Main

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.

I have eaten more than my share of fish tacos while living in Baja. But the beach is a half-hour drive from my house, so I was on a mission to find a fish taco recipe that I could make at home—one that was as delicious and authentic as the taco they serve at my favorite Rosarito taco shack. This is what I came up with—and I’m happy to say it competes!

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.

Traditionally served with roasted small white potatoes (papitas de cambray) or white rice, this dish is a great representation of the European influence on the cuisine of the Gulf of Mexico. Add raisins and a pinch of cinnamon if you want some sweetness to contrast with the savory capers and olives; for a traditional take, garnish the fish with pickled jalapeños. Either way, a crisp white wine makes a lovely accompaniment.

Nopales are cactus paddles. They may be hard to come by if you don’t live in a border state or have access to a Mexican market. If you’re lucky, you’ll find prickly pear cactus paddles, which are packed with soluble fiber, vitamins, and minerals and reduce the glycemic effect of a meal. The stuffing is the star of this recipe, so if nopales are nowhere in sight, you can use corn tortillas for equally delicious (although not as pretty) results. At my house, we grill plain nopales until they are tender and a little charred and serve them with some lime wedges.

The idea for this dish comes from a chef at culinary school who liked to bread salmon with shredded russet potatoes. Sweet potatoes add a whole new dimension to this delicate crust—a perfect counterpoint for the smoky sauce.

This dish comes with a stranger-than-fiction true story shared with me by a guest on my television show on Discovery en Español. This man’s grandfather was once stranded on an island, close to starvation. To survive, he caught a barracuda, wrapped it in seaweed, and cooked it over an open fire. The grandfather lived—and so did the recipe, with a few adaptations for non-life-threatening situations. The banana leaves add subtle flavor to the mahimahi and they look great on the plate. You can find them, fresh or frozen, at most Latin markets. Aluminum foil will also work in their place.

I borrowed a page from one of the masters, Martha Stewart, for the presentation of these chicken salad sandwiches, but the recipe is all mine. Mexican and Mediterranean ingredients put a spicy spin on a traditional lunchtime favorite. Think Martha—but with a kick.

Spiny lobster is abundant in the state of Baja and also happens to be one of my dad’s favorite foods. He would often come home with plenty for my mom and me to prepare, and on hot days this refreshing salad was a must. The mango brings out the lobster’s natural sweetness, and the bright lime juice makes this a perfect summer dish.

This refreshing seafood salad is inspired by one I had at an outdoor café in Yucatán, where the cuisine is influenced by Mayan, Caribbean, Mexican, French, and Middle Eastern cultures. Mango and papaya add unexpected sweetness and a tropical twist. I make it for brunch with friends, and serve it with tall glasses of guava iced tea.