Gluten Free

Refried beans are frijoles de la olla that have been fried in a little fat. Because they are traditionally cooked in lard, they aren’t really known for their healthful qualities, but this version uses a fairly small amount of butter and olive oil instead. You still get a very rich and flavorful dish that is perfect for filling tacos or for serving alongside grilled steaks. Double or even quadruple this recipe as needed.

Sweet potatoes cooked in piloncillo (unrefined solid cane sugar, usually found in the shape of small truncated cones) are sold as candy at Mexican mercados. They are way too sweet for me, but there’s no denying the spud’s versatility. Here I highlight their savory flavor by mashing sweet potatoes with a little butter and sage in a great fall dish that works well with roasted turkey. Feel free to use skim milk instead of whole milk, if you must, but keep that stick of butter!

I could easily survive on beans and tortillas for days—or even weeks. In fact, that is pretty much what my diet consisted of when I worked as a food editor. I was both nostalgic and barely able to make the rent at the end of the month, and let’s face it, beans are cheap. Frijoles de la olla are just that: beans (frijoles) that come straight from the pot (olla) to your plate. No fussy seasonings, just perfectly cooked beans that are heaven in a warm tortilla with a drizzle of Mexican crema or sour cream. I always have a batch in the fridge to heat up for a hearty and very healthy dinner packed with cholesterol-lowering fiber and a good dose of protein, iron, potassium, and vitamin B1.

This dish is one of the standouts at the Valladolid Thanksgiving table. Roasting acorn squash—or any vegetable—caramelizes the flesh and brings out its natural sweetness. Your veggies will be exponentially more flavorful than they are when you boil or steam them.

Thankfully, in Tijuana we don’t have to wait for summer to get the grill out. One of the benefits is that we can eat grilled corn on the cob any day of the year. Jalapeño butter is easy to make and adds the perfect finish to the slightly charred corn. If you have any left over, store it in the fridge for up to a week; it’s great on a baked potato or green beans.

Pickled veggies show up on tables in many restaurants, bars, and homes across Mexico. These are great alongside meat, atop a quesadilla, or alone as a happy hour snack.

It really is good to eat your brussels sprouts, and this morilla cream sauce, made with toasted sunflower seeds, will make a believer out of anyone. My father owns a plantation in San Quintín, Baja, where he grows and exports vegetables, including brussels sprouts. When I was young he would bring them home by the overflowing crateful—leaving me and my mother to come up with new, exciting ways to prepare them. This is my favorite recipe for serving the sprouts with a meal. For snacking, I love them coated with a little olive oil, sea salt, and black pepper and roasted until very crisp.

Melted and slightly browned Oaxaca cheese mellows out bitter cabbage for this wonderful side dish. My son loves this with a little bit of lime juice sprinkled over it, and I like the edges, where the cheese is crisp and almost charred. When cutting the cabbage, cut on an angle so that there is a piece of the core on each wedge; it will hold the individual leaves together. For an impressive presentation, create a lattice with the strings of cheese.

This shredded beef salad is perfect for a crowd or for a leftover-friendly family. It actually tastes better a day or two after you make it, when the flavors have had more time to combine. Although capers aren’t traditionally found in salpicón, I think they make perfect sense in this summer dish, adding just a touch of salt.

Chocolate and chiles have been paired up for centuries in Mexico. Ancho-infused hot chocolate was a drink reserved for royalty, believed to produce strength and virility. The combo is especially tasty with beefy short ribs. You can substitute bittersweet chocolate for the Mexican chocolate; just add a pinch each of sugar and cinnamon and a few drops of almond extract—the ingredients that make Mexican chocolate unique.

The thing I love the most about Mexico is that everything has a story. In this recipe the word pibil comes from a Mayan word for stone-lined pits, used for cooking underground. Today pibil refers to the technique of steaming meat in a sealed dish in the oven. In the Yucatán, where this dish comes from, it is prepared with Seville oranges, which are tart and bitter. These oranges aren’t readily available in other areas, including Baja, so here we add lime juice to give that distinctive kick.

When it comes to pork loins, I am very much in favor of brining. You do have to start a day ahead, but the end result is succulent and juicy.

This is a simple dish with an impressive presentation, and it works with any combination of grilled meat, fish, poultry, or vegetables. A molcajete is a mortar made of lava rock that is usually used with a pestle (also made of lava rock) to make fresh salsas. Because it is made with a natural rock, it has an excellent ability to preserve heat and keep a dish hot, and that’s how I use it in this recipe. If you do not have two molcajetes, ovenproof earthenware bowls (about the size of cereal bowls) are an acceptable substitute.

I’m a little obsessed with mole (Mexico’s national dish, also known as mole poblano). I even visited its birthplace, the Convent of Santa Rosa in the beautiful colonial city of Puebla. Traditional mole takes days to make and is just as marvelous and multileveled as the most complex French sauce. Here you get a much easier version with nearly authentic results in terms of flavor. Do a little experiment and taste your mole right before you add the chocolate and then right after you add it. If you don’t get what it means when gourmands talk about “depth of flavor,” you’ll get it when you make this comparison. My great-grandmother, grandmother, mother, and I all like to sprinkle it with plenty of additional sugar and a dollop of sour cream after it’s on the plate. You can make the sauce on its own and use it for very impressive enchiladas—or do as I did when I was a kid: spoon a few tablespoons over Mexican rice and chow down.

This recipe is one of my favorites ever. It comes from my aunt Marcela, a chef who inspired me to enter the magical world of the culinary arts. We not only share the same name and the same career, we also agree that sweet and spicy is one of the best combinations when preparing Mexican food. Store-bought apricot preserves, used here, work well; just be sure to buy the best you can find. A kitchen syringe is a useful tool for injecting the hens with a flavorful mixture of broth, butter, and tequila. The result is a moist and succulent dish.

There was always a roast chicken in our fridge when I was growing up—but I’d be lying if I said my mom cooked it. There was a wonderful rotisserie place a few blocks from my house and they would deliver a succulent roast chicken, fresh salsa, homemade tortillas, and frijoles charros (like the frijoles on page 155 but with tons of bacon in the mix). We’d all stand around the kitchen table and make soft tacos, adding a few slices of avocado. We used leftovers for chicken salad, flautas (rolled up and fried chicken tacos), or tostadas (fried tortillas spread with refried beans, topped with shredded chicken, shredded iceberg lettuce, crema, salsa, avocado slices, and, in my house, a drizzle of olive oil and red wine vinegar). This recipe is so easy and yields such a flavorful, succulent chicken that I doubt any rotisserie place in your neighborhood can rival it. And I doubt you’ll have leftovers. But if you do, go to town with tortillas, beans, avocado, and any of the salsas in this book and make tacos.

I love tandoori-style cooking, derived from India’s clay tandoor oven, because the chicken stays unbelievably moist and juicy, even after grilling. To give new life to the traditional yogurt-based marinade, I add flavors more indigenous to Mexico and pair this dish with a pineapple and serrano salsa.

Yes, I use canned tuna for this dish—and you will love it. I generally prefer fresh ingredients over packaged items, but these stuffed peppers are worth breaking the rule. The mild flavor of the canned albacore allows the flavor of the pickled onions to shine through. My aunt Laura, who passed this recipe on to me, makes it with canned chiles (they are available in Mexico already charred, peeled, and ready to stuff). But for me, half of this dish’s success is the exquisite smell of the chiles charring on the burner. You can’t buy anticipation in a can.

This is a light, healthful Mediterranean-inspired dish that is super-easy to make and can be on the table in 20 minutes—great for a weeknight dinner for two. If you have a crowd (or a big family like mine), go ahead and adjust the recipe accordingly. A note about anchovies, which I think get a bad rap: They are actually a wonderful way to add salt to a dish or sauce and are very popular in some Baja dishes (like the world-renowned Caesar Salad). Fresh anchovies have a gentler flavor than those packaged in a tin, but either will work here.

Sarandeado, as a technique, refers to grilling a cleaned fish in a basket, constantly flipping it from one side to the other in order to preserve all the juices and flavors before they seep out of the fish. In this recipe we use the oven, so there’s no need for a fish basket or even a grill. It is essential, however, that you use a properly butterflied fish (the skin prevents the juices from seeping out and yields a moist and succulent fish). I strongly suggest asking your fishmonger to do it for you.