in Mexico in the 1860s. This version is made with no lard or butter, so it is vegan. Chef's tip: a tray of boiling water in the oven for the first ten minutes is what gives the crust its shine and crackle.
Every pan dulce case in Mexico has a row of little brown pigs, called marranitos in the centre, cochinitos in the north and puerquitos in between. They are soft, cakey biscuits sweetened with dark piloncillo cane sugar, spiced with cinnamon and a touch of anise, and dunked into café de olla or cold milk in the afternoon. They are made here with butter, so they suit vegetarians, and contain egg and wheat. Chef's tip: roll the dough thick, about 1 cm, because thin pigs bake into hard crackers instead of soft cakes.
In Mexican home kitchens carlota de limón is the dessert everyone's aunt knows by heart: layers of Marías biscuits and a lime cream whipped from condensed and evaporated milk, chilled until it slices like a cake. It is made on hot afternoons in Sonora and Veracruz and turns up at every children's party. The lime curdles the milk just enough to thicken it, so there's no cooking at all. It contains wheat and dairy. Chef's tip: blend in the lime juice slowly, with the motor running, until the cream thickens visibly.
From July to September, when the summer rains fill Mexico City's markets with armfuls of orange squash blossoms, home cooks turn them into this light, golden soup. Half the blossoms are blended with onion into the base and the rest go in whole at the end, with diced courgette, sweetcorn and a sprig of epazote. The result is delicate and floral, a good first course before something rich. Serve with crumbled queso fresco; it is usually made with animal rennet, so look for a vegetarian one. Chef's tip: buy blossoms in the morning and use them the same day, as they wilt within hours.
Among the stews kept warm in clay pots at Mexico City's taco de guisado stands, requesón is a mild, creamy favourite: soft fresh curd cooked with onion, serrano and the pungent herb epazote. It is eaten in small doubled tortillas with salsa verde, often at breakfast. Requesón is made from whey left after rennet cheesemaking, so choose ricotta labelled vegetarian if that matters to you. Chef's tip: cook the curd only until hot and slightly dry; long cooking makes it rubbery.
In the markets of Toluca, Mexico City and Oaxaca, the alfeñique stalls of late October are piled with gleaming white sugar skulls, and families buy them to write a loved one's name across the forehead and set them on the home altar. They are mainly decorative: made right they set rock hard and keep for a year, and children may nibble a little, but they are not really a sweet for eating. Pressing damp sugar into a skull mould is easy, and the fun is the decorating with royal icing, sequins and coloured foil. Chef's tip: let the skulls dry for a full day before icing, or the damp sugar weeps into the colours.
Every tamal tray in Mexico City has a few pink ones tucked in among the green and red, and these sweet tamales are what children reach for first at December posadas and on 2 February, Día de la Candelaria. The masa is beaten with butter and sugar, tinted the colour of a sugared almond and studded with raisins, then steamed in husks until soft and cakey; they are eaten warm with atole or hot chocolate. This version uses butter and vegetable shortening, not lard. Chef's tip: add a few drops of colour at a time; the pink deepens as it steams.
When the first squash of autumn arrives, kitchens across Puebla, Tlaxcala and Mexico State fill with the dark caramel smell of calabaza en tacha, a sweet that goes on the ofrenda on 1 November and is eaten warm at breakfast with a splash of cold milk. Wedges of pumpkin simmer slowly in piloncillo, the cone-shaped raw cane sugar, with cinnamon bark, orange and a few cloves until the flesh turns glossy amber and the syrup thickens. It is homely, deeply sweet and spiced. Chef's tip: lay the pumpkin skin side down and never stir, just baste, so the pieces stay whole.
Golden tejocotes, small tart hawthorn fruits from the highlands around Puebla and the State of Mexico, appear in market sacks for only a few weeks before Day of the Dead and Christmas. Poached whole in piloncillo syrup with cinnamon and a strip of orange, they turn soft and perfumed, a little like quince crossed with apricot, and are set on the ofrenda or eaten from a bowl with their syrup. Outside Mexico, look for them frozen or in jars at Latin grocers; small crab apples are the nearest swap. Chef's tip: blanch and peel them first, as the skins go tough and bitter in syrup.
During the nine nights of posadas from 16 to 24 December, neighbours in central Mexico walk the streets singing for shelter, and the reward at the last door is a cup of steaming ponche ladled from a clay pot. Whole fruits, tejocotes, guavas, apple, prunes, sticks of sugarcane, simmer with hibiscus, cinnamon and piloncillo until the punch is fragrant and amber, and everyone fishes the soft fruit out with a spoon. This recipe is alcohol-free and good for all ages; some adults add a splash of rum to their own cup, but none is used here. Chef's tip: add the guavas late, as they collapse if cooked too long.
On the Fridays of Lent and above all on Good Friday, grandmothers from Jalisco to Sonora layer stale bolillo with a dark syrup of piloncillo, cinnamon and cloves, then tuck in raisins, peanuts and crumbled cheese, a sweet-salty pudding that uses up bread when meat is off the menu. It comes out of the oven sticky at the edges and soft in the middle, and is eaten warm or at room temperature. The traditional cheese, queso añejo or cotija, is usually made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian hard cheese or mild feta if you prefer. Chef's tip: fry or toast the bread until really dry and golden first; soft bread turns to porridge in the syrup.
Pink, creamy and dotted with red fruit, fresa con crema pops are the milky paletas children pick first at any paletería michoacana, and they echo the strawberries and cream sold in cups in Irapuato. Fresh strawberries are folded into a sweet milk-and-cream base that freezes smooth. It contains dairy. Chef's tip: macerate the strawberries in sugar first, as the syrup keeps the fruit soft rather than icy.
Sweet and savoury share a pot in this Lent favourite from Puebla and Mexico City kitchens: brown lentils simmered in a tomato and garlic broth, finished with chunks of pineapple and slices of fried ripe plantain. It sounds unusual but tastes balanced and comforting, and many families eat it on the Fridays before Easter with white rice and tortillas. Chef's tip: use a plantain with a black-speckled skin; green ones stay starchy and never sweeten.
Order 'divorced eggs' in any Mexico City café or roadside fonda and you get a plate split down the middle: one fried egg on a tortilla under smoky red salsa, the other under tangy green tomatillo salsa, with a ridge of refried beans keeping the couple apart. It is a cheerful weekend breakfast and a good way to use up leftover salsas. Mexican crumbling cheese is often made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: warm the tortillas in the egg pan first, so they are soft but not greasy.
Bus-station vendors, school gates and the sweet stalls around the Basilica in Mexico City all sell palanquetas, crisp bars of roasted peanuts bound in amber piloncillo or sugar caramel. They are crunchy, toasty and only lightly salted, and families also make them with pumpkin seeds or sesame. They contain peanuts. Chef's tip: have everything oiled and ready before you start, because the caramel sets within a minute of leaving the heat.
When yesterday's pan dulce goes stale, Mexican bakeries slice it thick, spread it with butter, dust it with sugar and toast it until crisp, and the result, rebanadas, often sells out first. At home it is a ten-minute afternoon treat with hot chocolate or a glass of cold milk, and a good way to use up a loaf of brioche, a pan de yema or a few bolillos. This version uses butter, so it is vegetarian. Chef's tip: let the butter get really soft so it sinks into the bread instead of sitting on top.
Christmas cookie tins, wedding tables and bakery counters all over northern and central Mexico hold polvorones, small domes of toasted pecan shortbread that crumble to dust in the mouth, which is how they got their name. They are rolled twice in icing sugar, once warm and once cold, so they look snowy. Old recipes used lard; this one uses butter, so it is vegetarian, and it contains wheat and tree nuts. Chef's tip: toast the pecans first, which turns a plain cookie into a deeply nutty one.
Mexican children grow up on mazapán, little rounds of ground roasted peanuts and powdered sugar that crumble at the first bite, sold singly at corner shops and piñata parties across the country. The homemade version tastes even more of peanut and needs no cooking at all, only a blender and a pastry cutter or bottle cap to press the rounds. They contain peanuts. Chef's tip: press really hard and lift the cutter straight up, as loose pressing is why homemade mazapán falls apart.
Gaznates are a fair and fiesta sweet in Puebla, Mexico City and the State of Mexico: paper-thin squares of pastry wrapped around metal tubes, fried until blistered and filled with a glossy meringue or sweetened coconut. Some stalls tint the meringue pink. The shell shatters like a cannoli while the filling is soft and cloud-like. They contain wheat and egg. Chef's tip: roll the dough as thin as you can, so it bubbles and turns crisp; thick dough turns hard.
Every plaza in Mexico City seems to have a fruit cart with a glass case of jícama, cucumber, mango and pineapple, cut to order into tall sticks and packed into a cup. The vendor squeezes over lime and shakes on chile-lime salt, and you eat it with a toothpick on a hot afternoon. It's juicy, crunchy, sour and only a little hot. Chef's tip: chill the fruit well first; cold fruit and sharp chile make the contrast.
Across central Mexico, from Morelos to the State of Mexico, pan de elote is baked when fresh corn is cheap in late summer and sold by the slice at market stalls. Despite its name it is more cake than bread: fresh kernels blended with butter, eggs and condensed milk bake into a dense, custardy, golden loaf that tastes of sweet corn. It contains wheat and egg. Chef's tip: use the starchiest, most mature corn you can find, because young sweetcorn makes a wetter, flatter cake.
Long before coffee arrived, atole was the morning drink of central and southern Mexico, and in villages of Oaxaca, Puebla and Tlaxcala plain atole blanco is still drunk hot with tamales at breakfast or on cold evenings. Fresh masa is whisked into water and cooked until it thickens to a silky, gently sweet drink with a toasty corn taste. Made with water it is vegan. Chef's tip: strain the masa before cooking, so the atole is smooth with no lumps.
Cheap, fast and filling, this is the kind of dish that turns up on Mexican home tables on a Lent Friday, at breakfast or as the main course of a weekday comida. Green beans are blanched, tossed through a quick tomato and serrano sofrito and bound with softly scrambled egg. Spoon it into warm corn tortillas or eat it with frijoles de la olla and rice. Chef's tip: cut the beans on a slant into short pieces so every forkful catches some egg.
Zamora in Michoacán gave its name to chongos, soft knots of fresh milk curd slowly poached in their own whey with sugar and cinnamon until the syrup turns golden and the curds turn springy. They are served cool in small glass bowls after Sunday lunch, and jars are sold at roadside stands across the Bajío. Traditionally the milk is set with animal rennet; use a vegetarian rennet (microbial or plant-based) to keep it vegetarian. Chef's tip: never stir after the curds form, only tilt the pan, or they break into crumbs.
Mamey, the rough brown fruit with salmon-orange flesh that tastes like sweet potato, pumpkin and almond at once, is a favourite in Tabasco, Chiapas, Veracruz and the Yucatán, and its ice cream is a star of the nevería in any southern town. The fruit is naturally so creamy that a little milk and sugar is enough. It contains dairy. Chef's tip: use a mamey that gives like a ripe avocado when pressed; underripe ones taste chalky.
At the candy stalls of Oaxaca's Mercado 20 de Noviembre and in the towns of Michoacán, bright green candied limes stuffed with snowy coconut are a jewel of traditional dulcería. The limes are scraped, soaked and boiled to take away the bitterness, then candied over two days until glassy, hollowed and filled. They are sweet, chewy and sharp at once, made for weddings and gifts. Chef's tip: change the soaking water every time without fail, as that is what takes away the bitterness of the pith.
Brown, cloudy and gloriously tart, agua de tamarindo fills the big glass vitroleros at taquerías and fondas across Mexico, especially in hot Guerrero, Colima and the Yucatán, and it is the drink most people reach for with a plate of tacos de guisado. The pods are peeled, simmered and rubbed through a sieve, so it tastes far fresher than paste or concentrate. Chef's tip: soak the pulp in the hot cooking water before you rub it, which loosens every bit from the seeds.
Pale green and very refreshing, agua de pepino is the cooler sold from market juice stands in Mexico City and Oaxaca when the afternoon heat builds, and families blend a jug for comida on hot days. Cucumber, lime and a few mint leaves give a clean, light taste with very little sugar. Chef's tip: leave some of the peel on the cucumber for colour, but strain the drink so it stays silky.
The town of Tocumbo in Michoacán sent paleteros all over Mexico, and their shops, the paleterías michoacanas, sell fruit ice pops from Tijuana to Cancún. Mango con chile is one of the most loved: chunky frozen mango purée, sharp with lime, with a ribbon of chile powder through it and more sprinkled on top. Chef's tip: leave a few small cubes of mango in the purée, so every bite has real fruit.
At weekend markets in Milpa Alta, the cactus-growing district on Mexico City's southern edge, whole nopal paddles are grilled until tender and folded into tortillas with charred spring onions and salsa verde. Grilling dries the natural slime the cactus is known for and leaves a lemony, green-bean flavour. It is a light, naturally vegan taco. Buy paddles with the spines already removed, or scrape them carefully with a knife. Chef's tip: score the paddles in a criss-cross before grilling so they cook evenly and stay flat.
In town plazas from Oaxaca to Guadalajara, neveros still churn nieve de garrafa by spinning a tall metal can in a wooden barrel of ice and rock salt, scraping the frozen walls with a long paddle. Lime nieve is the sharpest and most refreshing, pale green from the zest, and it is eaten in small cups after a hot walk through the market. At home a metal bowl set in ice and salt works the same way. Chef's tip: add the zest at the start but strain it out; that way you get its oils without the bitterness.
Mangonadas, also called chamoyadas, are a Mexican street sweet sold by neverías and fruit stands from Guadalajara to the US border: thick frozen mango blended to a slush, layered in a tall cup with sticky red chamoy and chile-lime salt and crowned with fresh mango cubes. Sweet, sour, salty and hot at once, it comes with a chewy tamarind-candy straw for stirring. Chef's tip: freeze the mango in cubes beforehand, so you get a thick spoonable slush without watering it down with ice.
Market fondas around Mexico City and Puebla ladle this pale-gold soup as the opening course of the comida corrida, the set lunch served from about two until four in the afternoon. Fresh kernels are simmered in milk with a little onion, blended until silky and finished with ribbons of roasted poblano, a few cubes of queso fresco and a swirl of crema. Sweet corn comes first, then a gentle green heat from the chile. Queso fresco is usually made with animal rennet, so choose one labelled vegetarian or use a mild vegetarian feta. Chef's tip: scrape the bare cobs with the back of a knife; that milky pulp thickens the soup without any flour.
A 'dry soup' sounds like a contradiction, but in Central Mexico sopa seca is the pasta or rice course that follows the brothy soup at the comida corrida. Short vermicelli is fried until nut-brown, then simmered in a smoky chipotle and tomato purée until every drop is absorbed. It's served heaped with crema, crumbled cheese and slices of avocado. Cotija and queso fresco are normally made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian crumbly cheese. Chef's tip: fry the noodles until they're the colour of a hazelnut; pale noodles taste flat.
Brick-red and glossy, chamoy is the sauce Mexicans splash over fresh fruit, mango sorbet, crisps and the rim of a michelada glass. It is said to descend from Asian salted plum sauces, but today's version is pure Mexican: dried apricots and hibiscus simmered and blended with chile, lime, sugar and salt. Homemade chamoy is fruitier and less sweet than the bottled kind. Chef's tip: it thickens a lot as it cools, so take it off the heat when it still pours like warm ketchup.
Under the laurel trees by the church of La Soledad in Oaxaca city, the nieve stalls scoop leche quemada, burnt milk ice cream, often paired in one cup with a tart tuna (prickly pear) sorbet. The milk is cooked with cinnamon until it catches and caramelises on the bottom of the pan, giving a smoky, toffee-like flavour and a light beige colour. It contains dairy and egg. Chef's tip: let the milk scorch deliberately, but scrape the brown layer into the milk rather than letting it go black.
In Puebla, where poblano chiles take their name, this pale-jade soup appears at family lunches and on the menu of almost every cocina económica. Roasted chiles are blended with onion, a little corn and milk, then enriched with cream, so the flavour is smoky and mellow with just a flicker of heat. Serve it with crisp tortilla strips or a few corn kernels on top. Chef's tip: roast a couple of extra chiles while the grill is hot; the strips keep for four days and lift any taco or quesadilla.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 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.
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.
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.
Tascalate is the drink of the Chiapas central valley, sold in Chiapa de Corzo and Tuxtla in tall glasses at markets and given to guests at fiestas. A powder of toasted tortillas, cacao, pine nuts, sugar, cinnamon and a little achiote is whisked into cold water or milk, so it is orange-brown, thick and nutty with a sweet chocolate finish. The powder keeps for weeks, so make a jar. Made with water it is vegan. Chef's tip: toast the tortillas until they snap cleanly; any softness leaves the powder clumpy.
Huamantla, in Tlaxcala, is known for its August fair, when the streets are carpeted with coloured sawdust and flowers, and for muéganos: little cubes of fried dough glued together with dark piloncillo syrup into a sticky cluster, often pressed onto a round wafer. Visitors buy them in stacks from sweet shops around the main square. The dough is crisp and light, the syrup spiced with cinnamon and clove. Chef's tip: cut the dough into small, even cubes so they all fry golden at the same time.
In Hidalgo, the pulque country north of Mexico City, the pulquerías serve curados: pulque blended with fruit, and the strawberry one is pink, thick and creamy. Home cooks and taquerías make this alcohol-free cousin for the whole family, a strawberry agua fresca blended with evaporated milk, so it is like a light milkshake that you drink with tacos on a hot afternoon. It contains no pulque or alcohol. Chef's tip: use the ripest, darkest strawberries you can find; pale ones give a thin, sour drink.
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.
Rajas means strips, and in Puebla they mean poblano chillies, the dark green pepper the state is named after, charred, peeled and sliced, then simmered with onion, sweetcorn and cream. Poblanos are mild with a grassy, gently smoky bite, so the dish is rich rather than fiery. It turns up on Puebla tables as a side for rice, as a taco filling at fondas, or in a tamal for breakfast. Some cooks melt in Chihuahua or Oaxaca cheese, which may be made with animal rennet; use a vegetarian melting cheese if needed. Chef's tip: sweat the peeled chillies in a covered bowl for 10 minutes; the steam lifts the skins off cleanly without rinsing away the smoky flavour.
The nuns of the Santa Clara convent in Puebla are credited with this biscuit, and the city's Calle de los Dulces still sells it in boxes stacked beside camotes and jamoncillos. It is a crumbly, lightly sweet shortbread round, covered with a thick, pale cream made from ground pumpkin seeds, sugar and milk, which sets to a soft fudge-like layer. They are eaten with coffee in the afternoon and taken home as a gift from Puebla. Chef's tip: grind the peeled pumpkin seeds as fine as you can before cooking; any coarse bits make the topping gritty.
Camotes are the sweet Puebla is most famous for: finger-long rolls of sweet-potato fondant, flavoured with pineapple, lemon, strawberry or orange and wrapped individually in paper. Like tortitas de Santa Clara, they come from the city's convent kitchens, and you will find them at every candy shop on Puebla's Calle de los Dulces. The texture is soft and smooth, like a firm marzipan, and very sweet, so one or two is plenty. Chef's tip: sieve the cooked sweet potato while it is hot; fibres caught in the sieve are what would make the candy stringy.
Papadzules may be the oldest dish still eaten in the Yucatán: Maya cooks were rolling tortillas in ground squash seeds long before the Spanish brought chickens and their eggs. Today they are a lunch and Lent dish in Mérida, Valladolid and Campeche. Corn tortillas are dipped in a pale green sauce of toasted pumpkin seeds and epazote, rolled around chopped hard-boiled egg, then topped with a cooked habanero-tomato sauce and a few drops of green pumpkin-seed oil squeezed from the paste. The flavours are nutty, herbal and gently hot. Chef's tip: keep the seed sauce warm, never boiling; heat makes it split and turn grainy, and the oil that separates is meant to be drizzled on top, not stirred back in.
In Yucatec Maya, sikil means squash seed and p'aak means tomato, and that is almost all there is to this pale, coarse dip from the Yucatán Peninsula. Cooks in Mérida and the villages around it toast the seeds on a comal until they pop, grind them with charred tomato, chives and a little habanero, and serve the dip with tostadas or crisp tortilla chips before a meal. It tastes nutty, smoky and fresh at the same time, and is naturally vegan. Chef's tip: roast the habanero whole and add it a little at a time; you can always grind in more, but you can't take the heat back out.
No table in Mérida is complete without a bowl of these bright pink onions. They go on almost everything in the Yucatán, from panuchos and salbutes to bean tacos, eggs and grilled vegetables, and their sharp crunch is what cuts through rich, earthy food. The traditional pickle uses naranja agria, the sour Seville-type orange that grows all over the peninsula, with a little habanero and dried oregano. Chef's tip: pour boiling water over the sliced onions for 10 seconds first; it softens their raw bite and makes them turn pink much faster.
The name comes from Maya: xni' pek means 'dog's nose', because the salsa is hot enough to make your nose run and stay wet like a dog's. It is the raw table salsa of the Yucatán, made in minutes from tomato, red onion, coriander and plenty of habanero, all soaked in sour orange juice. In Mérida it is spooned over black-bean dishes, eggs and rice, and it brightens anything rich. It is best on the day it is made. Chef's tip: chop everything by hand into small, even dice; a blender makes it watery and the habanero turns bitter.
Jericalla belongs to Guadalajara: legend says a nun at the city's Hospicio Cabañas orphanage made it in the 19th century to feed the children something nourishing. It is a firm baked custard of milk, eggs, sugar, vanilla and cinnamon, between a flan and a crème brûlée, with no caramel underneath; the top is left in a hot oven until it blisters and darkens in patches. Tapatíos buy it in little glass pots from street carts and in the markets of Jalisco. Chef's tip: let the top darken properly under the grill at the end; those scorched spots are what makes it a jericalla rather than a plain custard.
Corundas come from the Purépecha people of Michoacán, around Lake Pátzcuaro and Morelia, and they look nothing like a usual tamal: small, plump and triangular or star-shaped, wrapped in the long green leaves of the corn plant rather than dried husks. The masa is soft and fluffy, usually plain or with a little cheese and poblano inside, and corundas are eaten with crema, salsa roja and crumbled cheese, often for breakfast or at fiestas. Traditional dough uses pork lard; we use vegetable shortening or butter. Cheese may be made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: beat the fat until it is white and fluffy before adding the masa; a spoonful of dough should float in water when it is light enough.
When the summer corn comes in across Michoacán, families in Morelia and the Tierra Caliente grate the young kernels and make uchepos: soft, moist tamales of fresh corn, milk and a little sugar, wrapped in the green husks they came from. They taste like the sweetest corn pudding, and are eaten for breakfast or supper with cream, crumbled cheese and a tomato salsa, sweet and savoury together. Cotija or queso fresco may be made with animal rennet; use a vegetarian cheese if needed. Chef's tip: use the freshest, milkiest corn you can find (a kernel should spurt when pressed); old corn is starchy and the uchepos come out dry.
Named after the Tarascan (Purépecha) people of Michoacán, sopa tarasca is the soup served in the restaurants around the plazas of Pátzcuaro and Morelia, especially on cool highland evenings. It is a smooth, brick-red purée of beans, tomato and ancho chilli, poured over crisp tortilla strips and finished with cream, fresh cheese and fried chilli rings. Some versions use chicken stock; this one uses vegetable stock and loses nothing. Fresh cheese may be made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: fry the blended soup base in hot oil before adding the stock; it cooks out the raw tomato taste and deepens the colour.
Under the arcades around Morelia's plazas, cooks sell enchiladas placeras in the evenings: tortillas dipped in guajillo sauce, fried on a griddle, folded over crumbled cheese and onion, then buried under fried potato and carrot cubes, shredded lettuce and pickled chillies. In Michoacán they usually come with a piece of fried chicken on the side; we leave that out, as the potatoes and carrots fried in the chilli-stained oil are the part everyone fights over. Cheese may be made with animal rennet, so choose a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: fry the potatoes and carrots in the same pan after the tortillas so they pick up the red chilli oil.
Morelia is Mexico's city of ates, the firm fruit pastes sold in long blocks at the Mercado de Dulces beside the old Jesuit college, in guava, mango, quince and more. Quince (membrillo) is the classic: cooked slowly with sugar until it turns from pale yellow to deep amber-red and sets firm enough to slice. In Michoacán it is eaten in thin slices with a fresh or aged cheese, or on its own as an afternoon sweet. Most cheeses here use animal rennet, so pick a vegetarian one if needed. Chef's tip: cook the fruit with its cores and peel tied in muslin; they carry most of the pectin that makes the paste set.
In the markets of Michoacán, especially in Uruapan and Morelia, the glass barrels of agua fresca often include one cloudy, speckled with tiny seeds: agua de chía, limeade with soaked chia seeds that swell into soft little pearls. Chia has been grown in central Mexico since long before the Spanish, and the drink is light, sharp and very refreshing, with a gentle texture from the seeds. It is drunk with lunch or on hot afternoons. Chef's tip: stir the seeds into the water twice in the first ten minutes; otherwise they clump into jelly-like lumps.
Walk out of almost any Metro station in Mexico City in the morning and you will find a woman on a low stool patting out tlacoyos on a clay comal: thick, oval cakes of blue or white corn masa with a seam of bean or fava purée hidden inside, topped with cactus, salsa and crumbly cheese. They are bought hot, eaten standing up, and are one of the oldest street foods in the valley, older than the city itself. This version is filled with garlicky fava purée (habas) and topped with a quick nopal salad and salsa verde. Leave off the cheese and it is vegan. Chef's tip: keep the purée stiff, like mashed potato; a loose filling bursts through the masa when you flatten it.
In the markets of Milpa Alta, south of Mexico City, the nopal growers sell paddles already scraped of their thorns, stacked in towers, and the salad they become is on the side of every comida corrida in the region. Cooked cactus tastes a little like green beans with a lemony edge; dressed with tomato, white onion, chilli, coriander and lime, it is cool and crisp, and the crumbled cheese softens the sharpness. Serve it with rice and beans, inside tacos, or on a tostada. Chef's tip: cook the nopales with a few onion slices and a pinch of bicarbonate of soda; they keep their bright colour and the slime washes away faster.
From about nine in the morning, bicycles with a wicker basket strapped behind the seat roll into Mexico City offices and street corners, and the cry of 'tacos de canasta' goes up. Inside the basket, wrapped in cloth and plastic, a hundred small tacos have steamed in their own heat for hours, so the tortillas turn soft, glossy and slightly sticky with chilli-red oil. They are cheap, sold by the handful, and eaten with green salsa from a jar on the bike. The usual fillings are potato, refried beans, adobo and chicharrón prensado (pressed pork rind); this recipe makes the two vegetarian ones and leaves out the pork. Chef's tip: an insulated cool box lined with a tea towel does the same job as the basket and keeps them hot for two hours.
Commuters in Mexico City grab a guajolota at the tamal stand by the bus stop at seven in the morning: a crusty bolillo roll split open with a whole steaming tamal pushed inside, sometimes with a smear of green salsa, eaten with a cup of atole. It is starch in starch, cheap and filling enough to last until lunch. The name means 'turkey hen', a joke about how stuffed it is. This recipe makes eight vegetarian tamales of roasted poblano strips and melting cheese (rajas con queso); four go into rolls and the rest freeze well. Shop-bought vegetarian tamales work if you are short of time. Chef's tip: warm the bolillo on the comal while the tamal rests, so the crust crackles against the soft masa.
Huitlacoche is a fungus that swells the kernels of rain-soaked corn into silvery-black, inky lobes, and in central Mexico it is a delicacy prized for its deep, mushroomy, slightly smoky taste. In the rainy months, the quesadilla stalls of Mexico City and Coyoacán fry it with onion, chilli and epazote and fold it into fresh masa turnovers; in the capital you ask for cheese separately. Fresh huitlacoche turns up at Mexican grocers from July to October, and tinned or frozen works the rest of the year. Chef's tip: cook it until the black juices have mostly evaporated; a wet filling makes the masa soggy and grey.
Amaranth has been grown on the chinampa gardens of Xochimilco and Tulyehualco, in the south of Mexico City, since Aztec times, and each February Tulyehualco holds a fair in its honour. Its tiny seeds are popped on a hot comal and bound with honey or piloncillo syrup into alegrías ('joys'), crunchy, light bars sold at bus stops, school gates and church doors and studded with pumpkin seeds, peanuts or raisins. They are naturally gluten free and full of protein for a sweet. Chef's tip: use bought puffed amaranth; popping it yourself works but takes patience and a lidded pan, as the seeds jump everywhere.
In ranch kitchens and roadside fondas across central Mexico, coffee is not dripped but boiled in a tall clay pot (olla de barro) with a cone of piloncillo and a stick of soft Mexican cinnamon, then strained into clay mugs. It is sweet, spiced and earthy, and is served with pan dulce at breakfast, on cold evenings, and to visitors on Day of the Dead. A saucepan works fine if you have no olla. Chef's tip: turn the heat off before adding the coffee and let it steep rather than boil, or it turns bitter.
Breakfast in the port of Veracruz and in Xalapa often starts with picadas at a market fonda or a café by the harbour: palm-sized rounds of fresh masa, cooked on the comal, then pinched all around while hot (picar means to pinch) to make little ridges that catch the salsa. Half are spooned with red salsa and half with green, then scattered with onion and crumbled cheese, and eaten with black coffee. Cooks there drizzle them with hot pork lard; this recipe uses a little oil instead. Chef's tip: wet your fingertips in cold water before pinching, so you can work the hot masa without burning yourself.
In the Sotavento region of southern Veracruz, around Tlacotalpan and Los Tuxtlas, cooks knead well-fried black beans straight into the corn masa, so the little cakes come out speckled grey-black, then fry them until they puff up like balloons. Gordas de frijol are a supper snack from street stalls and fiesta tables, split and topped with salsa, chopped onion and, for a non-vegan version, a crumble of fresh cheese. Avocado leaf in the beans gives a faint aniseed note. Chef's tip: the beans must be very thick and cooled; warm, wet beans make a sticky dough that will not puff.
Torito is the party drink of the port of Veracruz and the Sotavento, poured at weddings, saints' days and the Tlacotalpan Candelaria fair: a thick, cold, milkshake-like blend of peanuts, condensed and evaporated milk and cinnamon. The traditional version is spiked with aguardiente, the local cane spirit. This recipe is the alcohol-free version, so children can drink it too; adults who want the original add a measure of cane spirit to each glass. It contains peanuts, so check for allergies. Chef's tip: toast the peanuts until just golden before blending; raw ones taste flat and beany.
Tamarind trees shade the coast of Guerrero, and around Acapulco and the Costa Chica the sticky pulp is cooked down with sugar into tangy little balls sold in paper twists at beaches, bus stations and corner shops. Children love the sharp sweet-sour pucker; adults buy the ones rolled in chilli and salt. They are naturally vegan and keep for weeks. Chef's tip: use blocks of seedy tamarind pulp from an Asian or Mexican grocer, not the thin concentrate in jars, which will not set.
Chipilín is a small-leaved wild legume that grows along the fields of Chiapas and Tabasco, and its grassy, faintly bitter leaves turn up in soups, rice and, most of all, these tamales. In Tuxtla Gutiérrez and San Cristóbal they are sold from steaming pots in the early evening and taken home for supper with hot chocolate or atole: soft, pale green-speckled masa wrapped around a cube of fresh cheese, often with a spoon of tomato salsa. Cooks there beat the masa with lard; vegetable shortening gives the same light texture. Frozen chipilín is sold at Central American grocers; spinach with a few watercress leaves is a fair stand-in. Chef's tip: strip the leaves from the stems by pinching and pulling down; stems make the masa stringy.
This is not a thin soup but a 'dry' one, baked in layers in a deep dish, and in San Cristóbal de las Casas it belongs to fiestas, weddings and the meatless days of Holy Week. Toasted bread is stacked with fried ripe plantain, green beans, carrot, potato, boiled egg and a tomato sauce, then soaked with a saffron and thyme broth until the bread swells into something like a savoury bread pudding. It is served in deep plates with a spoon. Families in the highlands use chicken stock; a good vegetable stock keeps it vegetarian. Chef's tip: dry the bread hard in the oven first; fresh bread dissolves into mush when the broth goes in.
In the heat of Villahermosa and the Chiapas lowlands, farmers carry a ball of corn dough in a banana leaf and mix it with water in a jícara (a gourd bowl) at midday: that is pozol, a cold, thick, filling drink that has been made since Maya times. The cacao version is the favourite, sold from big clay pots at market stalls with ice, sometimes slightly fermented so it turns pleasantly sour. This home version uses masa harina and cocoa nibs, so it is ready in minutes; leave it to ferment if you want the tang. Chef's tip: stir it every time before pouring, as the corn settles to the bottom fast.
Tabasco grows more plantain than almost anywhere in Mexico, and in Villahermosa homes fried ripe plantain arrives with breakfast eggs, alongside rice and black beans at lunch, or on its own as a sweet-savoury supper. The local touch is to finish the hot, caramelised slices with a spoon of tangy crema and a snow of crumbled fresh cheese, so you get sweet, salty and sour in one bite. Chef's tip: wait until the skins are almost black; yellow plantains taste starchy and never caramelise.
In Sonora, wheat is the grain, and the pride of Hermosillo kitchens is the sobaquera: a flour tortilla stretched over the backs of the hands and arms until it is almost see-through and as wide as a serving tray (the name comes from sobaco, armpit, because it reaches that far). It cooks in seconds on a big comal and is folded around beans, cheese or machaca, or torn and eaten with caldo de queso. Sonoran cooks use lard; vegetable shortening works the same. A 30–35 cm tortilla is a realistic home size. Chef's tip: the long rest is what makes the dough stretch; do not cut it short.
Coyotas were first baked in the Villa de Seris neighbourhood of Hermosillo, and today Sonorans buy them by the dozen in paper bags to eat with morning coffee or take as a gift when they travel. They are flat, round, pale pastries with a crisp, crumbly crust and a thin layer of molten piloncillo inside, like a giant cookie with a toffee middle. Some bakers add guava or cajeta, but brown sugar loaf is the classic. Chef's tip: pinch the edges firmly and prick the tops; otherwise the hot sugar bubbles out and burns on the tray.
In Ciudad Chihuahua and the farming towns of the Sierra, chile con queso is not the runny orange dip of Texas bars but a skillet of roasted long green chillies, onion and tomato with mild Chihuahua cheese melted through it, scooped up with flour tortillas at a carne-asada Sunday or eaten as a main with beans. Chihuahua cheese, also called queso menonita after the Mennonite farmers who make it, is like a mild, buttery cheddar. Chef's tip: steam the roasted chillies in a covered bowl; the skins then slide off in one go.
When the cold fronts reach Monterrey in November, panaderías start stacking trays of empanadas de calabaza next to the conchas, and families bake them at home for Day of the Dead and Christmas. A tender, lightly sweet pastry is folded around a thick purée of pumpkin cooked with piloncillo, cinnamon and anise, so each half-moon tastes like a spiced pumpkin pie you can hold. They are eaten with café de olla or a glass of milk. Chef's tip: cook the filling until a spoon leaves a trail across the pan; watery pumpkin turns the pastry soggy.
Linares, a small town in Nuevo León, is famous across Mexico for glorias: soft, chewy balls of goat's milk caramel packed with pecans, each wrapped in a twist of red cellophane. They are bought by the box at roadside sweet shops on the way to Monterrey and handed out at weddings and Christmas. Goat's milk gives them a gentle tang; a mix of goat's and cow's milk is milder. Chef's tip: the last ten minutes need constant stirring, as the caramel thickens and catches fast.
Enchiladas mineras were the supper of Guanajuato's silver miners and are still sold every evening under the arches of the city's plazas and at the Mercado Hidalgo: tortillas dipped in guajillo sauce, fried briefly, rolled around fresh cheese and onion, and buried under fried diced potato and carrot, shredded lettuce, pickled jalapeños and crema. Stalls often add a piece of chicken on the side; this recipe leaves it out and the vegetables make it a full plate. Chef's tip: dip each tortilla in the sauce before frying, not after; that's what gives the slightly crisp, chilli-coated finish.
Celaya, in the Bajío of Guanajuato, has made cajeta for centuries, once packing it into little wooden boxes (cajetes) that gave it its name. It is caramel cooked from goat's milk, so it is looser and has a gentle tang compared with the cow's-milk dulce de leche of Argentina. Mexicans spread it on crêpes and churros, pour it over ice cream, sandwich it between obleas (wafers) and turn it into glorias. A splash of rum-flavoured 'envinada' cajeta exists, but this one is plain and alcohol-free. Chef's tip: use a pan at least three times the volume of the milk; it foams high when the bicarbonate goes in.
Around Day of the Dead in Guanajuato city, sweet sellers display charamuscas pulled and shaped into skulls, mummies (a nod to the town's famous museum) and simple twists, glossy amber and wrapped in cellophane. The everyday ones are rope-like spirals of pulled piloncillo, chewy then brittle, with a deep molasses taste. Pulling the hot sugar is a two-person job and great fun with older children; younger ones should watch. Chef's tip: wear clean rubber kitchen gloves rubbed with oil; you can handle the sugar sooner and much more comfortably.
In the villages of Tlaxcala, tlatlapas is the Lenten and rainy-season soup: dried beans, fava and peas are toasted on a comal, ground to a coarse flour and simmered into a thick, earthy purée seasoned with dried chilli, epazote and strips of cactus. It is a peasant dish with pre-Hispanic roots, cheap, filling and full of protein, eaten with corn tortillas and a squeeze of lime. Using split beans keeps the cooking under an hour. Chef's tip: toast the pulses until golden and nutty, not dark; burnt ones turn the whole pot bitter.
Chilaquiles rojos are eaten for breakfast all over Mexico: fried corn tortilla wedges (totopos) tossed in a red salsa of dried guajillo and árbol chillies blended with roasted tomato. The salsa is earthy, slightly smoky and properly hot, and it clings to the chips so every bite is crisp, soft and saucy at once. They are finished with crema, cheese, onion and coriander, and often served with refried beans on the side. If you can't find guajillo, use ancho chillies or 2 tbsp mild chilli powder; for árbol, use a pinch of cayenne. Choose queso fresco made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: toast the dried chillies for seconds, not minutes; the moment they smell nutty and darken slightly, they are done.
Tostadas, crisp flat corn tortillas, are eaten all over Mexico as a quick meal or snack, and tostadas de frijol are the everyday vegetarian version: a thick smear of refried beans topped with shredded lettuce, tomato, avocado, crema and crumbled cheese. The contrast between the shattering crunch, the creamy beans and the cool, fresh toppings is the whole point. Buy ready-made corn tostadas, or bake your own from corn tortillas. Use queso fresco made with vegetarian rennet, or mild feta. Chef's tip: spread the beans warm and thick right to the edge; they act as glue for the toppings and stop the tostada from shattering when you bite it.
Arroz verde is red rice's fresher sister, popular across central Mexico as a side for mole, enchiladas and beans. The rice is toasted in oil and then simmered in a vivid green purée of poblano pepper, coriander, parsley and a handful of spinach, so it comes out fluffy, herby and gently peppery, the colour of spring grass. It is vegan with vegetable stock and pairs especially well with mole rojo or roasted vegetables. Chef's tip: blend the greens with cold stock and add it straight to the rice; heated slowly or left standing the purée loses its colour, so make it right before you need it.
Frijoles de la olla, beans cooked slowly in a pot (traditionally clay) with just onion, garlic and a sprig of epazote, are the backbone of Mexican home cooking from north to south. Served brothy in a bowl with chopped onion, chilli and lime, they are a meal on their own; mashed and fried in oil they become frijoles refritos, the creamy refried beans that go into tacos, tortas, sopes and molletes. This recipe makes both: one pot, half served as it is, half refried. We fry in vegetable oil rather than lard, so it is vegan. Chef's tip: salt the beans only once they are tender; salting at the start won't stop them cooking, but adding it late seasons the broth better and saves you from oversalting as it reduces.
Arroz con leche is Mexico's comfort pudding, sold in little cups at markets and made in every grandmother's kitchen: rice cooked first in water with a cinnamon stick (canela) and lime peel, then slowly in milk until it turns thick and creamy. Mexicans often add sweetened condensed milk for a richer, caramel-tinged finish, and raisins for those who like them. It is eaten warm in winter and cold from the fridge in summer, dusted with ground cinnamon. Chef's tip: use soft Ceylon cinnamon (canela) if you can find it; its gentle, floral flavour is what makes it taste Mexican rather than like a spiced pudding.
Pastel de tres leches is the birthday and celebration cake of Mexico and much of Latin America: a light, airy sponge drenched in a mixture of three milks (evaporated milk, sweetened condensed milk and cream) until it is soaked through but still holds its shape, then topped with whipped cream. It is cold, milky and sweet, and every bakery from Mexico City to Guadalajara sells it by the slice. The sponge is made with whisked eggs for lightness, so it drinks up the milk without collapsing. Chef's tip: let the cake soak in the fridge for at least 4 hours, ideally overnight; the milk needs time to work its way into the centre and the cake slices far more neatly when cold.
Conchas are the most famous pan dulce (sweet bread) in Mexico, piled high in every panadería and eaten for breakfast or merienda with hot chocolate or coffee. The bun is soft, slightly sweet and enriched with egg and butter, and it wears a crunchy, crumbly topping of sugar, fat and flour scored into the seashell pattern that gives it its name. Make some vanilla and some chocolate topping for the classic mix. Chef's tip: shape the dough into very tight balls before adding the topping; the tension makes them rise up instead of spreading out, so the shell cracks into neat stripes.
Agua de jamaica is one of the aguas frescas, the cooling fruit and flower drinks ladled from huge glass barrels at markets and taquerías all over Mexico. It is made by steeping dried hibiscus calyces (flor de jamaica) in hot water, giving a deep crimson drink that tastes tart like cranberry, lightly floral and very refreshing over ice. It is naturally vegan and keeps for days in the fridge. Use the concentrate as the base and sweeten to taste. Chef's tip: don't boil the flowers for long or leave them steeping for hours; too much extraction makes the drink tannic and harsh.
Mexican horchata is a sweet, milky-looking agua fresca made from rice soaked overnight with cinnamon, then blended and strained. It is quite different from the Valencian horchata de chufa made from tiger nuts. Sold everywhere from Mexico City street stalls to taquerías in Oaxaca, it cools the mouth after a spicy taco and tastes of cinnamon, vanilla and toasted grain. We blend in almonds for extra creaminess and keep it dairy free, so it is vegan. Chef's tip: strain twice, the second time through a fine cloth; a gritty horchata is the most common mistake, and that silky texture is what you're after.
Champurrado is a chocolate atole, the thick, hot corn drink Mexicans have drunk since before the Spanish arrived. Masa harina is whisked into water and milk with Mexican chocolate (stone-ground with sugar and cinnamon) and piloncillo, a dark unrefined cane sugar, and cooked until velvety and spoon-coating. It is drunk on cold mornings with tamales or conchas, and above all during Día de Muertos and Christmas posadas. Chef's tip: always dissolve the masa harina in cold liquid before it meets the hot pot, and whisk constantly once it's in; dumped into hot milk it seizes into lumps.
Chiles rellenos de queso are a Puebla classic and a fixture of Mexican home cooking: roasted poblano peppers filled with melting cheese, coated in an airy egg batter called capeado, fried until golden and served swimming in a thin, mildly spiced tomato broth (caldillo). The batter is like a soufflé omelette that hugs the chilli, and the cheese inside stretches in long strings. Serve with arroz rojo and warm tortillas. Choose an Oaxaca cheese or mozzarella made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: the chillies must be completely dry and dusted with rice flour before they go into the batter; any moisture makes the egg slide off in the pan.
Elote (corn on the cob) is sold all over Mexico from street carts in the evening: grilled or boiled cobs speared on a stick, slathered in mayonnaise and crema, rolled in crumbly cotija cheese and dusted with chilli powder, with a squeeze of lime. Charring the corn adds smokiness to the sweet kernels, and the creamy, salty, sour and hot toppings make it irresistible. Serve it at a barbecue or as a snack; kids can skip the chilli. Cotija is often made with animal rennet, so use a vegetarian-rennet feta or a vegetarian hard cheese if that matters to you. Chef's tip: let the cobs cool for a minute before spreading the mayonnaise, so it clings rather than sliding off.
The tlayuda is the late-night street food of Oaxaca City: a huge, thin, slightly leathery corn tortilla spread with black bean paste and asiento (unrefined pork lard), scattered with quesillo (Oaxaca string cheese) and cabbage, folded and toasted over charcoal until crisp and smoky. This vegetarian version swaps the asiento for browned butter, which gives the same toasty richness, and is topped with avocado, tomato and salsa. Real tlayudas are about 30 cm across and hard to find outside Oaxaca; use the largest corn tortillas you can get, or flour tortillas of 25 cm (then they are not gluten free). Quesillo is made with animal rennet in Oaxaca; for a vegetarian dish use low-moisture mozzarella or a string cheese made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: spread the beans thinly; a thick layer makes the tortilla soggy and stops it crisping.
Sopes are a classic antojito of central Mexico: small, thick discs of corn masa cooked on a comal, pinched up at the edge while hot to make a little rim, then crisped in a film of oil and piled with refried beans, salsa, lettuce, crema and crumbled cheese. The base is crisp underneath and soft and steamy inside, with the sweet, earthy taste of nixtamalised corn. Serve two or three per person as a starter or a light supper. Use masa harina for tortillas, made from nixtamalised corn; cornmeal or polenta will not hold together. Choose queso fresco made with vegetarian rennet, or use a mild feta. Chef's tip: pinch the rims as soon as the sopes come off the comal; once they cool the masa sets and cracks.
Huevos rancheros, 'ranch-style eggs', is the big country breakfast eaten all over Mexico: corn tortillas briefly fried in oil, topped with fried eggs and drowned in salsa ranchera, a warm, chunky sauce of charred tomatoes and serrano chillies, with refried beans on the side. The runny yolks mix with the spicy tomato sauce and the soft tortilla soaks it all up. Serve with avocado and coffee. Choose queso fresco made with vegetarian rennet. Chef's tip: fry the tortillas only for a few seconds a side; you want them pliable with crisp edges, not hard like tostadas, so you can cut them with a fork.
Showing 192 of 214 recipes
Show more recipesPage 8 of 9