Latin American

Fish tacos, long a staple of coastal Mexico (and coastal California), have become popular throughout the U.S. I prefer the fish fried, but you can grill or even steam it if you like.

Like the preceding dish, this one is wickedly strong tasting, not fiery-hot but potent with garlic, onions (which are salted to “kill” their harshness), and lime. Not for the faint of heart, but many people (including me) love it. You can use any firm-fleshed white fish: halibut, swordfish, striped bass, red snapper, and so on. Ideally, you’d serve this with Mexican Radish Salad (page 172), along with some beautiful tomatoes. Rice and beans would also be good.

Limes and hot weather go together; I first had this at a three-walled restaurant in a Yucatán port on the Gulf of Mexico. I loved it immediately, and I love it still. It works just as well with shrimp as it does with flatfish. As for the chiles, the amount is your call. I like just a touch of heat—a pinch of cayenne does the trick for me—but this dish is often prepared scorchingly hot. Serve with rice (Mexican Rice, page 517, is good), or tortillas.

Strictly speaking, chimichurri is Argentinean, but there is far more salmon in Chile than elsewhere in Latin America, and chimichurri has become pan-continental. Keep the skin on the salmon (make sure it’s scaled), and making it perfectly crisp is nearly effortless as long as you use a nonstick skillet. I love this with Peasant-Style Potatoes (page 477) or Potatoes with Bay Leaves (page 481).

Generally speaking, escabeche is a method used for flavoring (and preserving—but we don’t use it for this purpose) fish after it has been cooked. It’s great with dark-fleshed fish like mackerel, tuna, and bluefish, but it also works nicely with cod and even flatfish like flounder. All that changes is the cooking time, and, of course, the flavor. Serve this as part of a buffet with other South American or almost any Western European dishes.

Chipotles are smoked jalapeños, and they’re available dried (soak them in warm water until soft before use) or in cans. When canned, they’re called chiles in adobo; adobo is a red sauce from Veracruz that’s perfect for this dish. Serve this spicy dish with plain white rice and lots of it.

I ate this by the Gulf of Mexico, in a place with pink and avocado-green walls, a mariachi, and an outside shower. It tasted just as good last winter in Connecticut. Serve this, if you like, with Cebollas Curtidas (page 615) or any other relish or salad. Rice is also good, as are French fries.

Along with Cochinita Pibil (page 351), this is among the best uses for the annatto-based Recado Rojo, one of the most beautiful and flavorful sauces in the world. Serve with loads of plain white rice.

Just because I identify a dish with a country doesn’t mean it’s made exclusively there, and chile-fried shrimp is practically universal. So calling this a Mexican dish is a little like calling grilled steak an American dish. But I like to make this with the relatively mild chiles used in Mexico, and I like to serve it with rice and beans, so there it is. This is best made with homemade Chili Powder (page 609), but if you prefer, use a chile powder dominated by ancho or New Mexican chiles, which have warmth but not high levels of heat. Arroz a la Mexicana (page 517) is a great side dish for this, along with a green salad.

These fresh cornmeal cakes are wonderful for breakfast or as a side dish. They can be served simply with butter or topped with scrambled eggs with tomatoes and onions.

The spicy sweetness of this Mexican salad is super-refreshing and delicious as long as you have ripe fruit; vary the ingredients depending on what you find. Really, any fruit is suitable, from oranges and apples to pineapples and papayas; peaches and melons are wonderful summer options.

The peppery bite of radishes is the featured player in this crunchy salad, which is served all over the Arab world in one form or another. Salting the radishes first improves both flavor and texture, but if you’re pressed for time, just salt the salad as you normally would.

Posole is dried corn treated with limestone, a traditional American food that predates the arrival of Europeans by some thousands of years. In its ground form it is the main ingredient in tortillas, but for some reason the whole kernels are largely ignored in this country outside of the Southwest. (Hominy, which is essentially the same thing, has a bit of a following in the South, but again mostly in its ground form: grits.) Posole is also the name of a soupy stew containing, well, posole. It can be varied in many ways, but it is always delicious and distinctive. If you have time, soak and cook the dried kernels yourself: Rinse the posole, then soak it in water to cover if time allows, for up to 12 hours; cook in boiling water to cover, stirring occasionally, for 1 hour and probably longer. Season with salt and drain. Canned posole (or hominy) is almost as good, and reduces the time it takes to make this soup to about an hour.

Labor intensive, yes, but typically made as a group project and a fun one at that. The tamales in the frozen food aisle may be a quick fix, but they’re barely worth eating. These, on the other hand, are worth the effort. If you are using any of the chicken fillings, shred the chicken finely, then mix with the accompanying sauce. You can buy dried corn husks at any market that carries a range of Latin products; same with masa harina, though finding fresh masa may be a bit more challenging, depending on where you live.

This classic Mexican soup is the perfect solution for leftovers—stale tortillas, cold chicken, and overly ripe tomatoes. It can be garnished with a variety of toppings, from the classic avocado and cheese to steamed greens.

This popular soup—a fun dish for a casual meal since the corn is left on the cob—is traditionally seasoned with the fragrant local herb guascas. Unfortunately, I’ve only rarely seen guascas in the States, so I use a combination of cumin and thyme, which approximates the real thing. Fortunately, you can often find yucca, also known as cassava, at most major supermarkets. This root vegetable, native to South America and largely grown in Africa and the Caribbean, has a subtle sweetness, not unlike yams. If you can find it, try the variation. Serve with arepas (page 575) or crusty bread.

A staple in Mexico, often garnished with diced raw onion, avocado, tomato, and a squeeze of lime. You can make the chipotle paste by buying canned chipotles in adobo (sold at almost all Latin markets and many supermarkets) and simply whizzing them in a blender. The results, however, are searingly, blindingly hot and not at all like what you get in restaurants in Mexico, where the paste is made from scratch. Fortunately, making the paste from scratch takes all of 20 minutes, 10 of which are spent soaking dried chipotles (available at most places that sell dried chiles or online at www.penzeys.com and other mail order sources). The lovely brick-red paste, used in small quantities, converts the blandest chicken soup into something hot, smoky, and delicious. Leftover paste is also great on broiled or grilled chicken or pork or stirred—again, in small quantities—into poached or steamed vegetables.

A great place to use leftovers and to improvise. Plenty of lime, raw onion, and cilantro are key; if you include them in abundance, the soup will be delicious and authentic. Though I have never seen it in Mexico, you could use vegetable stock here if you prefer.

Unlike the often inedible rice that comes on every combo platter of tacos or enchiladas in this country (and, increasingly and sadly, in Mexico as well), this is the real thing. It’s the perfect side dish with any Mexican meal, especially when paired with Refried Beans (page 438). Whereas Spanish rice gets its color and flavor from saffron, the source here is fresh tomatoes.

A different type of coconut rice, one that is made fairly sweet but served with savory (even spicy) foods, like Stewed Lamb Shanks with Mushrooms and Pasilla Chile Sauce (page 414). You can add about 1/3 cup raisins or corn or thinly sliced and lightly browned ripe plantains (page 472) or even a bit of cinnamon.