Vegetable

These griddled masa disks get a little crispy on the edges but stay tender on the inside. Top them with black beans, salsa, and queso fresco or any other toppings you love.

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.

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.

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.

This Indonesian plate of blanched vegetables, boiled eggs, and tofu is served with a spicy, tangy, and slightly sweet peanut sauce for drizzling and dipping. Add salty-savory shrimp chips for scooping.

Sharp and sweet, rhubarb and beets were made for one another, and this soup is a fitting celebration of their union.

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.

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.

It’s a shame you don't often spot people grilling carrots, because they also grill beautifully, developing a char that balances out their sweetness.

The Thai-inspired dressing—tart and spicy and salty—plays up the sweetness of watermelon and berries while keeping the fruit salad firmly in savory territory.

The underlying notes of vanilla and nutmeg—found in Coca-Cola—are layered with piquant aromatics and tangy tomato ketchup to produce a barbecue sauce that's remarkably dynamic. 

Vibrantly colored, mouth-watering collard-peanut pesto adds flair to this dish that brings out the best of garden-fresh zucchini and other squashes.

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.

Instant potatoes turn gnocchi-making into a breezy, 15-minute affair rather than an hours-long commitment.

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.

People always want bread to dip into their clam broth, so why not put the clams right on the bread from the get-go?