Mexican

This is the Mexican equivalent to the American grilled-cheese or turkey sandwich, an everyday treat you throw together with what's left in the fridge. In Mexico, that's beans, cheese, and salsa. Though molletes are available in restaurants, they're definitely best made at home, when you can make sure to properly butter and toast the bread, add the right amount of beans and cheese, then melt that queso under the broiler.

A creamy, savory-sweet purée of roasted vegetables replaces half the cheese in this colorful, vegetarian-friendly quesadilla. (Try serving the dip with raw veggies or even grilled corn.) Although dicing and then roasting the squash amps up the intensity of the roasted flavor, you can save some time by simply halving the squash before putting it into the oven and scooping out the flesh once it’s soft.

Add a chipotle chile for a subtle kick to this chunky guacamole, then serve it with multicolored corn tortilla chips for a stunning platter. Double the recipe if you plan to serve a crowd.

Freshly husked and oven-broiled, roasted tomatillos provide a smoky warmth you just won’t find in jarred salsa. To reduce the sodium here, use half the suggested amount of salt; the flavor will pick right back up with tortilla chips. While fresh tomatillos are an end-of-summer through fall item, you can use the canned variety to whip this up; and play around with the pepper selection to personalize your dip and control the heat.

Like Mexico’s better-known culinary exports—guacamole, tacos, and tequila—Mexican-style corn (elote) is finding its place in restaurants, street carts, and home kitchens across North America. Given how available the ingredients are and how quickly it can be prepared, it’s no wonder that it’s a new favorite. Grilling lends an earthiness to the corn, but if grilling is not an option, boil it instead. It’s worth seeking out cotija, a Mexican cow’s-milk cheese, but in a pinch, Parmesan or feta will do.

Crispy, crunchy, spicy, and best of all, easy, from chefs Bruce Aidells and Nancy Oakes. Fill a few bowls with lime cream, tangy tomatillo salsa, and quick-pickled toppings (all of which can be made in advance) for a make-your-own taco buffet. Baja purists, feel free to insist on mahimahi for the fish, but sea bass, tilapia, cod, and catfish all stand up equally well to the buttermilk batter.

Oval Masa Turnovers Throughout Mexico City and the surrounding states, people in all walks of life—bankers in suits and ties, college kids in T-shirts and jeans, women cradling babies—cluster around the tlacoyo vendor who makes their favorite version of this miniature football-shaped masa snack. Most are made with ordinary white or yellow corn, but a few vendors still serve tlacoyos made from the scarce blue-black corn. One day on the way from Mexico City to the popular getaway of Tepoztlán, Ricardo took me on a back road that was virtually enveloped on both sides by fields of nopal cactus. In this area, known as Milpa Alta, the tlacoyos are typically topped with a green salsa and nopales, and not surprisingly, we stopped for a quick, tasty snack. For a more colorful variation, add a contrasting tomato red salsa on half of each tlacoyo.

Well-Fried Beans To make the traditional Mexican well-fried beans, or frijoles refritos, you carry frijoles chinos one step further and fry them again in oil until they are even thicker. This is often done as the last part of a continuous process, or the beans are set aside for a day or two and then finished just before serving. In central Mexico, they are cooked until they are quite dry, but in the states bordering the Gulf of Mexico, they are cooked even more—to the point that they can be flipped over and shaped into a roll. These beans, perhaps with a topping of queso fresco, are a perfect partner for Enchiladas San Luis Potosí and similar enchiladas, soft tacos, or innumerable other dishes. The bean roll is often served as a botana for a casual gathering. Serve the beans as a side on the main plate. If they are shaped into a roll, transfer the roll to a warmed platter, sprinkle with queso fresco, and garnish with chopped white onion. Push some totopos in the top as a decoration and for scooping up the beans and then cluster more around the sides.

Mexican Red Sausage The craving for chorizo is just as evident in its adopted home of Mexico as it is in its original home of Spain, and in both countries the cuisine would be unimaginable without the sausage. The main difference between the two is the use of the more potent chile in the Mexican chorizo and the milder dried pimiento in the Spanish sausage. Over the years, I have spent time in and around Toluca, the capital of the state of Mexico, where a conclave of Spanish settlers introduced pigs into this high valley. The Spanish historian Carlo Cereya suggests that "although the horse was of real significance in the conquest, the hog was of greater importance and contributed to a degree that defies exaggeration." Here, the Spaniards began making their beloved sausage, soon adapting it to local culture by adding chile. One of the main features of the huge, rambling Friday Mercado Juárez (now moved from its longtime site) is stalls cascading with ropes of both red and herb green chorizos, the latter a more recent version. Some of the chorizos verdes glisten with an almost-brilliant green artificial coloring and are to be shunned. This recipe for traditional red chorizo is an adaptation of a recipe used by one of the leading sausage makers in Toluca, second-generation Jorge Figueroa, who makes it in voluminous quantities to sell to the throngs of waiting customers at his family shop, Carnicería La Figueroa. Ricardo and I use chorizo in a wide variety of dishes, from Frijoles Puercos con Chorizo to Tinga de Cerdo. Although chorizo is usually stuffed into pork casings, it is a lot less work to make it in bulk and freeze what is not needed right away. I have provided directions for both links and bulk here. If you opt for links, you will probably need to special order the casings (salted, well-cleaned small pig intestines) from a butcher. Do not be deterred and use synthetic casings, as they are not satisfactory.

Raw Green Tomatillo Salsa While salsas made from red tomatoes are often on the table, especially in central Mexico, it is the green salsas made with tomates verdes, the smaller, papery husk–wrapped tomatillos of the same nightshade family, that predominate in most of the country. This simple salsa with its tart chile flavor is a surprising accent for any grilled meat.

Fried Beans When Ricardo first came to Mexico City, he ordered beans in a small fonda and the cook asked, "Fritos o refrito?" (Fried or refried?) That was when Ricardo began to understand the various stages of bean cookery. The first stage, frijoles chinos, is a common way of cooking beans in and around Mexico City. The name confusingly refers to the way the bean texture resembles the tightly curled hair of African slaves brought to Mexico in the middle of the sixteenth century. This same preparation is typically called frijoles fritos by cooks in central Mexico, though it differs somewhat as the beans are served before they have absorbed all of the broth and are still somewhat runny. You can make fried beans from almost any type of dried bean. The diminutive black bean is commonly used in southern Mexico and red or brown beans are popular in the rest of the country. If you are in a hurry, an equal amount of canned beans may be substituted with additional water added to the can liquid if needed. These tasty beans are served in homes and in small market fondas almost any time of the day. They partner perfectly with grilled meat and egg dishes, such as Huevos al Albanil. Serve them in a separate small, flat dish or as a side on the main plate. A light sprinkle of fresh cheese will provide a color and taste contrast.

Brothy Beans "Sólo la olla sabe de sus frijoles" states the wooden sign hung on the wall of a fonda in Veracruz. "It is only the pot that knows its own beans." In homes and small fondas throughout Mexico, beans simmer in large ollas, bulbous-shaped clay pots, their earthy aroma filling the air. Traditionally, a smaller olla filled with water placed on top of the pot serves as both a lid and a way to heat the water that occasionally needs to be added to the beans. Fuel is often scarce and this is a practical way to conserve precious wood. These brothy beans, cooked with lots of water and just a scattering of herbs, onion, and garlic, are the classic bean dish of Mexico. They are often served as soupy frijoles caldos, ladled into small bowls, the beans submerged in their broth, and offered toward the end of a meal so no one leaves the table hungry. Or, they are served as frijoles cocidos, the beans drained slightly to accompany grilled meats or tacos. No matter whether the beans are cooked in an olla, Dutch oven, or other heavy pot, the procedure will be the same. All that needs to be adjusted is the length of the cooking time. The fresher the beans are, the less cooking time is needed, but 2 1/2 to 3 hours is a reasonable estimate, although 4 hours or more is not unusual.

Empanadas de Calabaza
At our house we welcome fall with sweet, tasty empanadas made with fresh pumpkin. The pumpkin simmering with piloncillo, cinnamon, and cloves gives off a sweet and earthy scent, reminding us that fall has arrived. To this day, whenever I smell cinnamon it evokes great memories of mi mamá baking in the kitchen. During the fall she would request that I bring her a pumpkin so she could make her delicious homemade pies and empanadas. She preferred the green striped pumpkins or the dark green ones, saying they were meatier. But if I could not find those, the orange ones were acceptable. She always made things work.

Dry ice lends an eerie trail of wispy smoke to this intoxicating, conversation-starting drink.

Translated into English as "the Goat Sucker," El Chupacabra is a mythical creature known for its nocturnal prowling and as the culprit in weird livestock deaths. There are various descriptions of the creature, which is believed to be heavy, the size of a small bear, with a row of spines stretching from head to tail. Maybe you've heard the silly stories. My fascination with this mythical creature inspired me to invent a drink as its namesake. This martini is infused with fiery red blood orange juice and the explosive Brazilian aphrodisiac açaí, making this an exotic bright red cocktail full of drama and flavor. Açaí juice is actually very healthy and has 33 times the antioxidant content of red wine grapes. Hints of guava and pineapple nectar in this drink are fruits from Puerto Rico (where Chupacabra sightings were first reported). The understated tones of coconut rum make this drink equally dangerous, so sip with caution.

Barbacoa de Cabrito This goat barbecue typifies a style where the meat absorbs an adobo, a fragrant, spicy marinade of dried chiles and other seasonings. I watched Zoyla Mendoza make this dish in her village, Teotitlán del Valle. Though she and her family can well afford to eat meat, they usually save it for special occasions, so they rejoiced when I asked them to teach me their favorite barbacoa. It was beautiful, breathing the scent of fresh avocado leaves and other herbs. The meat becomes unbelievably tender without drying out or getting mushy. When I came back to my New York kitchen, I set to work to find other methods close to the tender savor of a true pit barbecue. For the type that Zoyla showed me, I feel the best results come from packing the marinated meat in a tightly covered pan just large enough to hold the ingredients and baking it for a long time in a moderate oven. A turkey roaster is good. If you don't have a big enough pan with a tight-fitting lid, wrap several layers of aluminum foil very snugly around the pan to seal in the steam. I make the barbacoa as Zoyla made it, with young goat (kid). Goat is available in some Greek, halal Muslim, and West Indian butcher shops and can sometimes be ordered from other butchers. Ask the butcher to cut it into quarters. Oaxacans always include and specially value the head, which has some extra-tender nuggets of meat. (This is optional for the doubting.) If goat is not available, lamb is the best substitute. At my restaurant, we use lamb shoulder. The dish can also be made with a whole fresh ham or a pot-roasting cut of beef such as round, though you may have to reduce the amount of marinade slightly and experiment with a shorter cooking time. Of course true pre-Hispanic barbacoa was made with turkey—not used as frequently nowadays, but still a notably authentic choice. When the meat is cooked in an authentic pit it yields a lot of rich juices that never develop using the oven method. At my restaurant in New York we approximate this as follows: When the adobo (chile paste) is made, set aside 1 1/4 cup of the mixture and rub the meat with the rest. Cook as described below. When the meat is done, skim the fat from the pan juices and deglaze the roasting pan with 2 cups homemade chicken broth over medium-high heat, scraping up the browned bits. Stir in one 28- to 32-ounce can tomatoes, breaking them up with a spoon. Add the reserved adobo and simmer, stirring frequently, for about 30 minutes, or until reduced to about 4 cups. Let cool slightly and purée in a blender (working in batches as necessary) until smooth. Serve with the carved meat.

(Calabaza en Tacha) The Days of the Dead (November 1 and 2) are not only one of the most dramatic of Oaxacan fiestas but among the most family-centered. Altars dedicated to los difuntos ("departed ones") appear everywhere—outside churches, on shop premises, and especially at family grave sites and in the home, where everyone is preparing for the annual reunion with late friends and relatives. At this time every marketplace in Oaxaca blazes with piles—absolute mountains—of fuschia-red cockscombs and intense orange marigolds. Tall sugarcanes with long fronds and huge banana leaves tower like jungles nearby. The flowers will be used to adorn the altars and the giant fronds to mark arched entries for the souls of loved ones to pass through. People buy their late cousin's favorite kind of cigarettes or their departed father's usual beer to place on the home altar. The other offerings usually include fresh fruit, candies in all kinds of macabre memento mori shapes, decorated breads made from a sweet egg-enriched dough like that for Pan Resobado, and this traditional spiced preserved pumpkin. Every home altar holds a plate of Calabaza en Tacha—an offering that represents about four days' labor of love. The pumpkin—I use a regular Halloween pumpkin or sometimes the green West Indian type—is soaked first in a solution of the same cal (slaked lime) used to treat corn for tortillas. The alkali makes it firm enough to absorb the sugar without disintegrating. Oaxacan cooks like to make the preserve very sweet; I have slightly reduced the amount of sugar. It may not be traditional, but I like to serve it with vanilla ice cream. I find that using fresh sugarcane as a support on which to arrange the pieces of pumpkin is a handy and flavorful trick (though not an indispensable part of the recipe). Look for it at Latin American and other tropical groceries; it can also be found as a specialty produce item in some large supermarkets.

This recipe is part of the Epicurious Online Cooking School, in partnership with the Culinary Institute of America. To watch it being made, and to learn how to make other Mexican classics, check out the video classes.

This recipe is part of the Epicurious Online Cooking School, in partnership with the Culinary Institute of America. To watch it being made, and to learn how to make other Mexican classics, check out the video classes.

This recipe calls for a whole gutted fish. You can also substitute 8 (7-ounce) fish fillets, if preferred. Just be sure to reduce the cooking time to about 20 minutes. This recipe is part of the Epicurious Online Cooking School, in partnership with the Culinary Institute of America. To watch it being made, and to learn how to make other Mexican classics, check out the videos.