Mexican

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Cinco de Mayo, long on the rocks, is now straight up — an appropriation-free cause for celebrating with chicken tostadas

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: A different version of this story was originally published last year at Cooks Without Border’s Substack newsletter. The newsletter won the People’s Voice Webby Award last month; this article, which was a post for paid subscribers, was included in its entry submission. Find a link to subscribe at the end of this story.]

If you know a little about Cinco de Mayo, but not a lot, you might feel conflicted about commemorating it. The holiday reeks of cultural appropriation, and for good reason: the Margarita-powered drunken revelry many Americans associate with the date isn’t exactly a celebration of anything truly Mexican.

But dive into the fascinating history, and celebrating the holiday with California-Mexican chicken tostadas and margaritas on the rocks suddenly makes a world of sense.

The history of El Cinco de Mayo

Perhaps you know that the holiday does not pay tribute to Mexican Independence Day. That’s Sept. 16. You might know that Cinco de Mayo is not widely observed in Mexico (where it’s not a national holiday). And that it’s more an American thing than a Mexican one. Maybe you even know what it does commemorate: Mexico’s surprising victory over the French in the Battle of Puebla in 1862. The French ultimately prevailed, which might be why El Día de la Batalla de Puebla is not generally celebrated in Mexico outside of Puebla.

But if it’s minor there, how did the holiday get so big in the United States?

Well, it may surprise you (it did me!) to learn that the celebration of el Cinco de Mayo actually began in California — by Mexican Americans who supported democracy and opposed white supremacy — in the year following the Battle of Puebla. Truly!

The context was the Second Franco-Mexican War, in which the French, backed by Mexican monarchists, had been attempting to overthrow the Mexican government led by democratically elected Benito Juárez. Their against-all-odds victory in Puebla was a powerful source of pride for Mexicans. Alas, as mentioned, the French eventually did succeed in their democracy-quashing exploits, installing Maximilian I as emperor — a reign that lasted five years. (Ever wondered how things like crepas — crepes — got to Mexico? That’s how.) The Mexican republic was ultimately restored, in 1867.

But during that year following the Battle of Puebla — 1862 — the victory captured the imagination of Latinos in California, who commemorated it with the first Cinco de Mayo celebration on May 5, 1863.

A fascinating story by Yvonne Condes published on KCET’s website explains how and why. At the time of the Battle of Puebla, Civil War was raging north of the border, and southern politicians wanted to extend the Mason-Dixon line all the way into California, making it into a state where enslaving people would be legal. Most Latinos in the state were against the Confederacy and for the Union, and saw the French-Mexican War and the Civil War as analogous.

According to Cynthia L. Chamberlin, a historian at UCLA Center for the Study of Latino Health and Culture (CESLAC) who was quoted in the article, "Latinos in California said these two wars are really the same war, in a sense.” Both, explained Chamberlin, were “about a democracy fighting against elite rule and white supremacy.”

And so Cinco de Mayo, said David Hayes-Bautista, CESLAC’s director, was “basically a civil rights commemoration, Latinos telling the world where they stood on the issues of the Civil War and the French intervention.”

That’s why, looking back to my Southern California upbringing — and feeling lucky to have grown up steeped in Mexican American culture — I’m suddenly feeling great about celebrating el Cinco de Mayo. In its purest form, it’s a celebration of Mexican culture, not a drunken revelry with sombreros and other offensive stereotypes.

What to cook?

You could key your celebration back to the historic Mexican victory in Puebla, and prepare one of Puebla’s greatest culinary contributions, such as mole poblano, made with chocolate and a wide array of dried chiles. It’s an amazing dish, though extremely labor-intensive, a bit challenging to put together for a laid-back Sunday celebration this evening. Ditto crepas a la huitlacoche, whose star ingredient (huitlacoche, or corn fungus, a prized delicacy) is not easy to come by.

Instead, why not celebrate those politically engaged California Latinos of yesteryear with tostadas and classic margaritas? One of the tostada components, traditional pico de gallo, includes the colors of the Mexican flag — red, green and white.

Classic Margaritas

The drink most closely associated with El Cinco de Mayo — the Margarita — had a major appropriation as well. For decades there was a story out there — perhaps conceived and perpetrated by one of the liquor companies — there that the Margarita had been invented in the early 1950s in my home town, Los Angeles, at a long-running “Restaurant Row” (La Cienega Blvd.) establishment, Tail o’ the Cock.

But according to a 1974 article published in Texas Monthly, Pancho Morales, a bartender in Juarez, Mexico, invited the drink in at a Juarez bar called Toommy’s in 1942. It’s a much more credible story — and the one we’ll toast to. Here’s our recipe.

RECIPE: Classic Margarita on the Rocks

California-style chicken tostadas

To me, nothing speaks of California Mexican culinary culture like a crunchy, sloppy, juicy, tangy chicken tostada. In other words, a crisp tostada (a corn tortilla that’s been dried, toasted or baked to crispness) slathered with warm frijoles de olla, piled with salad, generously strewn with shredded chicken and topped with a ridiculous amount of pico de gallo. Probably there are avocados involved, either diced in the salad or in the form of a scoop of guacamole on top. It’s my take on the big, salady chicken tostadas that were served in Mexican restaurants all over L.A. when I was growing up (just a hundred years or so after that first Cinco de Mayo, in the 60s and 70s!). You can also easily make these tostadas vegan, by leaving off the chicken and playing up the avocados or guacamole.

The tostadas come together really easily, once you have the key components prepared: beans, tostada bases, pico de gallo and roast or grilled chicken.

To make things simplest, you can pick up a rotisserie chicken at the supermarket or grilled chicken at a Pollo Loco-type take-out spot. Or make your own (see below.)

The game plan

Once you make your chicken decision, get a big pot of beans going — I favor mayocobas because they’re delicious and they cook pretty quickly. Bayo beans work great, as well.

RECIPE: Frijoles de Olla

Then make tostada shells. I use Masienda heirloom masa harina and crisp them in the oven rather than fry them. Of course you can also take a short-cut and purchase these.

RECIPE: Tostada Shells (Crispy Tortillas)

Making the chicken at home

If you’re roasting your own chicken, you can do that after or before crisping the tostadas. For a super-simple method, scroll to the bottom of this enchilada recipe.

Up to an hour or two before you want to serve the tostadas, make some pico de gallo — just diced tomato and white onion, plus cilantro, salt and finely chopped serrano chiles (I seed them first, but not everyone does).

RECIPE: Pico de Gallo

Now you’re ready to put the tostadas together.

Spoon a generous portion of beans onto each crisped tostada base, including some bean liquid, so part of the tostada will stay crisp, and part will get a little juicy-chewy. Add a heaping handful of salad greens on top of the beans. Next chunks of avocado that you’ve squeezed a lime over and sprinkled with salt, and some shredded chicken. Or skip that, and finish with a spoonful of guacamole.

Crumble a little queso fresco over all, if you’re feeling expansive, or squeeze on a little crema. (If you’re vegan, leave chicken and cheese or crema off, and up the avocado ante). Finally, spoon an outlandish amount of pico de gallo on top. Serve with a wedge of lime.

The pico is what makes the whole thing: Together with the saucy beans and that lime that you’ll squeeze over all, it turns into a dressing for all that lettuce. That’s why you can’t be stingy with the pico. It’ll get more and more delicious as we move into tomato season, but even with sad Roma tomatoes it’ll be pretty good. And of course, it represents the colors of the Mexican flag, so it’s ideal for this holiday.

RECIPE: Chicken Salad Tostadas

Having these components around — delicious beans, tostadas, chicken and pico — can set you up to feed a crowd, or to delight one or two for many days in various iterations and combinations. (The tostada bases keep surprisingly well and long, sealed in a zipper bag, unrefrigerated.)

With warmer weather on the way, it’s dreamy to know a salady tostada is always there for the assembling.

Happy Cinco de Mayo!

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Tender spring vegetables dress up the delightful masa triangles known as tetelas

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By Leslie Brenner

Are you familar with the Mexican masa shape known as a tetela? It’s a triangular masa pocket filled with beans and/or cheese, and sometimes other ingredients. A popular treat in Oaxaca, tetelas have been showing up in Norteamericano restaurants and on cooking sites in recent years.

READ: “How to make tetelas — the tasty, triangular treats from Oaxaca that are about to become super-trendy”

Our friend (and Cooks Without Borders’ Mexican cuisine expert) Olivia Lopez offered us a dreamy tetela recipe for spring a while back, and now seems like the perfect moment to spotlight it — as the markets are filled with asparagus, fresh favas, spring onions and peas. I even picked up some green garbanzos last week at my favorite local Lebanese grocery.

Olivia’s recipe is in the seasonal-produce-forward, masa-centric style she features at her Dallas-based Molino Oloyo, and it’s a terrific recipe to create at home. Basically, bean-filled tetelas are topped with a quick sauté of those beautiful spring vegetables, then finished with dabs of requesón — fresh cheese you can find in Mexican markets; ricotta makes a fine substitute. Finish it with drizzles of salsa macha.

To make the tetelas, you’ll need first to simmer up a pot of bayo or mayocoba beans, and then fashion those into quick, vegan refried beans. You’ll also need to get your hands on some heirloom masa harina, if you don’t already have some. (We use Masienda’s masa harina, available through its website, and at many Whole Foods Markets. You can also buy it at Amazon.) Do you have a tortilla press? You’ll need that, too.

New to the world of heirloom maíz and masa harina? CHECK OUT: The Masa Movement Project

Try a simpler tetela RECIPE: Tetelas with Beans, Cheese and Salsa Verde

Because the tetelas can be held in a warm oven and the vegetables can be prepped (and salsa macha made) ahead of time, this is a lovely dish to make for a Mother’s Day brunch or other gathering — just throw the veg in the sauté pan right before serving.

Here’s the recipe:

RECIPE: Olivia Lopez’s Tetelas with Spring Vegetables

Meanwhile, if you happen live in North Texas, or you’ll be visiting Dallas later this month, you can taste Olivia’s extraordinary food: Molino Oloyo will hold one of its locally famous pop-ups from Tuesday, April 30 through Sunday, el Cinco del Mayo. Hopefully, I’ll see you there — I’ll be enjoying Olivia’s incomparable offerings at least one of the evenings, maybe more.

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Recipe of the Day: Tinga de Pollo (Chicken Tinga)

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By Leslie Brenner

“The first recipe any Mexican will cook as soon as they move out of their parents’ home and live on their own is chicken tinga.” That’s according to Enrique Olvera, Mexico’s most famous chef. He and his co-authors included their recipe for it in the “Weekday Meals” chapter of their 2019 cookbook Tu Casa Mi Casa: Mexican Recipes for the Home Cook.

They suggest serving it the first night as a soupy stew, on top of rice and accompanied by tortillas. (Sold!) On following days, you can reduce it down a bit, and use it to fill tacos (either with tortillas you make yourself or storebought ones). Or spooned onto a crisp tostada, layered with shredded lettuce, crumbled queso fresco, salsa verde and a squiggle of crema.

It’s very easy to make — hence its popularity as a recipe for new cooks. Highly recommend!

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Want to make awesome tamales? Quick, order some heirloom corn masa harina, then follow our lead!

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This article was first published, in slightly different form, on Dec. 8, 2021.]

If you’ve always wanted to try making tamales for Christmas, but something inevitably got in the way (yep, it sounds pretty intimidating!), this is a great year to dive in with your maiden effort. It’s super fun, the rewards are great, and it’s easier than you might think. Christmas Eve falls conveniently on Sunday this year, so that can be a lovely day of cooking. More importantly, we home cooks now have heirloom corn masa harina at our disposal — which makes tamales that are about a thousand times better than those made with Maseca, or other commercial masa harina.

If you’re going to do this, you’ll need to quickly order some masa harina — we love the product from Masienda, which also now sells through Amazon and some Whole Foods Markets. Choose any color you like — yellow, white, blue, red, or more than one. King Arthur also sells an organic masa harina that’s much better than Maseca.

Got them ordered? (Or maybe you have some on hand because you’ve been living the masa life?) OK, good. Now let’s talk tamales.

How do blue corn tamales filled with duck in dark mole sound? Or vegan tamales filled with roasted sweet potato and vegetable picadillo — served with salsa macha? Yes, I thought so!

Why tamales, why now?

Until a few years ago, I thought that making tamales might not be worth the trouble. Most tamales I’d ever eaten — even those that came wrapped in great reputations — had just been OK at best. Usually the masa was not terribly flavorful, often on the heavy side, with not enough (or not delicious enough) filling.

Then I tasted Olivia Lopez’s tamales, made with masa fashioned from heirloom corn. (As you know if you’ve been reading Cooks Without Borders’ Mexican cooking features for any length of time, we are super fortunate to have Olivia as our resident Mexican cooking expert.) Of course much of her tamales’ lusciousness is thanks to her skill and palate — as chef and co-owner of Molino Olōyō in Dallas, the smashing tamales Olivia has been selling since last year through her Instagram feed quickly developed a cult following. (She doesn’t yet have a brick-and-mortar location.)

But another big part of the reason for Olivia’s tamales’ great flavor is the quality of the heirloom corn from Mexico that she nixtamalizes to make her masa.

For a story I published in The Dallas Morning News a few years ago, Olivia developed a recipe for a Sweet Pineapple Tamal using then-newly available heirloom masa harina from Masienda, and the tamales were spectacular.

And so (Christmas lightbulb illuminating — ding ding ding!) for the holiday season, Olivia developed and shared with us two savory tamal recipes using heirloom masa harina.

They’re out of this world — and believe it or not, not difficult to make.

First is the vegan tamal — one that gets its lushness from coconut oil, rather than the usual lard. It’s filled with roasted sweet potato and a vegetable picadillo. “That picadillo is inspired by the one my Grandma Margarita used to make,” says Olivia. The confetti-like sauté of onions, carrots, tomato, chiles, golden raisins and more is also versatile beyond tamales; if you have any left over, you can use it to fill tetelas, sopes or quesadillas. (I filled tetelas with a little extra picadillo and roasted sweet potato — fantastic.)

Sweet Potato and Vegetable Picadillo Tamales, prepared using Masienda heirloom masa harina, from Olivia Lopez’s recipe

In Mexico, Olivia tells us, tamales are usually eaten on their own, generally not with any salsa. “Usually you just have them with atole,” she says. “Masa on masa!” (Atole is a sweet, hot drink made with masa.) But she loves the late-autumn/early winter flavors of the vegan tamal with salsa macha — and we happen to have a great recipe for that, as well (Olivia’s!).

Our second tamal — blue corn filled with pato en mole oscuro (duck in dark mole) — has a saucy flourish as well: a quickly put-together chimichurri-like salsa made from dried tart cherries, chives (or scallion tops), parsley and lime. “It balances the rich, earthy mole,” says Olivia. Beautifully, I would add.

Tamales de Pato en Mole Oscuro (duck in dark mole), with Tart Cherry-Chive Salsa — prepared from recipes by Molino Oloyo chef and co-owner Olivia Lopez

The tamal’s filling is achieved by roasting duck legs (easy), then saucing the shredded duck in a dark mole that’s also easier to put together than I imagined. (Empowering!) You can use the duck fat that renders when you slow-roast those legs to enrich the masa, or use olive oil — again, no lard. Our instructions have you wrap the tamales in banana leaves before steaming, but corn husks work just as well. The vegan tamales call for corn husks, but they’re also interchangeable — as is the color of heirloom masa harina you use, yellow, blue, rose or white.

Don’t freak out when you see the long recipes — the reason for their wordiness is we’re holding your hand tight, to make sure you’re comfortable with what may be a new process, and to ensure you get great results. To that end, we put together a tip sheet.

And finally, here is the recipe for Olivia’s Sweet Pineapple Tamales. We love pineapple’s sunny and bright flavor during winter’s chill — makes us (almost!) feel we’re in Colima, Mexico, Olivia’s home town. If only!

Want to keep the Sweet Pineapple Tamal vegan? Easy to do — the crema garnish is optional. And all three are gluten-free.

Happy Tamalidays!

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Summer of Ceviche: How to create an alluringly spicy-cool and balanced aguachile, vegan or otherwise

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This is Part 3 of a multi-part series. Here are Part 1 and Part 2.]

In the hands of an able chef, aguachile — northwest Mexico’s take on ceviche — can be so enticing. Yet try a recipe pulled off the internet, even from one of the most trustworthy cooking sites, and chances are it will be so acidic it scrapes the enamel off your teeth, and so chile-hot, you can’t eat more than one bite.

A recipe on one of those respected sites starts by blending three stemmed and seeded serranos with 3/4 cup straight lime juice and salt; two more serranos (plus some ground pequins) are added later.

What’s wrong with that?

The chiles, for starters. Five? Why not 10? The resulting aguachile may well be inedible either way.

That’s because all serranos are not created anything like equal. They can range in length from about one to four inches, and in Scoville heat from 10,000 to 25,000 units. One serrano can be powerfully spicy. Or relatively mild. So calling for a specific number of them without providing opportunities to taste and adjust is absolute folly.

All serranos are not created equal!

Much smarter is to start with a small amount of serrano, then gradually add more, if needed. That way you won’t wind up wishing you could subtract. Our recipe lets you do that.

RECIPE: Hearts of Palm Aguachile

Then there’s the lime juice. As we explained in Part 1 of this series, lime juice’s acid needs to be tamed to make a good ceviche, one that’s not harsh and twangy. That is, it needs to be diluted with a measure of something less acidic — orange juice, water, coconut water or something else.

READ: Summer of Ceviche Part 1

But wait — what exactly is an aguachile, anyway?

Let’s back up and talk about what makes an aguachile an aguachile, and how they’ve been evolving.

In Sinaloa, their birthplace, traditional aguachiles are shrimp ceviches spiked with wild chiltepín chiles; their sauce is a suspension of chiles in water — hence the name, which means “chile water.” Michael Snyder wrote an excellent piece about them for Eater a couple years ago.

The dish has captured the imaginations of chefs and other cooks far beyond Sinaloa. While shrimp versions are popular wherever aguachiles are found, as the dish has evolved, all kinds of seafood are getting the aguachile treatment. In Mexico City, chef Gabriela Cámara has two octopus aguachiles on her menu at Contramar — one green, the other red. Stateside, the Los Angeles restaurant Holbox has one starring Baja bay scallops. In New York City, Enrique Olvera’s Cosme offers one with hiramasa (amberjack), along with rhubarb and shiso.

In Dallas, where I live, Molino Olōyō chef and co-owner Olivia Lopez (who is also Cooks Without Borders’ Mexican Cuisine expert) has featured fluke in a spectacular aguachile with watermelon, green habanero and coriander at a couple of recent pop-up dinners, and kampachi with peaches in one at a recent take-out pop-up.

But aguachile is not just for seafood: There’s a beef aguachile on the menu at El Carlos Elegante (my favorite Mexican place to bring out-of-town visitors), and I recently enjoyed a Wagyu steak aguachile at a delightful Tex-Mex spot, Las Palmas.

And in the hands of careful chefs, deliciousness is the goal, not creating something so searingly spiced that only chile daredevils will enjoy it.

An aguachile for vegans

Aguachiles made with hearts of palm — palmitos in Spanish — have been popping up all over the internet. Made well and balanced properly, they can be wonderful: The texture of the hearts of palm almost mimics scallops or halibut. Adding slices of avocado adds richness. The best ones are not just great vegan aguachiles, but great aguachiles.

Unfortunately, as with seafood aguachiles, far too many of the palmito versions call for a lot of straight lime juice, and a stupidly precise number of chiles — four on that same respected cooking site that used five in the seafood aguachile. If you used four of the serranos currently residing in my fridge, the result would be inedible.

Our palmito aguachile recipe takes a soft approach — and its sauce is so delicious, you may want to drink it from the plate. We start with two parts coconut water, one part lime juice and a handful of cilantro, add a little salt and blitz it with one-quarter of one seeded serrano. Yep, just one quarter!

Taste it. If it’s spicy enough, you’re good to proceed. Want more heat? Add more serrano and blitz again. Repeat until you’re happy. The sauce has lovely body thanks to the cilantro; and it’s visually appealing, to boot. As you can see on the photo at the top of the story, the chile and herbs are suspended in the clear liquid. It looks the part of aguachile.

Next you arrange sliced hearts of palm on a platter with radishes, sliced avocado and ribbons of cucumber; slivers of red onion that have soaked in water to soften their flavor are nice in there as well. Pour the sauce over, and garnish with some chile threads, if you like.

But don’t feel like you need to go vegan with this sauce; it works well as an all-purpose aguachile bath. Substitute quickly blanched shrimp for the hearts of palm, and it’s differently delicious. Or use both palmitos and shrimp. Or skip the palmitos and use thinly sliced sea bass or other white fish, letting it “cook” about five minutes in the sauce before serving. The world is your oyster.

And yes — you could use oysters!

Whatever you use, tostadas make a nice accompaniment.

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'Masa' is a must-have cookbook for Mexican cooking aficionados and aspirants

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By Leslie Brenner

Masa: Techniques, Recipes, and Reflections on a Timeless Staple, by Jorge Gaviria; photographs by Graydon Herriott, Chronicle Books, $35.

For those of us who are passionate about Mexican cooking — whether we are practicing it ourselves or enjoying the creations of chefs and other cooks — the ground has shifted in a very exciting way in the last couple of years. The appearance of heirloom corn, in the form of dried heirloom maíz (field corn kernels) for chefs, and heirloom masa harina (just-add-water masa dough flour) for home cooks, has changed everything.

The seismic shift was fomented and forged in large part by a behind-the-scenes hero: Jorge Gaviria. Now the Miami-born chef and entrepreneur has written a book about it all — Masa: Techniques, Recipes, and Reflections on a Timeless Staple. Though the book is primarily directed at chefs, there’s also plenty in it that will captivate home cooks who are serious about Mexican cooking.

WATCH: “Masa and Heirloom Corn Culture with Olivia Lopez and Jorge Gaviria”

READ: “Next-wave masa: A forward-looking purveyor and passionate chefs bring heirloom corn from Mexico to their table and yours”

Masa is an important, encyclopedic work that provides a fascinating, complete history of masa, from its Mesoamerican roots all the way up to the present — what Gaviria refers to as the “third wave masa movement.” It’s a great foundation for understanding the basis and evolution of Mexican cooking.

Gaviria’s obsession with masa began in 2013, when he became entranced with the heirloom seed movement during an apprenticeship at Blue Hill at Stone Barns, Dan Barber’s famed upstate New York restaurant. That led him to focus on heirloom corn and travel to Oaxaca. Building on Sin Maíz No Hay País (Without Corn There Is No Country, a grass-roots corn culture movement that had been established in Mexico six years earlier), Gaviria went on to create Masienda— a Los Angeles-based company devoted to heirloom maíz from Mexico. Masienda imports the dried heirloom kernels from small farms in Mexico and sells them to the chefs around the U.S. who nixtamalize it (simmering it with culinary lime) then grind them to make masa.

The resulting heirloom-corn masa is far more flavorful and aromatic — and much better for Indigenous farming communities and the earth — than masa made from the genetically modified commodity corn that during the previous century was the only game around. Fans of groundbreaking Mexican restaurants such as Enrique Olvera’s Cosme in New York and Carlos Salgado’s Taco María in Southern California (among others) have been treated to dishes fashioned from heirloom masa in the years since.

Tetelas made from blue, yellow and red heirloom masa harina

In 2019, Gaviria created and began marketing a game-changing piece of equipment: the Molinito. A miniature version of the mammoth industrial molinos (mills) used to grind masa in restaurants (and the freestanding masa shop/tortillerías all around Mexico), the Molinito suddenly made grinding masa much more accessible to independent start-up chefs and food entrepreneurs stateside without deep pockets or huge kitchens. That helped spark a nationwide heirloom masa movement of pop-ups and small kitchens that includes Brooklyn’s For All Things Good, the California Bay Area’s Bolito, Nashville’s Alebrije, Las Vegas’ Masazul, Houston’s Tatemó and Austin’s Nixta Taquería — whose chef Edgar Rico earned the James Beard Award this year for Emerging Chef. And of course Dallas’ Molino Olōyō, whose chef and co-owner Olivia Lopez is Cooks Without Borders’ Mexican Cuisine Expert.

For home cooks, Gaviria and Masienda also introduced an exciting innovation: masa harina made from the new/old heirloom-corn masa. In the past, the only widely available masa harina was made from that awful GMO commodity corn, whether the Maseca brand (developed and first marketed in 1949 in Nuevo Leon, Mexico) or other brands that came later.

Red, white and blue heirloom-corn masa harina from Masienda

How the book works

The first third of Masa consists mostly of a lengthy section, primarily directed to chefs, explaining how to make nixtamal, how to operate and maintain a molino or Molinito and how to grind masa.

Next comes “Contextualizing Masa.” Here we learn how to press and cook a tortilla, the starting point for many of the shapes that follow. Gaviria explains how to get “puff” — the sought-after effect when a perfectly made tortilla fills with air after being flipped on the comal (griddle). “The puff is to tortilla making what the crumb is to bread baking,” writes Gaviria.

A tortilla made using blue and yellow heirloom masa harina puffs on the comal.

A compendium of masa shapes

The heart of the book is a valuable guide to making 28 masa “shapes” — alphabetized from arepas to chochoyotes, memelas, quesadillas, tamales, tetelas and tlayudos. The shapes originate not only from Mexico; they also come from Central America, South America and even the United States (puffy taco!). For all of them, you can use masa made from masa harina (as well as fresh masa made from nixtamal).

Home cooks will need to be self-directed, figuring out fillings and toppings on their own; recipes for those aren’t included in the book. The 3-page entry on Tlacoyo, for instance, describes “A football-shaped or oval masa pocked, commonly filled with puréed beans, favas, or other pulses and topped with cheese, crema, salsa, and/or onions with cilantro . . . “ (You can find complete recipes, along with salsas and fillings, in Cooks Without Borders Mexican Cuisine Guide, and in other cookbooks.)

What we are given are tlacoyo’s roots (Mexico — Estado de México, Hidalgo, Pueblo); the format (“stuffer and topper”) and cooking method (“comal or fried”). Next comes practical information about mixing fat into the masa if you intend to freeze the tlacoyos, and then written instructions on shaping, filling and cooking the tlacoyo. Step-by-step photos (by Graydon Herriott) are excellent visual aids.

Ten chef recipes

The final short section, “Modern Masa Explorations,” is where you find the book’s only conventionally formatted (headnote, ingredient list, detailed instructions) recipes — 10 cross-cultural recipes from chefs. Among them are Blue Masa Sourdough Bread from Philippine-born Karlo Evaristo; Lamb Birria with Masa Gnocchi from Gerardo Gonzalez (Lalo, New York City); Shrimp and Masa Grits from Sean Brock (McCrady’s, Charleston, SC); and Masa Samosas from Saw Naing (Tallula’s, Santa Monica, CA).

The one I tested — White Chocolate Chip Cookies — came from Jess Stephens, who worked in the pastry program at Empellón in New York City.

Buttery and irresistible, with a bit of masa harina incorporated into the dough, they begin with white chocolate chips that are caramelized and melted in the oven, then hardened and broken into chunks — resulting in a flavor is so much more interesting than plain white chocolate.

Gaviria tells me he has begun work on developing a second book, one geared more directly for home cooks — which is great news.

Until then, his outstanding debut effort — which I highly recommend — gives us plenty to chew on.

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Crunchy, light and fun, heirloom-corn tostadas will set you free this summer

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An heirloom-corn tostada topped with beans, salad, shredded chicken and pico de gallo

By Leslie Brenner

Why doesn’t everyone eat tostadas, all the time? It’s a question that nags me noon and night — especially in summertime, when the idea of something light, healthy and fresh, but also delicious and satisfying (and gluten-free!), is top of mind. Plus they’re infinitely adaptable.

What is a tostada? It’s a crisp corn tortilla topped with something appealing. It could be a cold, inviting ceviche. It might be a fresh salad with a layer of warm beans. Perhaps it’s a thatch of cool shredded lettuce topped with warm tinga de pollo. Or an irresistible spin on avocado toast. Whichever way, the tortilla underneath provides delightful crunchy contrast.

People in Mexico, where tostadas were invented, understand their terrific appeal.

And tostadas have been a thing in Southern California for ages. When I was growing up in Los Angeles, giant salady chicken tostadas layered with beans were found in just about every Mexican restaurant: the perfect lunch. My favorite version, as a young adult working in Hollywood, was conveniently located across the street from Paramount Studios, at a show-biz hangout called Lucy’s El Adobe. But you could find chicken tostadas everywhere.

More fashionable these days in the Golden State — and differently wonderful — are simpler, flatter seafood tostadas topped with things like ceviche or octopus salad. A stall in downtown L.A.’s Grand Central Market called La Tostaderia specializes in them, but they’re also found on mariscos (seafood) trucks and stands all over town.

“Places like that are all over Mexico,” says Olivia Lopez, owner of Molino Olōyō in Dallas, and Cooks Without Borders’ Mexican cuisine expert. Known as marisquerías, they are small spots selling mariscos, often arrayed on tostadas. They are popular in Colima, the coastal state where she’s from, and all along the Pacific coast. And they’re trending. “Marisquerías are expanding all over the country,” says Olivia. “It has become a trend in maybe the last 10 years.”

Bright, light, fresh and tangy, a tostada makes an irresistible lunch or snack. Dress it up a bit, and you can invite it to a special dinner. Or tostada party, which Olivia has done recently at a couple of pop-ups.

Yep — Olivia knows how to dress them up. On Molino Olōyō’s Instagram feed, you’ll find one topped with pickled cabbage, chicken in mole, homemade crema, pickled onions and salsa macha.

I fell head-over-heels in love with her Scallop Ceviche Tostada the minute I laid eyes on it, and even more when I tasted it. It’s a blue-corn tostada spread with avocado purée, topped with a bright and voluptuous scallop ceviche and drizzled with a tangy Scallion Condiment. Salsa macha is spooned around, adding depth, and crunchy toasted peanuts go on top.

It’s cheffy and gorgeous, to be sure, but surprisingly easy to achieve at home. Especially if you happen to keep a jar of Olivia’s outstanding Salsa Macha in the fridge, and you’ve made the tostada bases in advance. The scallop ceviche itself is a snap to make; it takes all of about 10 minutes.

Do try this at home

Before heirloom masa harina changed my life, I never made tostadas at home. But now that it’s remarkably easy to make outstanding corn tortillas that don’t involve GMO corn, I make them all the time. It’s a no-brainer — and no need to fry the tortillas to get the crunch. Just make a batch of tortillas, set them on a rack on a baking sheet and let them dry out and get crisp in a low oven. Alternatively, you can use leftover tortillas — simply dry them in the oven.

Then let your imagination go wild.

As a starting point, you might use avocado on top of the crisped tortilla. Olivia’s scallop ceviche creation uses avocado purée, but you could also smear some guacamole or smashed avocado on there, or dress it up like an avocado toast — pretty slices, a generous squeeze of lime, some fancy salt and a grind of black pepper or smattering of chile flakes. In full-on summer, juicy slices of heirloom tomato are a delightful addition. Cilantro leaves are always welcome.

I love the simple treat, because it really features the fabulous, deep flavor of the heirloom corn tortilla — and it’s also vegan and gluten-free.

You don’t need a recipe for it, but here’s a recipe anyway.

A Mexican home-cooking classic

If you’re a fan of Chicken Tinga (Tinga de Pollo) — an easy stew of poached chicken, tomato, onion, garlic and chipotle chile — you can do as Mexican home cooks do and make second-day Tostadas con Tinga de Pollo with the leftovers. Just spoon some reheated Chicken Tinga over a tostdada piled with shredded lettuce, garnish with crumbled queso fresco, if you like, and maybe a squiggle of crema (Mexican sour cream). Bright-flavored raw salsa verde adds tangy dimension.

Or join me in reliving my youth and construct an addictive Chicken Salad Tostada.

Last summer, I got in the habit of keeping tostadas handy, along with the makings of pico de gallo (tomato, white onion, serrano, cilantro) and avocados, and on the weekend I’d make a pot of frijoles de olla. Using organic roast chicken picked up at the supermarket (don’t tell my kid!), I found myself making these a couple times a week. I also stared keeping cans of organic pinto beans around, in case I needed to have this and didn’t have time to make beans. (Yes, they’re that crave-able!)

This summer (which hasn’t even officially started yet) is shaping up to be a repeat.

When you make them, they look giant. The salad spills over the tortilla. You think, that’s so big — how can I possibly eat that? You can; it’s mostly lettuce. The contrast of its cool freshness with the rich, warm beans is marvelous. The avocado and chicken make it substantial. The pico de gallo makes it superbly juicy and bright.

In other words, buen provecho: I hope you enjoy my favorite lunch!

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Cookbooks We Love: In 'Treasures of the Mexican Table,’ Pati Jinich shares recipes soaked in local character

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By Leslie Brenner

Treasures of the Mexican Table: Classic Recipes, Local Secrets BY PATI JINICH; PHOTOGRAPHS BY ANGIE MOSIER, 2021, HOUGHTON MIFFLIN HARCOURT, $35.

Backgrounder

This is the third book from Pati Jinich (pronounced “HEEN-ich”), host of the long-running, award-winning PBS series ‘Pati’s Mexican Table.” In the show, the Mexico City native travels around the country discovering and bringing to viewers its delicious foodways. (Its 10th season features the state of Jalisco.) Her excellent debut cookbook, Pati’s Mexican Table, published in 2013, focused on the basics of Mexican cooking. Three years later, she published Mexican Today, offering personal favorites aimed at busy cooks with families.

Why we love this one

Like a latter-day Diana Kennedy, Jinich traveled widely and deeply for Treasures of the Mexican Table, turning up outstanding, delicious, sometimes classic and often less well known dishes in people’s homes, in restaurants, in markets and on the street. If you love the anthropological and culinary richness of Kennedy’s classics The Cuisines of Mexico and Mexican Regional Cooking, but wish those volumes included visuals, this is the book for you. The food is enticingly photographed by Angie Mosier, Jinich has a winning personality and her writing is exceedingly relatable, warm and engaging.

Vuelva a la Vida is a coastal dish that’s like a cross between ceviche and a seafood coctél.

The book is indeed filled with treasures; I stuck Post-It notes on no fewer than 25 recipes as must-tries, and loved the ones I cooked.

For Instance, Vuelve a la Vida

If you’ve ever traveled on Mexico’s Pacific or Gulf coasts, you’ve probably bumped into the cool and revivifying seafood dish called Vuelve a la Vida, which means “return to life.” Tangy, bright and lively, it’s like a cross between ceviche — as it includes fish “cooked” in lime juice — and a Mexican-style seafood coctél. If you’re attracted to cocteles but sometimes find them too ketchupy, take Jinich’s Vuelve a la Vida for a spin: It does include a good dose of the red stuff, but it’s balanced with lime juice, smoothed out with olive oil infused with garlic and árbol chile and punched up with oregano.

Different versions of the dish use varying types of seafood. Jinich’s recipe calls for shrimp, lump crabmeat and firm-fleshed white fish (I used red snapper from the Gulf), but her “Cook’s Note” suggests playing around with the fin fish, and subbing cooked squid or octopus, raw oysters, clams or scallops. Thinking about the dish now is making me crave it; I can’t wait to try it again with some squid and maybe oysters in the mix.

Belly-Button Soup

Jinich learned to make Sopa de Ombligo, a pinto-bean and masa dumpling soup, from Maria Elena Machado in the tiny Sinaloa mountain town of Jinetes de Machado. Ombligo means belly-button; the word attaches itself to the soup because its dumplings each have a navel-like dimple pressed into it. It’s warming, rich and wonderful — and those dumplings are a great way to feature masa harina made from heirloom corn.

For the puréed base, you can either start with dried pintos or use canned beans. Both ways yielded great results, so don’t beat yourself up if you want to take the shortcut.

A sumptuous mole called Atápakua de Pollo con Hongos

From the indigenous Purépecha people of Michoacán, Atápakua de Pollo con Hongos has a similar color palette as Sopa de Ombligo, but completely different flavors. Not familiar with atápakua? Larousse Cocina Mexico defines it as a dish with a “very spicy sauce made with masa and guajillos or green chiles, tomato, cilantro or mint and some type of meat or vegetable” (my translation). Jinich includes both cilantro and mint, and uses charred tomatillos — which give the dish a delightful, unexpected brightness. She translates it as “Chicken Mole with Mushrooms,” and provides an excellent side-bar page about what makes a mole a mole — it’s a preparation with a mashed or ground sauce combining a number of ingredients including at least one type of chile, and characterized by “multidimensional layering of flavors.”

For this one, masa harina is stirred in, adding sumptuous body. (Naturally I used the marvelous heirloom masa harina from Masienda.) It’s very saucy, so take Jinich’s suggestion of serving it with warm corn tortillas and rice.

You’ve gotta try this

Jinich’s Pastel de Almendra y Chocolate — a flourless (and gluten-free) chocolate almond cake — may be the easiest chocolate cake in the universe. Mix eggs and condensed sweetened milk, add melted butter and chocolate, dump in dry ingredients, mix again and bake. The resulting dessert is moist, chocolatey, rich and delicious, so good I’m going to be sure to have chocolate and almond meal always on hand so I can whip one up at will.

Jinich’s original recipe calls for combining everything in the jar of blender or in the bowl of a food processor, but neither my blender nor my full-sized Cuisinart were large enough to accommodate the batter. (A large blender jar, such as that of a Vitamix, probably would be.) For that reason, I changed the method; our adaptation uses a hand-mixer instead. Which brings me to . . .

A caveat

Treasures would have benefited from more rigorous recipe testing and editing. Because the recipes are sometimes hinky or not as clear as they might be, the book is probably better suited to more experienced and confident cooks who can adjust on the fly. Eyeballing the Vuelve a la Vida recipe, I could see that three pounds of seafood might be a lot for a dish that’s meant to serve 6 to 8 as an appetizer or 4 to 6 as a light main course. I halved the ingredient amounts to test the recipe, and found the adjustment to be perfect — the recipe as printed yielded twice as much as needed. (Our adapted version uses 1 1/2 pounds of seafood total, which is ample for 6 to 8 appetizer portions. Meanwhile, over-purchasing crabmeat isn’t what anyone wants to be doing these days, as the price has skyrocketed.) The first time I made the Sopa de Ombligo, the dumplings completely dissolved into the soup — it turned out the recipe called for too much water added to the masa harina (our adapted recipe adjusts it).

Still wanna make

Sopa de Esquites con Queso (Corn Soup with Quest Fresco); Cecina (Adobo Pork); Tasajo (grilled air-dried beef); and Mole Verde con Puerco y Frijol Blanco from Oaxaca; Chicken Pozole with Pinto Beans and Carne Asada from Sonora; Sincronizadas con Rajas y Chorizo from Coahuila; Chiles Rellenos de Atún (pickled poblanos stuffed with tuna) and lamb barbacoa from central Mexico; Frijol con Puerco Yucateca and Pámpano en Salsa Verde from the Yucatán; Birria (braised goat or lamb) from Jalisco. And a dessert I won’t be able to resist making for long: Helado de Leche Quemada — Burnt Milk Ice Cream, also from Oaxaca, from the weaving village Teotitlán del Valle.

Editing and testing concerns notwithstanding, this is a book I highly recommend: Bursting with delectable inspiration, it beautifully expresses the incredible richness of a Mexican cooking. It’s one I’m sure I’ll be referring to for years to come.

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Salsa macha is the hottest condiment of the year, and we've got the best recipe

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By Leslie Brenner

Back in April, we wrote about salsa macha, the glorious Mexican condiment that was just starting to take off.

READ: Look out chile crisp: Here comes salsa macha, the Mexican condiment that may change your life

Since then, it has swept the nation — Food Network Magazine just included Salsa Macha on its hot list, among “the food and drinks you’ll see everywhere in 2022.”

In the article, the editors wrote:

“Chili crisp was everywhere last year, and now another spicy oil-based condiment is poised for stardom: Mexico’s salsa macha, made with dried chiles, nuts and garlic. Demand is so high that chefs like Olivia Lopez and Rocio Camacho have started bottling their own beloved versions.”

Yes, that’s Olivia Lopez — Cooks Without Borders’ Mexican Cuisine expert! The business she founded last year, Molino Olōyō, sells her salsa macha locally in Dallas. (Contact Molino Olōyō by DM through its Instagram feed to purchase — please note that it is not yet available for shipping; local orders only.)

Don’t fret, though. If you don’t live in Dallas, you can still enjoy Olivia’s Salsa Macha — which to my taste is the best salsa macha in the universe — because Olivia was generous enough to share the recipe with Cooks Without Borders. I love it so much that I always (and I mean always) have a jar of it in the fridge. When it starts running low, I make more — we have become that addicted in my household. When my son Wylie, who has a peanut allergy, was visiting over the holidays, I made up a batch using cashews — just as delicious.

Would you like it? It’s yours. Happy Macha Year.

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The masa life: Making out-of-this-world tamales is totally within your power!

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By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This is third in a series of Cooks Without Borders stories (with recipes) about how to live the masa life. Read The Masa Life Part 1 and The Masa Life Part 2.]

Got plans this weekend? If not, let’s make tamales! How do blue corn tamales filled with duck in dark mole sound? Or vegan tamales filled with roasted sweet potato and vegetable picadillo — served with salsa macha? Yes, I thought so!

Because heirloom corn is now available to home cooks in the form of easy-to-use and incredibly flavorful masa harina, making tamales at home has suddenly become an exciting and delicious project — just in time for tamales season.

Until recently I thought that making tamales might not be worth the trouble. Most tamales I’d ever eaten — even those that came wrapped in great reputations — had just been OK at best. Usually the masa was not terribly flavorful, often on the heavy side, with not enough (or not delicious enough) filling.

Then I tasted Olivia Lopez’s tamales, made with masa fashioned from heirloom corn. (As you know if you’ve been reading Cooks Without Borders’ Mexican cooking features for any length of time, we are super fortunate to have Olivia as our resident Mexican cooking expert.) Of course much of her tamales’ lusciousness is thanks to her skill and palate — as chef and co-owner of Molino Olōyō in Dallas, the smashing tamales Olivia sells through her Instagram feed have quickly developed a cult following. (She doesn’t yet have a brick-and-mortar location.)

But another big part of the reason for Olivia’s tamales’ great flavor is the quality of the heirloom corn from Mexico that she nixtamalizes to make her masa.

For a story I published in The Dallas Morning News last spring, Olivia developed a recipe for a Sweet Pineapple Tamal using the newly available heirloom masa harina from Masienda, and the tamales were spectacular.

And so (Christmas lightbulb illuminating — ding ding ding!) for this holiday season, Olivia has been generous to develop and share with us two savory tamal recipes using heirloom masa harina.

They’re out of this world — and believe it or not, not difficult to make.

First is the vegan tamal — one that gets its lushness from coconut oil, rather than the usual lard. It’s filled with roasted sweet potato and a vegetable picadillo. “That picadillo is inspired by the one my Grandma Margarita used to make,” says Olivia. The confetti-like sauté of onions, carrots, tomato, chiles, golden raisins and more is also versatile beyond tamales; if you have any left over, you can use it to fill tetelas, sopes or quesadillas. (I filled tetelas with a little extra picadillo and roasted sweet potato — fantastic.)

Sweet Potato and Vegetable Picadillo Tamales, prepared using Masienda heirloom masa harina, from Olivia Lopez’s recipe

In Mexico, Olivia tells us, tamales are usually eaten on their own, generally not with any salsa. “Usually you just have them with atole,” she says. “Masa on masa!” (Atole is a sweet, hot drink made with masa.) But she loves the late-autumn/early winter flavors of the vegan tamal with salsa macha — and we happen to have a great recipe for that, as well (Olivia’s!).

Our second tamal — blue corn filled with pato en mole oscuro (duck in dark mole) — has a saucy flourish as well: a quickly put-together chimichurri-like salsa made from dried tart cherries, chives (or scallion tops), parsley and lime. “It balances the rich, earthy mole,” says Olivia. Beautifully, I would add.

Tamales de Pato en Mole Oscuro (duck in dark mole), with Tart Cherry-Chive Salsa — prepared from recipes by Molino Oloyo chef and co-owner Olivia Lopez

The tamal’s filling is achieved by roasting duck legs (easy), then saucing the shredded duck in a dark mole that’s also easier to put together than I imagined. (Empowering!) You can use the duck fat that renders when you slow-roast those legs to enrich the masa, or use olive oil — again, no lard. Our instructions have you wrap the tamales in banana leaves before steaming, but corn husks work just as well. The vegan tamales call for corn husks, but they’re also interchangeable — as is the color of heirloom masa harina you use, yellow, blue, rose or white.

Don’t freak out when you see the long recipes — the reason for their wordiness is we’re holding your hand tight, to make sure you’re comfortable with what may be a new process, and to ensure you get great results. To that end, we put together a tip sheet.

And finally, here is the recipe for Olivia’s Sweet Pineapple Tamales. We love pineapple’s sunny and bright flavor during winter’s chill — makes us (almost!) feel we’re in Colima, Mexico, Olivia’s home town. If only!

Want to keep the Sweet Pineapple Tamal vegan? Easy to do — the crema garnish is optional. And all three are gluten-free.

Happy Tamalidays!

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How to make tetelas — those tasty, triangular masa packets that are about to become super trendy

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Tetelas filled with mezcal-sautéed mushrooms and quesillo (Oaxaca cheese) and served with crema, salsa roja and sliced avocado

Tetelas filled with mezcal-sautéed mushrooms and quesillo (Oaxaca cheese) and served with crema, salsa roja and sliced avocado

By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This is second in a series of Cooks Without Borders stories (with recipes) about how to live the masa life. Read The Masa Life Part 1.. This article was updated April 20, 2024.]

The first time I ever tasted a tetela, weirdly enough, was at my own kitchen counter. It was last spring, when Olivia Lopez, who hadn’t yet founded her popular Dallas business Molino Olōyō, shared a recipe for us to publish here at Cooks Without Borders.

It was a wonderful dish, and beautiful to boot. The tetelas, made from Masienda masa harina, were filled with refried beans and spooned over with a gorgeous sauté of spring vegetables.

Olivia Lopez’s Tetelas with Spring Vegetables and Requeson

Olivia Lopez’s Tetelas with Spring Vegetables and Requeson

I wanted to run the recipe right away, but there was so much explaining to do first. Because they’re filled with Olivia’s vegan, refried bayo beans, we’d first need to talk about bayo beans, and how to think about Mexican beans in a whole new way. We’d need to explain the whys and wherefores of making masa at home that’s far better than what you make using Maseca. And we’d need to show how to make some basic things you should probably make with masa before you attempt tetelas.

Read “Bring on the bayos: showing some love for Mexico’s creamy, dreamy other bean — and its kissin’ cousin mayocoba”

Read “The masa life: How heirloom masa harina and a new (old!) world of beans can transform everyday eating”

Six months later, that’s out of the way. So, let’s talk tetelas!

What exactly is a tetela, anyway?

A traditional snack from Oaxaca, a tetela is triangular masa casing filled with one or two ingredients (often refried beans and/or the stringy, meltable Oaxacan cheese known as quesillo). It can be eaten plain, slit open from the top and dressed with salsa and crema, or dressed up even more than that, as with Olivia’s spring veg creation.

Making tetelas has much in common with making quesadillas — the traditional corn-tortilla kind of quesadilla you find in Oaxaca, not the store-bought flour-tortilla kind most common stateside. To make a tetela, you press masa into a tortilla disc, but before it’s cooked, you add the filling or fillings, fold the tortilla around them into sealed triangular packet, and then cook the packet on both sides on a comal or skillet. “The ingenious wrapping of the masa makes this a perfect vessel to keep ingredients hot and it has the advantage of being a great to-go snack,”wrote Enrique Olvera and company in their cookbook Tu Casa Mi Casa. Think of it as a three-sided, sealed quesadilla.

Why are tetelas about to become trendy?

Heirloom-corn-focused molino-cafés and similar businesses are suddenly popping up all over the U.S., and tetelas are one of the masa shapes the chefs and entrepreneurs behind them often feature. Check out the pretty tetelas— bi-colored and imprinted with epazote leaves — in the lead photo for a Bon Appétit story recently published by yours truly on the subject.

Tetelas are a simple pleasure I turn to again and again when I find myself in possession of a juicy pot of beans, or a chewy hank of quesillo. And because I’m usually harboring at least one or two salsas in the fridge, it’s an easy way to make something delicious, special and nearly always meat-free come together without too much effort. It may look complicated, but do it once or twice, and it’s a breeze. You only need two or three tetelas per person, so it’s not like making a million dumplings. If you make and cook the tetelas ahead of time, you can keep them in the fridge and reheat them later on the comal.

Folding a tetela

Folding a tetela

You can also think of the meal-planning kind of backward: If you have a jar of Salsa Macha, say, whether purchased or home-made, a tetela would be the ideal vehicle for it. It’s like of like building an outfit around a scarf or belt, and it works. You can even cheat and keep cans of refried beans on hand (I like the organic pinto refried beans from Whole Foods). If you also keep quesillo (or any other kind of meltable cheese) in your fridge, and of course masa harina in the pantry, you are in business.

How do I get started?

So glad you asked!

• Get yourself a bag of superior masa harina. (We test all our masa-focused recipes using Masienda heirloom corn masa harina, which is available a many Whole Foods Markets, through its own website, and at Amazon. King Arthur sells organic masa harina, but its ground finer than Masienda’s, and it may not have the structure for tetelas (it’s nice for soft tortillas).

• If you want to include beans, put yourself in a refried-bean situation — any way you like. You can simmer up a pot of mayocobas or bayos and make a quick vegan version. You could buy a side-order from your favorite Mexican restaurant — you don’t need a whole lot to fill each tetela, just about a tablespoon. Or even buy a can.

• Buy some quesillo, if you want to include cheese. (Both of our recipes do, though you could certainly leave it out. For vegan versions, you can follow our two recipes and just use a little more refried beans or mushroom filling.)

• You will need a tortilla press. If you’re just starting out, you can get an inexpensive aluminum or cast-iron press. Many chefs love the Doña Rosa Tortilla Press sold through Masienda; it’s the one we use in our test kitchen.

• Make or procure some nice salsa or salsas. I recommend keeping Olivia’s Salsa Macha in the fridge. Or dice up some Pico de Gallo à la minute (it’s best eaten fresh). You might make in advance a Roasted Salsa Verde or Salsa Roja, or have a jar of store-bought on hand.

By now you’re probably clamoring for the recipe for Olivia’s gorgeous tetela dish. Alas, I’m going to ask you to wait. Ironically, now that I’ve laid down all that groundwork, spring vegetables are six months behind us. Of course that means they’re also six months ahead of us, so you can look forward to Olivia’s recipe once we have spring in our sights.

In the meantime, I’ve fallen in love with the basic tetelas, as they’re often enjoyed in Mexico: as simple snacks, served with salsa and maybe crema. Our recipes follow. Enjoy the folding and eating!

Blue corn tetelas filled with quesillo and refried beans and topped with crema, roasted salsa verde and salsa macha

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The masa life: How heirloom masa harina and a new (old!) world of beans can transform everyday eating

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A tlacoyo filled with beans and cheese and topped with avocado, salsa macha and queso fresco

A tlacoyo filled with beans and cheese and topped with avocado, salsa macha and queso fresco

By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: This is first in a series of Cooks Without Borders stories (with recipes) about how to live the masa life. Find all The Masa Life articles here.]

Heirloom-corn masa + great beans = a new way to eat

In the old days, the before days, tuna salad sandwiches were the default lunch in our household at least twice a week. Maybe thrice. 

Now we’re living the masa life — routinely making masa from masa harina (which takes all of about three minutes), pressing tortillas for tacos or tlayudas, folding tetelas or patting tlacoyos. These endlessly variable masa manifestations often become the vehicles for scratch refried beans, which have become a household staple. With simple enhancements like sliced avocado, a drizzle of always-in-the-fridge salsa macha, fresh herbs or a crumble of cheese, their simple pleasures are insanely satisfying. Add leftover roast chicken, salad greens, easy-to-make pico de gallo or salsa verde, grilled meats or fish or braised anything into the equation, and the delicious possibilities are infinite. We can also easily keep them plant-based, if that’s our desired vibe.

The life-change hasn’t come because I just learned how to make masa from masa harina (flour made from masa, the corn dough used to make all these shapes); I’ve been doing that for most of my life. It came because CWB’s resident Mexican cooking expert, Olivia Lopez, introduced me to two life-changing things: superior masa harina and a new way to think about beans. 

We’ve already written about the bean part of the equation.

[Read: “Bring on the bayos: Showing some love for Mexico’s creamy, dreamy other bean — and its kissin’ cousin mayocoba”]

Now let’s dive into the maíz (corn) side.

Masa harina gets an upgrade

Tortillas made from Masienda masa harina

Tortillas made from Masienda masa harina

Although the handmade tortillas I used to make were much better than the corn tortillas I could buy in a supermarket, the mass-produced masa harina I was able to buy did not have much character, and I knew most of it was likely to involve genetically modified corn, which I was not happy to purchase or consume. 

A fabulous new product on the market turns that equation on its head: masa harina made from heirloom corn from Mexico. Sourced from small farms, the non-GMO, landrace maíz is nixtamalized, milled and turned into masa harina by Masienda, a Los Angeles-based purveyor that supplies forward-looking chefs (including Olivia) from coast to coast. Get yourself a bag (it’s readily available online), stir in water, knead for a moment, and you’ve got shockingly good masa: the building block for all those shapes, and many others. 

 [Read “Next-wave masa: A forward-looking purveyor and passionate chefs bring heirloom corn from Mexico to their tables and yours”]

Red, white and blue non-GMO heirloom corn masa harina from Masienda

Red, white and blue non-GMO heirloom corn masa harina from Masienda

I’m not the only one who considers this new heirloom masa harina to be a game-changer for home cooks. Gonzalo Gout, one of the four authors (including super-chef Enrique Olvera) of the superb 2019 book Tu Casa Mi Casa: Mexican Recipes for the Home Cook, seems equally excited.  

Because many of the recipes in Tu Casa Mi Casa are heavily reliant on masa, and the book was published just before the Masienda masa harina came on the market, I wondered if Gout would have seen its appearance as a game-changer, and what he thought of the product.

In an email, Gout — who along with his co-authors is involved in a number of the world’s most outstanding Mexican restaurants (including Pujol, Ticuchi and Eno (Mexico City), Criollo (Oaxaca), Cosme and ATLA (New York City), Damian (Los Angeles)  — told me: 

 “We definitely cook with Masienda’s masa harina. I use it at home! Although we make all the fresh masa in-house at the restaurants because we are privileged enough to have a molino, we use the masa harina in dessert tuiles, in batters — like the fried fish taco at Damian — or to quickly dry up some overly wet masa. I mentioned it briefly in the book, but I genuinely believe that the problem with masa harina is not necessarily the process but the quality of corn behind it. Masienda solves that problem. For a home cook without access to a molino, making fresh tortillas from a good quality masa harina is far superior to buying industrial tortillas. Few things beat a fresh tortilla, and a good masa harina gets you pretty close to perfect.”

Blue corn tetelas topped with roasted salsa verde, crema and salsa macha

Blue corn tetelas topped with roasted salsa verde, crema and salsa macha

That’s so true, and the possibilities heirloom corn masa harina opens up for making tacos and tamales — and a whole bunch of other masa shapes — at home are cause for celebration: 

  • Homemade tortillas have a life beyond tacos: Dry them out in the oven or on the comal until they’re crisp, and they become tostadas — a base for ceviches or salad-y assemblages.

  • Triangular tetelas are not-yet-cooked tortillas folded around a filling (often beans and cheese) then griddled on both sides. Simple and delicious, you can dress them up with salsas — or not.

  • Tlacoyos are eye-shaped masa patted or pressed a bit thicker than a tortilla and folded up along the middle also to enclose fillings. Flattened out before griddling, these make wonderful canvases for toppings like avocados or grilled sliced meats. If you make them in advance (including the griddling part), you can reheat them by pan-frying them, which makes the bottom wonderfully crispy.  

  • Small, round masa cakes known as sopes are easy to form (no tortilla press necessary) and super versatile. A ridge around their edge holds fillings (beans, meats, cheese, salsas, etc.) in place.

  • My current obsession is the tlayuda, or rather a mini-version, a tlayudita. In its home in Oaxaca, a tlayuda is a pizza-sized corn tortilla griddled till it’s crispy-chewy, then spread with refried black beans while it’s still on the comal. Once off, it’s topped with meats, cheese, sliced tomato or radishes, or whatever you like. 

Avocado Tlayudita with Salsa Macha, inspired by a tlayudita at For All Things Good in Brooklyn, NY

Avocado Tlayudita with Salsa Macha, inspired by a tlayudita at For All Things Good in Brooklyn, NY

The tlayudita: a deliciously chewy-crunchy little canvas

In coming stories, we’ll individually explore each of the above. For today, let’s talk more about the tlayuda/tlayudita. As long as you have a tortilla press, it’s easy to achieve and allows for endless improvisation with the toppings — much like a pizza.

Do a Google image search of “tlayudas in Oaxaca” and you get an instant sense of how they’re eaten and riffed on there: On top of the beans go any combination of cheese (often quesillo, Oaxacan string cheese), sliced tomatoes, crumbled chorizo or other meats, avocados. No doubt you’ll have your own ideas.

To make a legit tlayuda, you’d need a tlayuda press, which is like an oversized tortilla press — it’s a piece of equipment most of us home cooks do not own. (Though you could buy one if you’re deep-pocketed and dedicated to making full-sized tlayudas.) I’m sure it would be heresy to say this in Oaxaca, but I think a mini-version is just as nice — and you can use your regular tortilla press to make them.

Lately I’ve been loving a really simple tlayudita. Rather than black beans, I usually make refried mayocoba, bayo or mantequilla beans, as they cook much more quickly than frijoles negros. Their creaminess makes them ideal for quickly turning into quick vegan refritos. Just sweat a little chopped white onion and garlic in olive oil, add cooked beans and mash with a potato masher or bean masher, adding in some bean-cooking liquid as needed to get the right consistency. (I also keep cans of refried beans in the pantry for when I don’t have an hour or two to make mayacobas. Not as fabulous to be sure, but for quick lunches or weeknight dinners, I occasionally go that route.) 

On top of that I arrange slices of avocado (a squeeze of lime sprinkled over), a drizzle of salsa macha, a few cilantro leaves. Inspired by a tlayudita I enjoyed at a wonderful cafe and masa shop in Brooklyn, For All Things Good, it makes a fabulous vegan lunch. 

RECIPE: Avocado Tlayudita with Salsa Macha

Tlayudita with a garden vibe

Chicken Salad Tlayudita

Chicken Salad Tlayudita

My personal riffing often takes me more salady. I’ve become addicted to a version that’s like a cross between a tlayuda and a chicken tostada — a crispy-chewy tlayuda base spread with refried beans while it’s still on the comal, topped with a handful of tender salad greens, diced avocado, shredded chicken, cilantro, pico de gallo and a crumble of queso fresco. Even thinking about it puts me in a good mood. 

RECIPE: Chicken Salad Tlayudita

Provisioning the masa life

Ready to start exploring the masa life by diving into tlayuditas? Get yourself some heirloom corn masa harina and (if you don’t already have one) a tortilla press. (Olivia has the one Masienda sells; it’s on my wish-list. We’re featuring that press in the Cooks Without Borders Cookshop, where you can also find an inexpensive starter model, the Masienda masa harina, and other cool tools and ingredients.) To cook the tlayuda base, a comal is great, but any griddle or cast-iron pan also works fine.

Then consider ingredients. If you fall in love with the masa life as quickly and irrevocably as we have, you’ll start stocking your pantry and fridge accordingly. Here’s what I try to keep on hand: 

  • Dried beans — any or all of the following: mayocobas, bayos, mantequillas, frijoles negros, pintos (note that frijoles negros and pintos take longer to cook than the first three). I prefer to buy heirloom varieties of any of the above (Ranch Gordo is our favorite source), but even using supermarket beans is pretty great. If you cook up a big pot, you can have beans to quickly turn into refritos for the whole week.

  • A salsa or three: salsa macha, roasted salsa verde, salsa roja. I like to make my own salsa macha and roasted salsa verde, but you can also purchase them.

  • White onions, limes, serrano or jalapeño chiles, ripe tomatoes, cilantro, avocado, garlic, salt. Chop one ripe tomato with onion, serrano, cilantro and salt and you’ve got a fabulous pico de gallo. Avocados can be sliced or turned into guacamole or avocado purée, all great tlayudita toppings.

  • Salad greens for making my salady spin: spring greens, romaine (for shredding) or baby arugula.

  • A cheese or two. Queso fresco, quesillo and cotija are my masa-life faves; I find the best of those at a supermarket specializing in Mexican products. Confession: Mexican-style cheese blends usually lives in my fridge for when I run out of the first three. (Queso fresco doesn’t stay fresh very long.)

Here are some things I like to have on hand as well, but don’t find as essential:

  • Crema (Mexican-style sour cream) or American-style sour cream — these can be super nice to squiggle on for added richness.

  • Cooked chicken — I often pick up a supermarket roast chicken when I feel tlayuditas coming on. One breast is more than enough for two generous Chicken Salad Tlayuditas, and the rest of the chicken can be used for tacos. Or make an easy roast bird.

  • Dried avocado leaves or fresh epazote: One or the other is excellent for flavoring home-cooked dried beans.

  • Tomatillos — in case I want to blitz up a quick, fresh salsa verde in the blender. 

  • Canned refried black or pinto beans — I buy organic ones. For when a tlayudita craving hits and I don’t have time to make dried beans.

  • A jar of store-bought salsa — for emergencies!

 Got it? We can’t wait for you dive in. And we’re happy to answer any questions — about ingredients, techniques, equipment or whatever. Drop us a note in comments below. And look for the next installment of The Masa Life!

RECIPE: Avocado Tlayudita with Salsa Macha

RECIPE: Chicken Salad Tlayudita

READ: “How to make tetelas — those tasty, triangular masa packets that are about to become super trendy.”

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Recipe for Today: Heading toward the weekend, we’re thinking endless guacamole

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Guacamole, made the traditional way — with the same ingredients Diana Kennedy used in her recipe in ‘The Cuisines of Mexico,’ but in different proportions

By Leslie Brenner

Is there anything more festive than a molcajete filled with guacamole? As a party-starter — whether it’s a party of two or twenty — it can’t be beat.

Our friends who garden seem to all have cilantro that’s gardening at the moment, and its delicate lacy blossoms make the nicest garnish, if you can get them.

Of course you’ll need ripe avocados, which is why we’re talking about this now. Memorial Day weekend — summer’s unofficial kickoff — is just about here, and if you grab a few avocados that are not quite ripe, you can put ‘em in a paper bag and they’ll be ready to smash just when you need them.

Whether your Memorial Day festivities skew toward carne asada or burgers on the grill, or even a fabulous vegan mixed grill, you don’t need to overthink the party-starter. Haven’t made plans? Mash up some guac, tear open a bag of chips and invite a friend. See? The party’s here.

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Recipe for Today: Try Mely Martínez's Chicken Veracruz-Style for a vivacious weeknight lift

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Pollo alla Veracruzana, or Chicken Veracruz-Style, prepared from a recipe in ‘The Mexican Home Kitchen’ by Mely Martínez

By Leslie Brenner

One of our favorite recipes from Mely Martinez’s delightful cookbook, The Mexican Home Kitchen, this easy weeknight dish gets its verve from a tomato sauce revved up with pimento-stuffed olives, raisins and capers. That combo may sound unlikely if you’re not familiar with the flavors of Veracruz, but give it a try anyway — we think you’ll be surprised and delighted.

Martínez’s original calls for fresh tomatoes, but you can substitute a can of chopped ones if you’re not finding nice ripe ones yet.

Enjoy your Recipe for Today!

If you like Recipe for Today, please share it on your social channels or email it to a friend who will enjoy it. Thank you!

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Bring on the bayos: Showing some love for Mexico's creamy, dreamy other bean — and its kissin’ cousin mayocoba

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Bayo landscape.jpg

By Leslie Brenner

I’m no stranger to Mexican cooking.

I’ve been making my own tortillas for 35 years. I’ve nixtamalized corn in my kitchen, travel frequently in Mexico, keep chicatanas — flying ants from Oaxaca — in my fridge.

But somehow, until recently, I had never stepped back and thought much about Mexico’s geographic bean divide. I’d completely missed out on the fact that there’s another bean — the bayo — that’s way up there in popularity with the two biggies that are much better known in the United States, pinto and frijol negro (black beans).

Here’s the insane thing: Bayo beans are even better than pintos, and they cook up in about half the time. You can usually have bayos on the table in about an hour. Yes, starting from dried beans, and no soaking necessary. With lovely flavor, they’re creamier than pintos, glorious when cooked simply and eaten with their broth, and much easier to turn into fabulous frijoles refritos. I used to stress over making refritos, finding them difficult to master and long to manage. Now I make frijoles refritos — a delicious and easy vegan version, no less — in no-time flat.

In conjunction with recent new masa upgrades, my bayo awakening is life-changing, truly, and I’m going to share all of it with you.

But first you’ll have to understand the beans to buy — and why this remarkable bean is called by a confusing assortment of names. I’ll simplify it best as I can. The names I want you to remember are bayo, mayocoba and peruana.

[Would you rather go straight to the recipe? Here you go.]

The top row of this display at a Fiesta Mart in Dallas, TX shows the great Mexican geographic bean divide — though we wish the peruanas, aka mayocobas (and used interchangeably with bayos) were in the middle. In any case, the country’s three most po…

The top row of this display at a Fiesta Mart in Dallas, TX shows the great Mexican geographic bean divide — though we wish the peruanas, aka mayocobas (and used interchangeably with bayos) were in the middle. In any case, the country’s three most popular bean types are graphically represented.

OK, let’s back up. I’ve long understood that the most widely-used beans in the southern parts of Mexico are frijoles negros. I’ve tasted how they’re a way of life all over the Yucatán peninsula and in Oaxaca. They’re the beans on the right-hand side of the supermarket display shown in the photo above.

Yet I always thought the rest of Mexico was pinto bean country. (Frijol pinto is shown in the top row center of the photo.)

Funny what’s left out of the bright yellow-and-blue “great deal” sign in front of the bean display at my local Fiesta Mart: the peruanas (also known as mayocobas) you can see on the upper left. Why are we talking about peruanas/mayocobas? Because while they are not technically a bayo bean, they’re so similar to bayos that they’re used pretty much interchangeably by many people.

Oddly, not a lot has been written on Anglophile websites or in English-language cookbooks on Mexico’s other bean-type, or on Mexico’s bean preference by region. In their chapters on beans, my favorite Mexican cookbook authors (Enrique Olvera, Diana Kennedy, Gabriela Cámara) inevitably begin by rhapsodizing about heirloom varieties, but never get around to talking about what kind of beans regular, non-gastronomic types eat on a daily basis in various parts of the country.

“Although there are many varieties of beans in Mexico,” writes another favorite author, Mely Martínez, in The Mexican Home Kitchen, “black beans and pinto beans are the most popular. I always have both in my pantry, and recommend you do the same.” 

But here’s the way Larousse Cocina MX, the website of Larousse Diccionario Encyclopédico de la Gastronomía Mexicana, characterizes the bayo bean (my translation):

“The bean is one of the most used in the country, especially in the Distrito Federal and in other central states.”

The Distrito Federal, of course, is Mexico City. What does Larousse Cocina MX say about mayocobas? It doesn’t even have an entry. Nor does it for frijol peruana.

Larousse’s frijol bayo entry was sent to me by CWB’s resident Mexican cooking expert, Olivia Lopez, who was the first person who opened my eyes about the bayo. Until she mentioned it as her bean of choice for frijoles refritros, I’d never even heard of the bayo bean. Olivia comes, not incidentally, from Colima, a coastal state in that middle part of the country.

What I’ve been able to gather only recently is that pintos are king bean only in the north, including in the regions that border the United States. Between the pintos in the north and the frijoles negros in the south, there is the vast middle: bayo country.

I asked Mely Martinéz (also a friend of Cooks Without Borders) for clarification.

“Frijol bayo is more common in Central Mexico but also in the north,” Mely wrote in a text. “Pinto beans are popular in the far north, and are sometimes labeled bayo, even though they are pinto beans.”

In general, she added, people use the term frijol bayo to describe any of the light-colored beans that turn brown when they cook:

“Even though they could be from another variety. There are other two types of beans in the same color that are very popular in the west coast of Mexico. They are the flor de mayo, which has some pink hues, and the mayocoba, also know as peruano. This last one is a light yellowish beige. With a very creamy texture.”

— Mely Martínez

Mayocoba beans cooking in a pot with epazote, onion and garlic. Also known as peruanas, canarios or bayos, the beans cook up quickly to delicious creaminess.

Mayocoba beans cooking in a pot with epazote, onion and garlic. Also known as peruanas, canarios or bayos, the beans cook up quickly to delicious creaminess.

OK, so bayo is often used generically.

Here, in that case, is my (abridged) translation of the full Larousse Cocina MX entry for bayo beans:

“Frijol bayo (Phaseolus vulgaris)

“A bean variety that comes in shades from light coffee brown to dark coffee brown. Types include acerado, apetito, blanco, garrapato, gordo, grullo, jarocho, maduro, mexicano, panza de puerco, parraleño, perlita rata and zavaleta. Bayos are eaten in many ways: boiled, fried, pounded, and as a filling. The bean is one of the most used in the country, especially in the Distrito Federal and in other central states. In many regions it is used as a substitute for other beans. The bean is found in various colors; the most important types are canela claro, canelo oscuro, rebocero, vaquita and, especially, flor de mayo. The latter is widely used in the Federal District and other central states of the country; in fact, many people maintain that it has the best flavor of all bayos. Flor de mayo tends to be pink in color, but when cooked it becomes light brown. It is also known as a brown bean.”

The more research I did, the more confused I became. Once I started getting the sense that the middle of the country was bayo country, I texted my friend Regino Rojas, a Dallas-based chef who hails from Michoán (in the middle of the country!). “Regino,” I texted, “do you think it would be correct to say that pintos are the most popular bean in the north of Mexico, frijoles negros are most popular in the south, and bayos are the most popular in central Mexico? What's most popular in Michoacán?”

“The most common in my region of Michoacán is mayocoba, also called frijol peruano,” he answered. (The then launched into a hilarious diatribe against Tex-Mex refried pinto beans, but that’s another story.)

Aha! Frijoles mayocobas or peruanos (also called canarios, or canary beans) are one of those light beans that turn brown when cooked that Mely mentioned.

Bean bulk bin number three at a Fiesta Mart in Dallas, TX, offering mayocoba beans. Other bins hold pintos and black beans.

Bean bulk bin number three at a Fiesta Mart in Dallas, TX, offering mayocoba beans. Other bins hold pintos and black beans.

This explains why, at my local Fiesta Mart, there are big bulk bins of exactly three beans: frijol negro, frijol pinto and frijol mayocoba. Mayocoba stands in for bayo: a light-colored bean that turns brown when it cooks.

(Just to geek out for a moment, both bayo beans and mayocobas are Phaseolus vulgaris. But then so are pintos, so that’s not much help.)

OK. I know what you’re thinking. Why don’t you get Steve Sando, the heirloom bean maven who has been profiled in the New Yorker, and whose Rancho Gordo heirloom bean company became one of the hottest food destinations on the web during the pandemic, to weigh in? And why aren’t you telling us about heirloom bayos?

For the record, I have an email out to Sando; hopefully he’ll respond (and I’ll continue trying to reach him). Meanwhile, I just ordered a couple pounds of heirloom mayocobas from Rancho Gordo; it’ll take some time to for them to get to me. I didn’t find any other heirloom bayos on the Rancho Gordo site, but I did find some beautiful-seeming heirloom bayos from another California concern I just turned up: Chili Smith Family Foods. I just ordered four pounds, and will put a call out to them as well, to see what I can learn. (So stay tuned: Hopeful more bean-news will be coming to these pages.)

Well, that’s a lot to digest. And no doubt you want to know how to cook these bad boys.

It’s very simple. Rinse them well and sort them. Put them in a pot with some onion (white, preferably, but not importantly), a couple of slices or half an onion still intact. Throw in four or five cloves of peeled garlic. Cover the beans with three or four inches of water. Bring to a boil and let boil 10 minutes. Turn down to a simmer, cover, and let cook — tasting along the way — until the beans are, as Contramar chef Gabriela Cámara describes it in My Mexico City Kitchen, “custardy.”

In fact, the headnote for her recipe for Frijoles Aguados (Soupy Beans), is one of the best things I’ve read about cooking Mexican beans:

“You need to pay attention and use your senses to guide you when you’re cooking dried beans, because the secret to making really good beans is finding that elusive sweet spot between over- and under-cooking them. A few minutes too long and their skins will split, and they will fall apart. But if you take them off the stove prematurely, they will taste chalky and bland. I’m against the current trend of undercooking beans. The better a bean is cooked, the more complex the flavor. When testing a cooked bean for doneness, bite it and make sure there is no resistance. Once they’re custardy, turn off the heat and let them cool in their broth.”

— Gabriela Cámara, My Mexico City Kitchen

If you want to get fancy, you can toss in some dried oregano or marjoram, or a few toasted dried avocado leaves when you start cooking (toast them on a dry, hot skillet just until fragrant). That’s what Pujol chef Enrique Olvera suggests in his cookbook Tu Casa Mi Casa; Cámara does as well. They impart a beautiful, anise-like scent. Alternatively, you can add fresh epazote (Cámara adds a sprig at the beginning; Olvera uses a whole bunch, but waits till the beans are nearly finished cooking to add them.)

But these are really fine points. Even without any herbs, they will cook up beautifully.

Here are two basic recipes, one for frijoles de olla, another for turning them into refried beans. In the coming days, we’ll be publishing a couple of exciting recipes using the refried bayos, so do check back!

RECIPE: Bayo Beans (Frijoles de Olla II)
RECIPE: Refried Bayo or Mayocoba Beans

And finally, here is a visual guide to Mexico’s beans annotated by Lesley Téllez. It’s from a 2010 post on her excellent website, The Mija Chronicles.

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Look out chile crisp: Here comes salsa macha, the Mexican condiment that may change your life

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Salsa Macha lede.jpg

By Leslie Brenner

This time last year, the Chinese chile oil condiment known as chile crisp held us in its spicy thrall. For many, that love still burns hot.  

But there’s a new chile oil in town — and as much as I love chile crisp, I have been swept off my feet by Mexico’s version: salsa macha. 

Suddenly, Mexico’s answer to chile crisp is everywhere. An oil-based suspension of dried chile bits, with optional additions such as sesame seeds, garlic, nuts and vinegar, it graced the pages of The New York Times Magazine in December, in Tejal Rao’s story “The Most Valuable Condiment of 2020: Salsa Macha.” The following month, Texas Monthly’s taco editor, Jose Ralat, offered up “Salsa Macha is Setting Texas on Fire.” Los Angeles-based Masienda founder (and CWB friend) Jorge Gaviria, who appeared in last month’s Culture-Dive Video, sells jars of it — a collab with So-Cal celebrity chef Carlos Salgado (Taco Maria) at his online store. 

A salsa macha — without the moniker and heavy on the sesame seeds — is one of the three house salsas at Pujol, Enrique Olvera’s renowned Mexico City restaurant.

Margarito Pérez, owner of Austin-based food truck Paprika ATX, told Texas Monthly, “It’s the avocado toast of salsa. And it’s only matter of time before someone puts salsa macha on avocado toast.” 

Salsa Macha Avo Toast.jpg

Ding!! (That’s the timer sounding.)

For Olivia Lopez, CWB’s resident Mexican cooking expert, salsa macha is a permanent fixture on her table at home. “I use it on everything!” she says. “It’s great with seafood — on grilled fish, with just a squeeze of lime. and I love it with beans. She also uses it as an accent on dishes she creates at Billy Can Can in Dallas, where she is chef de cuisine, such as a beautiful scallop ceviche tostada that may go on the menu soon. 

Olivia Lopez’s scallop ceviche tostada, finished with a big ol’ drizzle of salsa macha

Olivia Lopez’s scallop ceviche tostada, finished with a big ol’ drizzle of salsa macha

Salsa macha grabbed Lopez’s attention four or five years ago. “It became trendy a few years ago in Mexico,” she says. “Every person has their very own idea about how to make it,” with the key components being dried chiles and oil, with seeds and nuts optional. “Every time I’d go home, I’d start hearing these random names of salsas. It became a trend, and I said ‘Oh, ok it’s just a chile oil.’”

The best-known versions come from Veracruz and Oaxaca, but “there are different versions all over the country,” says the chef, who comes from Colima on the west coast, south of Puerta Vallarta. “Every single state has their own salsa macha, even though you don’t call it that.”

According to Lopez, chapulines — toasted grasshoppers — are sometimes used in Oaxacan versions. 

In Colima, the condiment goes by the straightforward name salsa de chile de arbol, named for the small, bright red dried chile that gives it plenty of heat, and it’s typically served with the white pozole of the region. “Growing up, we were always afraid of that chile,” says Lopez. The fear also applied to the salsa. “You just put a few drops on your spoon and you had to be super careful.” 

Lopez’s own salsa macha is not fiery hot; she uses a bit of chile de arbol, and much more ancho and guajillo chile — along with sesame seeds, peanuts, garlic, a touch of cider vinegar and a shake of dried oregano. Because it’s not too spicy, you can eat a lot of it — there’s infinite flavor, unfettered by prohibitive heat. Four of us polished off about six ounces with tacos one night last week; it is so delicious.  

A generous drizzle of salsa macha can pull a lunch cobbled together from leftovers into a fabulous treat.

A generous drizzle of salsa macha can pull a lunch cobbled together from leftovers into a fabulous treat.

“What I like in the anchos is they’re meatier to me and they have some sort of sweetness, a sweet note at the end. The guajillo’s very thin and has a bit of bitterness.” The oregano, unusual in salsa macha recipes, is a great addition. “I love dried oregano,” says Lopez. “It’s very aromatic. Grandma used to use a lot of oregano, fresh or dried, and she’d throw it a lot on her sauces. You get more the aroma than the taste.” 

Agreed — which it is why it is my current condiment of choice. 

Treat yourself to Olivia Lopez’s version, which is super easy to make, and keeps well in the fridge for a month. We wouldn’t blame you if you made a double-batch.

RECIPE: Olivia’s Salsa Macha

RECIPE: Pujol’s Sesame, Guajillo and Morita Salsa

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For out-of-this-world pozole rojo, start with dried heirloom corn from Mexico — then nixtamalize (yes, you can!)

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Heirloom pozole landscape.jpg

By Leslie Brenner

If you want to try your hand at nixtamalizing corn, but don’t want to get into the elaborate procedure of grinding it into masa, I’ve got one word for you: Pozole.

Pozole is a soup or brothy stew starring nixtamal (hominy) — kernels of dried corn cooked in an alkaline solution (the process is explained here). Pork or chicken may be used for the broth. Leave it at that, and you’ve got pozole blanco. Add tomatillos and fresh green chiles and maybe herbs and green vegetables, and you’ve got pozole verde. Forget the green stuff and instead add a sauce made from toasted red dried chiles, and pozole rojo’s in your pot.

Most pozole you find in Mexican restaurants in the United States is made from canned hominy, says Olivia Lopez, chef de cuisine at Dallas restaurant Billy Can Can and Cooks Without Borders new Mexican cuisine expert and advisor. “It’s less time-consuming,” she explains. “The cans are really cheap, as well.” And while the dish can be wonderful, that’s usually more because of wonderful broth and the condiments that go on top than the hominy.

Pozole prepared from just-nixtamalized heirloom corn, on the other hand, is spectacular through and through. The nixtamal itself (those grains of corn that have been liberated of their skin) has wonderful earthy flavor and aroma, as you can see if you taste it before it goes into the pot. It actually tastes like corn, and its texture provides some nice resistance to the tooth.

Happily, you can buy everything you need for the nixtamal — the heirloom grains and cal — from a new(ish) online store, Masienda. You’ll also find links to several of Masienda’s products, including a Pozole Kit, in Cooks Without Borders CookShop.

“You can definitely tell the difference,” says Lopez.

Making your own nixtamal can be a lot of work, mostly because in order for the grains to “flower” properly in the broth, you need to remove the tip end of the grain, known in Spanish as the cabeza (head). It’s a painstaking process that can take hours, but it’s worth doing at least once in your life.

Marisel E. Presilla, in her encyclopedic and authoritative 2012 book Gran Cocina Latina, puts it this way:

“When I nixtamalize corn for any dish — but particularly for pozole, the rich soup/stew — I view it as something very special. It is a process that requires care. Not onlly is any Mexican cook with her salt familiar with the changes the corn goes through in cooking, but she is willing to cut of the germ end of every single kernel of corn in order to eliminate the slight bitterness of the germ and make the kernels flower when cooked again. For this effort you must have your mind fixed on a high and shining purpose, great texture, and good looks, not just fifteen minutes of table fame.

“. . . Whether it is the lye used for hominy (not the same as the calcium hydroxide for treating Mexican corn) or the effect of the can, the flavor [of canned hominy] just seems horrible to me. Make pozole from scratch even once and you will know the right taste.”

There may be a worthwhile hack, however; we learned about it after we developed our recipe, and haven’t yet had a chance to test it. Lopez suggests making the nixtamal a day in advance and freezing the kernels for easier blooming, even without removing the cabezas. (We’ll update this page once we test it.)

Nixtamal kernels after they’ve “flowered” in the broth. The kernel in back, which still has its cabeza, did not bloom.

Nixtamal kernels after they’ve “flowered” in the broth. The kernel in back, which still has its cabeza, did not bloom.

Traditionally, pozole rojo is made with a pig’s head. If you want to make that happen in your own kitchen, we commend you (and hope for a dinner invitation!). But for us mortals, outstanding results can be achieved with pork shoulder (also known as Boston butt or pork butt). Once you finish preparing the maize, it’s actually quite a simple dish to prepare.

Many recipes suggest cooking the nixtamal separately from the broth, but I found cooking them together to be ideal. The nixtamal can take anywhere from four to six hours to be tender. The pork will be ready sooner, but it can easily cook that long — or you can remove it for part of the time if you prefer, then add it back in before the end.

The method for adding ancho and guajillo chiles is pretty cool: Remove the seeds and stems, toast them briefly on a hot skillet, rehydrate them in hot water, then purée in a blender with some of their water. Heat oil and fry the sauce for a few minutes, deepening its flavor, before you add it into the nearly-cooked broth. Some recipes skip the frying step, but I feel the depth it adds is worth the small effort — which after hours of decapitating corn kernels, really isn’t a big deal.

Then comes the fun part: all the garnishes. Serve them in separate bowls, so each eater can garnish as they please with shredded cabbage (or lettuce), lime wedges (which slice through the richness), sliced radishes, chopped white onion, dried Mexican oregano, crumbled dried piquín chiles and cilantro.

RECIPE: Heirloom Pozole Rojo

RELATED STORY: “Next-wave masa: A forward-looking purveyor and passionate chefs bring heirloom corn from Mexico to their tables and yours”

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Next-wave masa: A forward-looking purveyor and passionate chefs bring heirloom corn from Mexico to their tables and yours

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Heirloom maize and masa harina from Masienda

By Leslie Brenner

[Editor’s note: Since this article was first published, Masienda founder Jorge Gaviria published a cookbook — Masa: Techniques, Recipes, and Reflections on a Timeless Staple. Read our review.]

Ten years ago, most people who live and eat in the United States had never heard the word “nixtamal.” I know what you’re thinking: Still today most have not heard it. (It’s pronounced “neesh-ta-mal.”) But many who are serious about Mexican food most certainly have heard the word — and probably tasted dishes made from fresh nixtamal, as more and more chefs here are nixtamalizing corn in their own restaurants in order to make outstanding tortillas and masa-centric dishes.

Nixtamalization, of course, is the ancient process by which maize (corn) is transformed by soaking it, then cooking it in an alkaline solution, making it suitable to grind into masa, the dough from which tortillas (and tamales, sopes, tetelas, etc.) are made.

Prepared with lime (calcium hydroxide, known in Spanish as “cal”) or wood ashes, the alkaline solution loosens the pericarp (skin) on each kernel — so it can be removed, making the kernels easier to grind than they would otherwise be. It also unlocks proteins and frees up the niacin in the grain, making it much more nutritious. It kills pathogens as well, making it safer.

Once that pericarp is removed, the blanched grain becomes nixtamal. From there, it can either be cooked and eaten whole — most notably in pozole — or ground into masa, the dough from which tortillas and so forth are made. 

Nixtamal made from single-origin maiz cacahuazintle from Edo de México

Nixtamal made from single-origin maiz cacahuazintle from Edo de México

Invented by the Aztec and Maya civilizations, nixtamalization is a process that has been key to culture in Mesoamerica since at least 1500 to 1200 BCE, according to Sophie Coe, who wrote in The Oxford Companion to Food that “typical household equipment for making nixtamal out of maize is known on the south coast of Guatemala” during that period. Coe is also author of America’s First Cuisines. 

The exact time and place where nixtamalization was first accomplished is uncertain, Amanda Gálvez, PhD, tells us in Nixtamal: A Guide to Masa Preparation in the United States. “But archeological sites dating to around 1000 B.C. point to the use of alkali from residues found in ceramics.”

You may be wondering: Can dried corn be consumed without nixtamalizing it? Yes! That’s what cornmeal — also known as grits or polenta — is. But if you’ve ever tried making a tortilla with cornmeal, you know that it doesn’t hold together. 

Here’s how Gálvez explains why the nixtamalizing transformation is essential to make tortillas:

“The original grain hemicellulose partially dissolves, and starch becomes gelatinized (hydrated, swollen and cooked. The masa swells and cellulose is chemically transformed by alkali. All of these changes allow the masa to be flexible, capable of being extended flat before being baked on a hot pan, resulting in a thin, flexible bread.” 

What is masa harina? Moist masa dough that is dried and then ground into powder. More on that presently. 

Nixtamal’s next wave

Let’s return to those forward-looking (and backward-looking!) chefs cooking Mexican food in the U.S., who have committed themselves to making their own masa, starting with nixtamalizing in their own restaurants. In early 2015, Food & Wine magazine called house-made tortillas a “new trend to watch for” in the coming year, though the story didn’t specify whether these tortillas were actually made with freshly made nixtamal. House-made tortillas had already been big where I lived (and still live), in Dallas, for years. In fact, trailblazing Dallas chef AQ Pittman (then known as Anastacia Quiñones) was nixtamalizing corn to make her own fresh masa at a restaurant called Alma back in 2011. (She continues to do so at the restaurant where she’s now executive chef, José.) Since 2015, the house-made tortilla trend — including in-house nixtamalization — quickly picked up steam, and it’s now going on all over the country.

Which brings us to the new wave: A growing number of nixtamal-focused chefs in the U.S. are using heirloom corn varieties sourced from Mexico to make nixtamal that’s much more nuanced and deeply flavored than nixtamal made from widely-available (industrially farmed) white maize.  

Jorge Gaviria in Oaxaca / Photo by Molly DeCoudreaux, courtesy of Masienda

Jorge Gaviria in Oaxaca / Photo by Molly DeCoudreaux, courtesy of Masienda

Behind that movement is purveyor Jorge Gaviria, a chef and entrepreneur who fell into the heirloom seed movement when he apprenticed with Dan Barber at Blue Hill at Stone Barns in 2013. The following year, Gaviria learned of some three million small-scale farmers in Mexico, a number of whom had been collaborating with seed breeders to bolster native populations and were growing traditional, flavor-focused native varieties. He started buying surplus corn from 100 of them, and when he learned that Mexico City superstar chef Enrique Olvera (Pujol) was about to open Cosme in New York City, Gaviria offered to supply him with heirloom corn. Olvera agreed, and Gaviria’s company — Masienda — was born. 

Before long, Gaviria was also supplying Carlos Salgado (Taco Maria), Rick Bayless (Frontera Grill and Topolobampo in Chicago), Gabriela Cámara (Contramar, Cala) and Sean Brock (Minero), Steve Santana (Taquiza) and others. 

Here’s where it gets really exciting for home cooks: You can buy several varieties of the heirloom corn — along with cal, and everything you need to make tortillas, such as a fabulous-looking tortilla press and a traditional comal — online at Masienda. In his 2019 cookbook Tu Casa Mi Casa, Pujol’s Olvera called Masienda “a wonderful project that we recommend as the best source of heirloom corn outside of Mexico.”

The Masienda website is also a treasure-trove of excellent videos about making nixtamal, grinding it into masa, making tortillas and more.

Although making masa for tortillas is extremely involved, no special equipment is required to simply nixtamalize the corn — all you need is a big pot. Grinding it is where things get complicated. Professional molinos (mills) are gigantic and extremely expensive; a smaller molinito is $1,750 and weighs 82 pounds. Masienda sells a small, inexpensive hand-cranked mill, and also has a video showing how to make masa using your food processor. I haven’t yet attempted either, but plan to do so soon.

Two easy ways to enjoy heirloom maize

I was eager to make nixtamal, though, so I bought a sack of single-origin maiz cacahuazintle from Edo de México, nixtamalized it and made an out-of-this-world pozole — literally the best one I’ve ever tasted. Want in on that? Here’s a story about it, with my recipe. Through Cooks Without Borders CookShop, you can purchase the Pozole Kit Masienda sells, another with other Masienda products. 

Pozole made with heirloom maiz cacahuazintle from Edo de México, purchased through Masienda

Pozole made with heirloom maiz cacahuazintle from Edo de México, purchased through Masienda

But even if you don’t want to go to the trouble of making nixtamal, you can still make tortillas, tetelas, tamales and other masa-driven dishes using heirloom corn. That’s because Masienda also sells special “chef-grade” heirloom corn masa harina it produces itself. (It’s also available through links at our CookShop.)

Olivia Lopez with heirloom corns from Mexico (and masa she made from them) at Billy Can Can in Dallas, TX

Olivia Lopez with heirloom corns from Mexico (and masa she made from them) at Billy Can Can in Dallas, TX

I learned about Masienda’s masa harina from Olivia Lopez — who recently became Cooks Without Borders’ official Mexican cuisine expert/advisor. Lopez, chef de cuisine at Dallas restaurant Billy Can Can, purchased a molinito from Masienda in early pandemic, and when the shipment from Mexico was delayed, the folks at Masienda sent her some of its heirloom masa harina to play with while she waited. 

The Colima, Mexico-born chef, who plans one day to open a tortilla shop in Dallas inspired by Olvera’s Molino in Mexico City, is in process of developing several recipes for Cooks Without Borders using the heirloom masa harina. (Look for them in coming days!)

Pineapple tamales prepared with heirloom olotillo blanco masa harina from a recipe by Olivia Lopez

Pineapple tamales prepared with heirloom olotillo blanco masa harina from a recipe by Olivia Lopez

Watch our Cooks Without Borders video featuring Jorge Gaviria and Olivia Lopez.

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Take a moment to honor 98 year-old Diana Kennedy, the "Queen of Mexican regional cooking"

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By Leslie Brenner

Editor’s note: Women have a history of writing the best cookbooks. That’s why throughout March — Women’s History Month — we’ll be featuring cookbooks by our favorite female authors.

International Women’s Day feels like exactly the right part of Women’s History Month to celebrate Diana Kennedy. The trailblazing cookbook author — who turned 98 last week — has devoted no less than six decades of her life to studying and documenting the richness, tradition and techniques of the regional cuisines of Mexico.

If you haven’t seen Elizabeth Carroll’s 2019 documentary about her, “Nothing Fancy,” do treat yourself. The 1 hour, 8 minute film does a wonderful job at explaining why British-born Kennedy is widely regarded — even in Mexico — as the world’s foremost expert in traditional Mexican cuisine.

“I think she’s a legend,” says Gabriela Cámara, chef and owner of Contramar in Mexico City and Cala in San Francisco, in the film. “Many Mexicans are against admitting that Diana knows more than they do about their food.”

“I think Mexico as a country will be eternally indebted to her efforts,” was celebrity TV chef Pati Jinich’s take.

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The author of eight books on Mexican cooking, including the seminal 1972 book The Cuisines of Mexico, Kennedy was the pioneer who evangelized to the English-speaking world about the depth, breadth and fabulousness of traditional Mexican cooking, the way it is done in cities and villages throughout Mexico. That book is out of print, but it is collected — along with The Tortilla Book and Mexican Regional Cooking — in The Essential Cuisines of Mexico. It is a must-have for anyone interested in Mexican cooking.

It was The Cuisines of Mexico that prompted me to buy an aluminum molcajete and a tortilla press 36 years ago, when I was in my 20s. I still have both, though I’ve graduated to a giant wooden tortilla press.

I’ve learned so much from Kennedy’s books over the years, starting with the proper way to make guacamole, grinding white onion, serrano chiles, cilantro and salt in the molcajete — and no garlic, as Kennedy emphatically exclaims in the documentary. Her books are always the first place I go whenever I have any question about any Mexican dish.

I had the amazing opportunity, back in the early 1990’s, not just to meet Kennedy, but to spend a long weekend cooking with her at my friend Danièle Mazet-Delpeuch’s house in Dordogne, France. As you’ll see if you watch the documentary, Kennedy is famously crotchety, which was my experience as well. But I’ll always treasure the time, which I wrote about a few years ago, in a story about making tortillas.

If it’s interesting or vexing to contemplate the idea of honoring a British-born woman as the “queen of Mexican regional cooking,” as a Los Angeles Times story by Daniel Hernandez did last year, consider the comments in the documentary of Abigail Mendoza. The chef and owner of Tlamanalli, a restaurant in Teotitlan del Valle, Oaxaca, had been friends for 35 years at the time the documentary was filmed. “Ella está una hija adaptiva en México — She’s an adoptive daughter of Mexico,” she said.

“She’s very Mexican in her soul and heart. I believe Diana is a Mexican, who does not have to have been born in Mexico. But she is in Mexico and lives in Mexico, is working in Mexico and is a Mexican.”

Happy International Women’s Day. I’m off now to make a batch of guacamole.

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Around the world in chicken soup: Flavors of the Yucatán shine in Jenn Louis' Sopa de Lima

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Jenn Louis’ Sopa de Lima (Yucatán-Style Chicken-Lime Soup)

This is the fourth story in our series “Around the World in Chicken Soup.”

I really miss traveling, and especially traveling to Mexico — which in the last five years had become almost an addiction for my husband and me. Our last two trips were to the Yucatán Peninsula, where we mostly explored the beautiful towns and cities inland — Valladolid and Mérida — and coastal towns like Sisal and Campeche and Champotón. And of course the archeological sites: Chichen Itza, and Uxmal and Ek Balam.

The peninsula’s bright and sunny flavors came back to us deliciously in the form of a recipe I found in Jenn Louis’ delightful new book, The Chicken Soup Manifesto: Sopa de Lima — the region’s tangy, limey chicken soup.

As Louis writes at the start of the book, it’s always great to use homemade chicken stock in soups “because the end result is worth the time, and your home will smell amazing.” So true.

But there’s not always time to make stock. And when you jazz up a chicken soup with assertive flavors, like the exhilarating spices that went into the Tibetan Thukpa we wrote about in December, the convenience of using store-bought broth or stock as a base becomes much more attractive.

That’s definitely the case with Louis’ Sopa de Lima. The original version in her book calls for starting with either home-made chicken stock or water, but because the chicken pieces cook in the liquid less than 20 minutes, I chose store-brought broth instead of water.

In the Yucatán, the lime they use for this soup is the region’s native lima ágria. Because we can’t get it here, Louis brilliantly swaps a combination of regular (Persian) lime and grapefruit juice, and that works great. Spices and herbs — cinnamon stick, black peppercorns, cloves, garlic, oregano and bay leaves — add some depth of flavor and balance the brightness; a big handful of chopped cilantro and hot, crisp tortilla strips are the finishing touch.

You could certainly swap the tortilla strips for store-bought tortilla chips if you don’t feel like frying the strips, but just-fried, they do add a lovely flourish. (And it’s a great way to use corn tortillas that have seen better days.)