Mexican

The salty cheese and piloncillo makes these gorditas go wonderfully with a hot chocolate or champurrado.

Tlacoyos are small, flat patties about the size of your hand, made from corn masa that’s been stuffed with mashed beans, requesón (a salty, spreadable cheese similar to ricotta) or fava beans, and cooked crisp on a comal. Once you leave Mexico City, tlacoyos take on other shapes and names. In some areas of Puebla, for instance, they’re called tlayoyos.    For a long time, my tlacoyo dream was to find a mayora—an older, respected Mexican cook—who could teach me how to make them. In 2013, I finally was able to learn with Señora Rosa Peña Sotres, who graciously invited me into her home and spent a full Sunday teaching me patiently how to stuff and fold. “Ya aprendió!” (You’ve learned!), she declared, as I placed a small, misshapen tlacoyito on her charcoal-fired comal.    Patting them out by hand isn’t easy if you’re a beginner, but you’ll get it down with practice. It’s fun to gather a group of friends and make them con calma (Spanish for “without hurry”), particularly if someone brings the ready-made masa. Don’t skimp on the garnishes. If you can’t find cactus, which Latino supermarkets generally stock, try shredded raw cabbage or carrots.

Masa is the essence of Mexico. It is the foundation of Mexican cooking. In Oaxaca, a lot of families still make their own nixtamal at home to supply their daily masa consumption. Nixtamal is the process of treating dried corn with an alkaline solution to make it more nutritious. Slaking lime—also known as pickling lime, a naturally occurring mineral compound—has been used for thousands of years for this process. After a night of soaking, the nixtamalized corn is ground and transformed into masa. This technique has been passed from generation to generation, especially in Oaxaca. Every night before my mom goes to bed, she nixtamalizes a batch of corn so she can make fresh masa the next morning. It’s part of her nightly routine.    The trickiest part of making masa might be grinding it, and for that I recommend a tabletop wet stone mill or a hand-cranked wet grinder. I like Premier’s Small Wonder 1.5-liter tabletop wet grinder.    Believe me, there is nothing more fulfilling than making your own masa at home.

These extra-thick cousins of the tortilla are toasted on a comal or griddle and split open before they’re stuffed with a wide array of flavorful fillings.

I long for the flavor of tamales de elote, made with puréed fresh corn kernels. But our starchy, flavorful Mexican corn cannot be replaced with United States sweet corn, which creates a terribly insipid, watery effect. So I evolved something a little different using a regular masa mixture with fresh corn kernels and seasonings beaten in.

Though the amount of salt may seem excessive, a lot of the salt will be lost when the mixture is steamed inside the tamal wrapping. You can reduce the amount somewhat, but remember that the particular flavor of masa in tamales is complemented by salt.

This smoky chipotle and tomatillo salsa is an excellent dipping sauce for crudités or tortilla chips, or you can spoon it on top of tamales. You can use more chiles for a spicier sauce.

The double-flip method makes the tortillas puff beautifully once you get the rhythm.

Requesón is a salty, spreadable Mexican cheese that tastes like a creamier, more acidic version of ricotta. Making it from scratch is easy: You curdle milk with vinegar or another acid such as lime juice, and then warm it and watch the curds form. Most street vendors use it as a tlacoyo filling, but you can use requesón for all sorts of things—stirred into scrambled eggs and tomatoes, smeared into a corn tortilla with salsa, or spread onto a piece of toast with honey or mixed in a dip of fresh herbs and olive oil.

Avocado leaves are the aroma of Oaxaca, and they are the main flavor in this indispensable staple. So many things can be created out of this little bean paste flavored with anise-y avocado tree leaves. It is the base for memelas, tlayudas, molletes, enfrijoladas, and so much more. Growing up, we stopped at the market in Tlacolula—a small village located near Oaxaca City—just to buy the paste, already made, in little plastic bags. You buy some tasajo, you grill it, you get some fresh tlayudas, some salsa, and then you spread some of this paste all over your tortilla like it is a savory cake frosting.

Chances are, if you're not Oaxaqueño and grew up in this last generation in Mexico or the United States, you’ve probably been taught to think that pork fat like aciento—Oaxacan-style chicharrón paste—is not good for you, and that you should always cook and eat things made with a plant-based oil instead. It’s normal to think this way. That is, until you go to Oaxaca and see that aciento is a way of life and that a lot of elders live to be more than one hundred years old eating the stuff on a daily basis. You’ll also realize that it is amazingly flavorful and really completes a lot of masa-based Oaxacan dishes such as tlayudas, memelas, empanadas, and chochoyotes. Think of it as a Oaxacan brown butter. If you do it right, it should taste nutty and toasty, not like lard or like fat. I also understand that a lot of people may not have the time to properly render chicharrón into a paste, so this shortcut version using olive oil is much quicker and tastes almost as good. If you can’t find or don’t have access to fresh chicharrón, American-style pork rinds also work well.

The two imperatives are that the tomatoes must be truly ripe and sweet and that the sauce should be eaten at once. If you must, you can hold it for up to two hours refrigerated and tightly covered, but it loses its magic fast. For the right slightly coarse texture, the ingredients should be chopped separately by hand. The only thing I sometimes do with the food processor is the chiles. Try to find fresh ones—canned jalapeños will work, but aren't ideal in a sauce supposed to be sparkling fresh.

This brothy soup feels like coastal Oaxaca in a bowl. It has tons of herbs, buttery shrimp, a light spicy-smoky broth—and chochoyotes, dumplings made from fresh masa or masa harina.

In this riff on huaraches, grilled cactus paddles stand in for the traditional corn masa “sandal sole” that provides the base for velvety black beans, crumbled queso fresco, and chipotle salsa.

This recipe brings together the flavors of Mexico’s Gulf Coast with the anise-like flavor of Mexican avocado leaves and the tang of sour oranges.

Flavored with citrus, maple syrup, and cilantro, this slaw makes an excellent topper for tacos or huaraches.

This recipe lets mushrooms shine, turning them crispy and meaty—almost like carnitas. Top with a creamy, savory peanut butter and serrano salsa.