Southwestern

Here’s a new twist on chicken salad. Serve this one with baked tortilla chips on lettuce-lined plates, garnished with jalapeño rings.

In Mexico, tacos are small, fresh, and simply prepared. I once had a taco al pastor there that was mind-bendingly good, and it had all of three ingredients! Somehow, when the taco got to the United States, it morphed into double-crust, Taco Bell Beef Supreme Chalupa with sour-cream-out-of-a-caulking-gun madness. Here I do my best to honor the Americanized taco everyone seems to love, while bringing some traditional flavors into the picture.

A “stoup” is what I call a soup that is almost as thick as a stew. This one can be prepared as a vegetarian entrée as well by omitting the ham.

This recipe is a hybrid from different schools of thought. The texture is that of shredded beef, which is authentic Texan, but the flavor is the American Southwest. The dried chilies and the chocolate give this dish an amazing rich, smoky depth. If you’re a purist and think adding beans is a sacrilege, leave them out, but they do work really well here. This is truly one of the best dishes I’ve ever made.

I love bacon and shrimp. It’s a classic combination that works really well in this Southwestern-inspired bistro dish.

This popular dessert can be made a day ahead and baked at the last minute. The chile powder adds a mild heat and enhances the chocolate flavor.

Not only do the colors sparkle in this salad, but the flavors do, too. Roasting fresh corn on the cob produces irresistibly sweet little morsels. This is wonderful with roasted fresh salmon.

My husband loves tortilla chips, but he won’t touch those little pieces left in the bottom of the bag, so I crush them with a rolling pin to make a coating for boneless chicken breasts. This family favorite can be easily expanded into a party meal. Ordinarily, I serve his with rice, and sometimes I like to add black beans, too.

This variation on the "little swamp" theme features sourdough bread and those ever-appealing Southwest seasonings: fresh chilies, cilantro, cumin, and corn.

Texas is proud of its peaches. They're soft, juicy, floral, and sweet, and the best I've ever tasted. During the season, when you travel through lush Hill Country Texas towns such as Fredericksburg, or Central Texas towns such as Fairfield, you won't be able to go a mile without seeing a roadside stand or pickup truck filled with baskets of this cherished summertime treat. We also have a peach tree at my grandma's North Texas farm, and every July it delivers a bounty of peaches that she'll put up for later in the year. Pickling fruit is a common method of fruit preservation in Texas. Yes, there's vinegar involved, as with other types of pickles. But you also add enough sugar and warm spices to give the fruit a balance of both acidity and sweetness. If you've never tried pickled fruit, you'll be pleasantly surprised. Pickled peaches are perhaps my favorite fruit to preserve, as I love how the peaches' sweet juice combines with the piquant brine. Of course, I've added a bit of heat to my peaches, which is decidedly not traditional, but I find that the habanero's flowery notes go very well with the peaches' floral tones. These go well with a bowl of ice cream, on top of your morning oatmeal, with a freshly baked biscuit, or yes, simply eaten straight out of the jar.

Francis Butler grew up on the family ranch and continues to preside over the dry, windy land. The lonesomeness of ranch life, she says, was offset by "group cooks" such as the annual Thanksgiving tamale making: "Wild turkey hunting has been a West Texas sport for as long as anybody remembers, and tamale-stuffed turkey may have been an early tip of the hat to the Mexican ranch hands who've been around for at least as long as the turkey. This recipe dates back to the early 1900s. I got it from a family whose grandmother was German but had been raised in Mexico. I make it most often in the cold months, but I've been known to put a tamale-stuffed turkey in the roasting pit in my time, as well. You can use commercial tamales, of course, but I like the two-day ritual of making tamales and then making the turkey. I always double or triple the tamales and freeze the extra. These days people use more barnyard turkey than they do wild. Before you go thinking that's a sorry thing, let me tell you this. You feed your chickens or turkey some chile peppers before you decide. That spicy sweet flavor gets into the meat and you know what they mean when they say it doesn't get any better." This stuffing is also delicious in chicken and squab. Serve with high-quality corn chips, salsa, and sour cream.

Highway 84 runs from Santa Fe to Colorado. About forty minutes north of Santa Fe, the highway cuts a paved path through Ohkay Owingeh, a Native American reservation, and the roadside becomes dense with fast-food outlets, outposts of national grocery chains, Walmart, and billboards for Ohkay Casino, Hutch and Norma Naranjo's sprawling midcentury home is set about fifty years back from the road, a shrine to the tug-of-war between new ways and traditional ones. In the backyward Mr. Naranjo built two hornos (behive-shaped adobe ovens). Inside the house, a handmade wreath of dried chiles hangs on one wall and a string of made-for-tourists ceramic peppers on another. A naïve painting of St. Francis hangs not far from a cluster of the dream catchers that the couple and their two grown children fashion from string, feathers, and yarn, just as their Pueblo ancestors did. "We go to church one Sunday and dance the traditional dances the next," said Mrs. Naranjo. A retired social worker, she gives cooking classes and does a little catering. But she spends most of her mornings working the two-acre minifarm where she grows vegetables from seeds that have been passed from one Pueblo generation to another for at least a thousand years. "The history of our people is in those seeds," she says. In the evenings, when her husband builds hornos on the terraces of hotels and McMansions, Mrs. Naranjo visits the elderly women in Ohkay Owingeh, who remember life and cooking when it was closer to the land, and collects their recipes and food stories. "Our history lives in our hands as well," she says. Mrs. Naranjo moves with the efficiency of a modern professional as she smooths cornmeal paste on damp cornhusks. Tiny white kernels from several ears of heirloom corn, and diced green chiles and squash, along with a thick, bloodred chile sauce and shredded fresh cheese, are lined up in small stainless-steel bowls at the head of her tamale assembly line. She notes that tamales were stuffed with rabbit, venison, pork—whatever people had. Vegetable tamales were a fine way to make use of the gardens' overflowing crops. She swathes the dough, sprinkles filling, folds, ties, and places the tamale bundles on a rack set over water in a big enameled pot. From time to time, she glances out the window to the backyard, where her husband is feeding small, dry sticks into this new four-by-four horno. Her smaller tamales are, she says, her only concession to modernity: "People love the little ones as snacks, and Hutch and I love them in these green chile stews we make in the horno."

Editor's note: Use this recipe to make Norma Naranjo's Tamales . Mrs. Naranjo says, "A lot of these traditional dishes are being modernized. You see chefs putting spices and things in their red chile. My grandmother only used salt. I only use salt. This sauce can also be used to make red meat chile or chile filling for tamales, or to give thickness and smoky fire to other soups and stews."

Also known as the bottom sirloin or triangle steak. Beefy enough to stand up to a bold spice rub, this cut is legendary in California, where the oak-grilled steak is served with salsa and beans.

This hearty Southwestern-style stew was created by executive chef Chad Luethje. Swap chicken for pork if you prefer.

In addition to being a great source of good-for-you fat, avocados are full of fiber and bloat-busting potassium.

I love a good corn muffin, and nobody makes one better than Loic Feillet of Panorama Baking in Alexandria, Virginia. The muffin is so good, in fact—moist and studded with chewy little bits of corn—that as soon as I tasted it, I knew I’d incorporate it into an egg dish. The muffin reminded me of an artisanal English muffin, and I just happened to be working on a Mexican variation of eggs Benedict. How perfect! The corn muffin would replace the traditional corn tortilla in huevos rancheros, and I’d poach instead of fry the eggs. Immediately, I had a dish worthy of the muffin, but best of all, even a lesser muffin tastes great when capped off with these ingredients.

The yellow pepper mole may have lots of ingredients, but the result is a delightfully complex sauce. Golden raisins and white chocolate preserve the golden color of the roasted peppers, and while those may sound sweet, onion, garlic, and tomatillos keep the sauce savory, fresh, and never cloying. At the restaurant we give this a hint of smoked red pepper sauce and cilantro oil and garnish it with cilantro.