Mexican

Requesón is a slightly grainy, lightly salted cheese somewhere between ricotta and pot cheese. Lime zest complements the cheese filling hidden inside the golden, flaky crust. These are a really nice option for a brunch menu, and if you make the dough ahead of time, you can make these in a jiffy!

It is a spectacle to see these fritters made at the churreria that opened in 1935, called Los Churros del Moro, in downtown Mexico City. The churro master, as I call him, presses a lever that pushes out the soft dough, and as it hits the oil, he moves it, forming a large coil that looks like a six-foot-long snake all curled up. He very gently bathes it with the oil. When it is golden, he pulls it out and drains it on a round metal tray. It is then handed to another churro master, who cuts it with scissors into long strips the size of a straw and rolls the strips in plain sugar or a ground canela–sugar mixture. You can get hot chocolate (there are five types: Vienna, Francesca, Español, Especial, and Mexicano, varying in sweetness) to accompany them, although some people prefer to dip them in warm cajeta or chocolate sauce. I knew the famed churreria was not going to share its recipe (I have tried for a long time), so I was always on the lookout for one that was close enough . . . Then one day, while visiting the Mercado Pino Suarez (the main market) in Villa Hermosa, Tabasco, I was suddenly distracted by the distinctive aroma of freshly made churros. I followed the scent, which led me to a small corner stand. The churros were warm, a little puffier than those at del Moro, and absolutely, undoubtedly, one of the best I’d ever had. There was no hot chocolate or sauce to dip them into. Just pure crunchy, sweet fritters with an intense cinnamon flavor and a little something else I couldn’t quite make out. I really wanted the recipe, and after a little talking and smiling, I was allowed to visit the next day to see how they were made. So, there I was, walking alone on the streets of this not-so-safe place, at 4:00 in the morning. It was still dark, and there were a few people around: some were just finishing their night and others were busy getting ready to open their businesses. I am not a morning person at all, but making churros at a market in Mexico is definitely an antidote to morning crankiness. The secret ingredient in these churros? Queso fresco! Here is the adapted recipe from Lorenzo Sanches Mendoza from the stand El As Negro, with my profound thanks.

You know how people love to eat muffin tops? Well, these muffins have a topping on the sides as well. Whenever we bought them, my mom would always take a bit off the top, then the sides, and leave the center in the tray as if it was the most natural thing to do! Their flavor is deliciously subtle and they are a favorite among my whole family.

Ah, the conchas! These wonderful soft breads with their crunchy shelllike topping are a favorite in Mexico. This particular recipe is based on one made by Irving Quiros, a pastry instructor at the Colegio Superior de Gastronomía in Puebla. The dough is almost like a brioche, and the buttery bun makes wonderful, melt-in-your-mouth conchas. To make a chocolate topping, substitute 3 tablespoons cocoa powder for 3 tablespoons flour.

Any kind of round cookie with a hole in the middle is called a rosquilla. Esther Villarreal Garza from Monterrey makes these sugary ones with a lovely orange flavor.

There is a really interesting publication from 1969 titled El Dulce en Mexico (The Sweets of Mexico). One of the things it talks about is old cookbooks with alfajor or alajú recipes (alajú means “the stuffing” in Arabic). The author describes a candy that he called a “type of fruit cake,” (even though it doesn’t seem to have to do anything with one) from 1786, which I, in turn, have translated. It is basically a sweet paste made from honey and different nuts, which is thinly “sandwiched” between two wafers. They are absolutely addictive! Feel free to play around with different nuts and spice combinations.

If you’ve visited Mexico, you’ve probably tried these goat’s milk caramel candies mixed with pecans and wrapped in bright red cellophane paper. The name gloria means “glorious,” and that’s exactly what these confections are. There are many versions of this candy made primarily in Linares, a city located in the south of Nuevo Leon. This recipe requires patience and a candy thermometer, but it isn’t difficult and the candies make very nice gifts.

One of my mom’s friends, Yoya, gave me this family recipe long ago and I absolutely love it. Because you caramelize the sugar early in the process, the time it takes to prepare the caramel is much shorter than with other recipes. These make wonderful gifts and are nice to have around for guests.

One of my favorite candy stores in Puebla is called El Lirio. The owner of the store, Sara Martinez Muñoz, is a lovely woman with white hair and a fighting spirit, who loves to play jokes on her customers. She says that when she sees couples entering the store unsure of what to get, she quietly asks the woman to give her partner a little kiss (which is the name of the candy). Most hesitate, but then oblige—how could they refuse a nice old lady? As they approach the counter, she slowly walks with her cane toward the edge of it, and as the man bends over, she hands him a besito. Invariably they laugh and blush, but it is all soon forgotten once they take a bite of this delicacy. She says the name comes from the fact that they are small and delicious and leave you wanting more, the way a real kiss does.

I have not been able to have these for a very long time because I became allergic to peanuts about fifteen years ago, but I always looked for them on my way to the movies when I was little. It was one of my favorite treats—a long tube of soft plastic, filled with crunchy, sweet red balls that never lasted through the movie. I never realized or even questioned how they were made, but I definitely remember being fascinated by the idea that each peanut was encapsulated in a sugary, crunchy coating. I have not put any food coloring in these because I prefer the caramel color, and I don’t think the traditional red adds anything to the recipe. I am certain you will end up making these again and again.

Chihuahua, a state in the north of Mexico, is filled with nogales, the pecan tree that adorns many of the valleys and towns in the area, and there are hundreds of dishes and desserts where the pecan is the featured star. One of my favorite pecan recipes is this one prepared by Marisela Chavez de Romo, a very kind and sweet woman who opened her home to me and showed me the proper way to select and clean pecans during an afternoon of pecan-based recipes. These wonderful treats are special because of their unexpected molassy flavor.

These delicious candies are made with milk and sugar that is slowly and patiently cooked (most often in heavy copper pots). There are several variations as well, two of which are below. During my travels in Mexico, I never met any candy makers who used a thermometer because they rely on knowledge, feeling, and instinct, but if you have one I suggest you use it (see page 13) and slowly train your eye. When the recipe asks you to beat the mixture at the end, do not use the spoon you have been stirring with, because any leftover sugar will cause the mixture to rapidly crystallize (if for some reason this happens, though, it makes a delicious ice cream topping).

Imagine a sticky, messy, sweet, syrupy, crunchy ball. It’s the kind of sweet dentists warn you about (my dad has endured many painful visits to such because he absolutely loves them). They are sold by street vendors outside bus and subway stations, churches, and movie theaters; in parks, at festivals, and occasionally in candy shops. I never met anyone who actually makes these, and I found very few recipes, because, as with many sweets in Mexico, we tend to buy from people who have made a particular candy for generations. I want to thank Jose Luis Curiel, a wonderful professor and historian, for giving me this recipe.

Brittles in Mexico are made with honey, piloncillo, all sorts of nuts, and sesame seeds. There are different kinds depending on the area, but overall they tend to be a bit too hard so I like to add a little butter and baking soda, which gives them a wonderful crunch without breaking your jaw. The brittle can also be ground in a food processor and used to top ice cream.

Whenever I think of meringues in Mexico, I think of big crunchy pillows adorned with sliced almonds and imagine my shirt filled with crumbs as I hold it in my hand, eager to reach the center that cradles little threads of chewiness. These meringues are a direct import from the French with no real adaptations. In the Mayan region (Quintana Roo, Yucatan, and Campeche) however, the meringues are a more delicate matter. They have a slightly crunchy exterior and a very soft, cottonlike interior perfumed with lime zest and sweetened with a lot of sugar. I was very curious about how these particular meringues were made and visited the home of Geny Beatriz Camal Ruiz, a candy artisan in Bacalar, Quintana Roo. Beatriz begins preparing her candies at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning so that she is ready by 9:00 A.M. (after she has fed her children and husband, showered, and cleaned her house) to fill her cart and go to the center of Chetumal and sell her sweet treats. Geny, like many other candy makers of the region, uses lime zest to avoid an unpleasant eggy taste that often occurs because of the heat. Spoonfuls of batter are gently placed on top of an aluminum tub with a little water to prevent sticking. She then places a comal on top of the tub and hot charcoal on top of it. This way, the meringue cooks from top to bottom, leaving the center soft and seemingly uncooked. The coal provides a wonderful smoky background but does not distract from the vibrant lime zest. I tried to do these in a home kitchen with terrible results and am very grateful that Nick Malgieri, a wonderful and sweet pastry chef, was able to help me out and achieve the texture I was looking for. You will need five baking sheets for this recipe, so borrow some if you don’t have enough.

A gaznate is a crunchy cylinder filled with a very sweet and airy meringue. They were carefully stacked into a tower and commonly sold outside movie theaters. The meringue is either left white or tinted a fluorescent pink and is commonly flavored with pulque (a fermented alcoholic beverage made from the maguey plant), which many believe is essential. Pulque is practically impossible to get outside Mexico, so I made my version with mezcal. You will need noncorrosive metal tubes, which you can buy at many cooking stores or online, for wrapping the dough and frying it. Or follow the alternative method below if you can’t find the tubes.

I remember the first time I tried these treats. I may not know exactly where I was or how young I was, but I do remember the sweet smile and piloncillo-colored eyes of the lady who sold them to me; I remember her braided hair intertwined with yellow ribbons and can almost feel the touch of her hand as she handed me the white fluffy, shiny cloud on a thin piece of banana leaf. I remember trying it and loving it. Be sure to read the recipe all the way through before you begin. You can also choose to cut the nougat into pieces. In that case, spread the mixture with a moistened spatula over the banana leaf or a nonstick mat, allow to dry, and cut into the desired size.

Legend has it that this “happiness” candy got its name in the middle of the sixteenth century, when Fray Martín de Valencia prepared a mixture of puffed amaranth seeds and honey; when the indigenous people tried it, they were so happy they began to sing, dance, and play music like they did in many pre-Hispanic rituals and continue to do in the yearly alegría festival that takes place in Tulyehualco. Alegría remains one of the oldest candies in Mexico, but it is now made with sugar or honey and piloncillo. In the tropical climates of Veracruz, I tried some incredibly crispy ones, which really surprised me because of the humidity of the region; a man who has been making these treats for more than forty years told me that his trick was to add some glucose. This wonderful nutritious and historical candy is shaped into rounds or blocks and is often decorated with nuts, pumpkin seeds, and raisins, as I have done here.

I know you’re probably thinking, bean candy? That doesn’t sound too good. I was doubtful, too, but I was pleasantly surprised and excited about this wonderful recipe. I am deeply grateful to our dear family friend Amado for getting this recipe that came from his friend. The beans are cooked with cinnamon, puréed, and cooked again with orange juice and sugar. After awhile of stirring, the flavors begin to come together and a wonderful chest nutlike texture is achieved. The paste is then formed into balls and rolled in sugar. I love giving it to people to try and guess what the main ingredient is. Although only one person out of about thirty is able to guess, they all really like it. The original recipe is made with dark raisins, but I prefer to use currants.

Although this is not one of the most traditional recipes, I have seen it in different areas of the country, probably because it combines two of our favorite things: corn and flan. Most of the corn flans I have tasted are made with condensed milk, so I’ve tried to recreate that flavor and texture. Make this with white corn at the peak of the season to ensure that the flavor really comes through.