requires a lot of little details in order to be considered complete. A big part of the fun and deliciousness of these feasts is the myriad of side dishes and condiments that are passed around the table to share, bringing a nice communal feel to the experience.
Most people are sentimental, or at least highly opinionated, about the restaurants they believe have the freshest salsa, the creamiest queso, the smokiest tortilla soup, and the pork-iest refried beans—infused with the most lard! Not all Tex-Mex restaurants hit the mark on every one of them, which is why folks are particular about where to go for which favorite dish. The more time I’ve spent away from Texas, the more I’ve realized how important it is not to let any of these recipes be an afterthought. So I’ve spent a good amount of time cooking—and eating—different versions to come up with what I think are the very best of each.
ALMOST EVERY TEX-MEX DISH is served with a side of rice and beans—so much so that they’re almost referred to as a single item. The rice is often cooked with a purée of fresh tomato, onion, and garlic, and sometimes laced with peas and carrots for a little flair. When served as part of a Tex-Mex combo plate (see this page), the rice tends to be a little overcooked, and often the edges of the serving get a little crispy on the hot plate it shares with, say, a cheese enchilada. That unintentional yet glorious detail is a hallmark of Tex-Mex food, in my opinion.
Charro, a term for a Mexican cowboy, and black beans are modern additions to Tex-Mex menus. Prior to their debut, a serving of beans meant only one thing: soft pinto beans fried in lard and mashed into a flavorful, creamy concoction to be spread out into a velvety puddle on the hot plate alongside the rice. “Refried beans” is a bit of a misnomer. It actually refers to the Spanish term frijoles refrito, or “well-fried beans,” which is certainly a more fitting description of the side dish.
Serves 4
1 teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon kosher salt
1½ tablespoons tomato bouillon, such as Knorr
1 teaspoon chicken bouillon
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
1 cup long-grain white rice
1 large tomato, coarsely chopped
3 tablespoons finely chopped onion
3 tablespoons finely chopped carrot
1 tablespoon minced jalapeño pepper
1 tablespoon raw fresh or frozen corn kernels
1 whole jalapeño pepper, roasted and coarsely chopped
1 tablespoon roasted tomato salsa, store-bought or homemade (this page)
1 In a medium saucepan set over high heat, combine the cumin, salt, tomato bouillon, chicken bouillon, and 1½ cups water. Bring the mixture just to a boil, stirring occasionally. Turn off the heat.
2 Heat the oil in a large saucepan set over medium heat. When the oil shimmers, add the rice and cook, stirring frequently, until it turns from opaque to brighter white, 2 to 3 minutes. Add the tomato, onion, carrot, minced jalapeño, and corn and cook, stirring frequently, until the onion is translucent, 3 to 4 minutes.
3 Add the bouillon mixture, roasted jalapeño, and salsa. Reduce the heat to medium-low and cook, stirring occasionally, until all the liquid has evaporated and small holes form in the surface of the rice, about 15 minutes. Cover the pan, remove from the heat, and set aside for 25 minutes to finish cooking in the residual heat.
4 Serve warm.
Refried Beans
Serves 4
2 cups dried pinto beans (I like Rancho Gordo)
1½ cups finely chopped onion
1 tablespoon chili powder (I like Gebhardt)
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1 teaspoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
½ cup lard (this page)
1 cup shredded cheddar cheese
1 Place the beans in a large pot and cover with water by 2 inches. Bring the water to a simmer over medium-high heat. Reduce the heat to low, then add the onion. Simmer, stirring occasionally, until the beans are tender, about 3 hours, adding more water as needed to keep the beans covered.
2 Ladle enough liquid from the pot into a bowl so the water level is just below the top of the beans; set the water in the bowl aside. Add the chili powder, cumin, salt, and pepper to the pot and stir to combine. Using an immersion blender, purée the mixture until smooth (alternatively, mash it with a potato masher).
3 Melt the lard in a large saucepan set over medium-high heat. When the lard shimmers, add the puréed beans and whisk to incorporate the lard. Bring the mixture to a boil, stirring occasionally, 3 to 4 minutes. Taste and add more salt as needed. Add the reserved cooking liquid to the beans as needed, ¼ cup at a time, to obtain a creamy consistency.
4 Sprinkle individual servings with ¼ cup shredded cheddar cheese and let melt. Serve warm.
A COMMON DARE among Tex-Mex fans is to see who can eat a whole pickled jalapeño pepper without crying. I think that challenge helped me lay a foundation for tolerating spicier foods, but it was no easy task—though thankfully we always chased them with an ice-cold beer. There are so many versions of this ubiquitous recipe, and mine is to pickle the peppers with onion, slices of carrot, and sometimes even cauliflower. The vegetables take on the heat from the jalapeño, and they add a nice bite to just about anything you’re eating, from nachos to tacos to queso and chips, or they’re great served simply in a snack bowl on their own. Just don’t forget that cold beer.
¼ cup canola oil
1 cup sliced onion
1 cup thinly sliced carrots
1½ cups white vinegar
1 tablespoon dried Mexican oregano
1 bay leaf
1 whole clove
2 teaspoons kosher salt
2 cups thinly sliced jalapeño pepper rounds
1 Heat the oil in a medium saucepan set over medium heat. When the oil shimmers, add the onion and carrot and cook, stirring, until the carrots are tender, 7 to 10 minutes. Add the vinegar, oregano, bay leaf, clove, and salt. Increase the heat to high and bring the mixture to a boil, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat to low and simmer until the flavors have combined, about 5 minutes. Remove the pan from the heat, add the jalapeño rounds, and set aside to cool to room temperature, about 2 hours.
2 Pour the jalapeño rounds and liquid into a 1-quart glass jar with a lid and refrigerate for about 4 hours before the first use.
3 The pickled jalapeños will keep in the refrigerator for up to 1 month.
I LIKE TO CALL THESE “soupy beans,” mainly because that’s what they were called by the ladies who brought them to the table at the Mexican restaurants we frequented when I was a kid. Considering the beans always arrived in a little bowl as whole pinto beans cooked down in broth with bacon, onion, cilantro, jalapeño, and a few other seasonings, I believe they were aptly named. Sometimes you’ll find borracho (drunk) beans on Tex-Mex menus, which simply means beer was included in their broth. Either version could truly be a meal unto itself, and some Tex-Mex restaurants will even offer them as a soup option.
8 ounces dried pinto beans
2 ounces bacon (about 2 slices), coarsely chopped
½ cup chopped onion
½ cup chopped tomato
1 small jalapeño pepper, stemmed and sliced
2 garlic cloves
½ cup packed fresh cilantro leaves
¼ cup chili powder (I like Gebhardt)
1½ teaspoons kosher salt, plus more as needed
Place the beans, bacon, onion, tomato, jalapeño, garlic, cilantro, chili powder, and salt in a large pot and cover with water by 1 inch. Bring to a simmer over high heat. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the beans are tender, 45 minutes to 1 hour, adding more water as needed to keep the beans covered. Taste and add more salt as needed.
THERE WAS ONCE A COOK at the River Oaks Country Club in Houston named Larry who used to make amazing chili. Larry’s Screaming Eagle Chili. I convinced him to give me the recipe on the condition that I wouldn’t ever share it. And I haven’t, though I have to admit that I still use bits and pieces of it, with tweaks here and there, so I’m not technically breaking my promise. But he should get credit for getting me started.
The first big choice to make when cooking chili is the type of meat you’ll use. Some people prefer small chunks of stew meat or, if they’re feeling indulgent, small cubes of beef short rib, while others prefer “chili grind,” or coarse-ground, meat. I personally like the latter, since I think it absorbs more flavor, and the meat and chiles become more unified.
The one thing I’m pretty adamant about is that beans have no place in a bowl of chili. I never even saw such an atrocity until I worked in Colorado. Beans seem like unnecessary filler that leave less room for meat!
4 slices thick-cut bacon, finely chopped
Vegetable oil
2 pounds coarse-ground beef chuck
1 medium onion, chopped
3 garlic cloves, coarsely chopped
2 jalapeño peppers, stemmed and chopped
2 teaspoons kosher salt
¼ cup chili powder (I like Gebhardt)
2 teaspoons ground cumin
2 cups beef broth
½ cup Standard Chile Paste (recipe follows on this page)
2 cups corn chips, for serving
1 cup sour cream, for serving
1 cup pico de gallo, store-bought or homemade (this page), for serving
½ cup chopped fresh cilantro, for serving
1 In a large heavy pot set over medium-high heat, cook the bacon, stirring frequently, until it is brown and crispy and the fat has rendered, 7 to 8 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the bacon to a paper-towel-lined plate to drain; reserve the fat in the pan. If needed, add oil; you want 3 tablespoons total fat in the pan.
2 Heat the bacon fat over high heat. When it shimmers, add the ground chuck and cook, stirring and breaking up the meat with the back of a wooden spoon, until well browned, 4 to 5 minutes. Add the onion, garlic, and jalapeños and cook for 3 to 4 minutes until the vegetables are softened. Return the bacon to the pan and stir to combine. Add the salt, chili powder, and cumin and cook until the spices are fragrant, about 1 minute. Add the broth and bring to a boil, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat to low and stir in the chile paste. Cover and simmer until the meat is tender and soft, 2 hours.
3 Serve the chili with corn chips, sour cream, pico de gallo, and cilantro.
Don’t be afraid to use store-bought chili powders, though look for good ones like Gebhardt and Mexene brand.
1 cup vegetable oil
3 ounces dried guajillo chiles (about 20), stemmed
1 ounce dried chiles de árbol (about 35), stemmed
4 garlic cloves
2 teaspoons kosher salt
1 teaspoon chicken bouillon
Heat the oil in a heavy medium pot set over medium-high heat. When it shimmers, add the guajillos, chiles de árbol, and garlic and cook, stirring frequently, until the chiles turn slightly darker in color, 30 to 40 seconds.
Carefully discard the oil from the pot, then carefully add water to just cover the chiles. Return the pot to high heat, cover, and bring the water to a boil. Cook until the chiles have softened, 5 to 7 minutes.
Drain the chiles in a strainer set over a bowl; reserve the soaking liquid. Transfer the chiles to a blender and add 1 cup of the reserved liquid, the salt, and the bouillon. Purée until smooth, stopping occasionally to scrape down the sides of the blender jar, 1 to 2 minutes.
The chile paste will keep in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 2 weeks.
CHILI:
A LONG-SIMMERED HISTORY
Fun fact: Chili has been the official state dish of Texas since 1977. But its origins predate this honorary distinction by hundreds of years, as it has roots in chile con carne, which existed long before Spanish colonization of the Americas in the seventeenth century.
Some say chili migrated from Mexico to San Antonio only as far back as the early 1800s and was served as a common local dish. There are many accounts from city journals and newspapers referring to a spicy beef caldo (soup) that was served by street vendors and in neighborhood diners. During that time, it took on the more anglicized name “chili,” exchanging an i for the e at the end of the word.
Other accounts show that chili dates even further back, to the eighteenth century. It’s been documented that native tribes in West Texas and throughout the Chihuahuan Desert would make a dried chile paste to use as a preservative and antiseptic for meat while traveling on the open plains. At some point, the dish was picked up by Spanish missionaries, and then European settlers and ranchers discovered it later on from the missions as they moved cattle across the state throughout the 1800s.
By the 1860s, chili was a street-vendor staple at San Antonio’s Military Plaza, where families would set up booths each night and sell chili out of large stockpots. Mothers and daughters would dress in colorful costumes to lure more customers to their tables, and these brightly clad beauties were given the name Chili Queens. These women carried on the tradition through the 1930s.
In the 1880s the Interstate Railroad brought visitors from the outside world to Texas and introduced them to its spicy fare. In 1893, the San Antonio Chili Stand was set up at the Chicago World’s Fair, and by the 1920s, chili was being canned and sold in Oklahoma, Missouri, and Ohio.
Modern-day chili is still commonly served as a meal unto itself, garnished with shredded cheese and minced white onion, but it has also become a garnish to hot dogs sold in ballparks and is found sold in combination with corn chips as the popular football stadium and state fair mainstay “Frito pie.”
Regardless of how you choose to simmer your batch, chili remains a hearty, delicious dish that can both comfort and sustain many.
AVOCADOS ARE THE STAR HERE, which means you have to pick good ones. No amount of salt or lime juice will be able to mask a yucky avocado. The fruit should be fairly firm when gently squeezed, with just a little bit of give to indicate perfect ripeness. Also, I find that a good sea salt, like Maldon, makes a big difference in the taste and texture of the guac. In terms of consistency, I like my guacamole somewhere between really creamy and a bit chunky, so that you sometimes get a little bite of straight avocado. And a word of warning Never make guacamole ahead of time. It will oxidize and become brown. Always serve it immediately after you’ve mixed it together.
4 avocados, pitted and peeled
1½ tablespoons fresh lime juice
½ cup finely chopped onion
¼ cup finely chopped fresh cilantro
2 tablespoons finely chopped jalapeño pepper
½ teaspoon kosher salt or sea salt, plus more as needed
In a medium bowl, mash the avocados with the back of a large spoon. Add the lime juice, onion, cilantro, jalapeño, and salt. Using a rubber spatula, fold to combine. Taste and add more salt as needed. Serve immediately.
GUACAMOLE:
IT’S MORE THAN A DIP
The word guacamole stems from the Aztec Nahuatl words ahuacatl (avocado) and molli (mixture), suggesting that its origin may predate the thirteenth century, which was the height of the Aztec empire. In pre-Columbian Mexico, guacamole was likely a mash of avocado with wild onion, chile, and maybe tomato or tomatillo. Cilantro and limes wouldn’t join the fold until after the arrival of the Spanish, who brought them to the New World.
In recent years, guacamole’s popularity at the Tex-Mex table—and many other tables, for that matter—has skyrocketed. (According to the Hass Avocado Board, sales of avocados doubled between 2005 and 2015.) Loosened import restrictions, as well as a growing Hispanic population from Central America, where the majority of avocados are grown, have contributed to the influx of the creamy green fruit. Not to mention the influence of headlines about the health benefits of avocados—people think they’re doing something good for themselves by eating plenty of guac. But personally, I think any health boost is merely a bonus, because avocados are just plain delicious.
When it comes to authentic Mexican guacamole, lime—or lemon—is typically avoided. Cookbooks, including Diana Kennedy’s The Art of Mexican Cooking and Hugo Ortega’s Street Food of Mexico, suggest that the addition of the vibrant acidity disrupts the balance of the avocado flavor in guacamole. But in Tex-Mex cooking, you’ll see both lime and lemon used, though lime is more common. I have to admit, there’s something familiar and distinctive about a citrus punch in Tex-Mex guacamole. I like to alternate between the two depending on my mood, but I always use them sparingly.
To me, there are really two kinds of “classic” chile con queso. First, there’s the two-ingredient version, in which one block of Velveeta is melted and one can of Ro-Tel diced tomatoes with green chiles is stirred into the melted cheese. The second is a more chef-driven method that combines a creamy Mornay sauce of milk, flour, and cheese with chiles. I’m a fan of both styles equally. That’s right—this chef loves processed cheese! But it needs milk or stock to thin it out. I like to borrow from both of these classics, using 75 percent processed cheese and 25 percent Chihuahua cheese blended together with milk lightly thickened with a roux. (I use cornstarch to keep the roux gluten-free.)
1 tablespoon vegetable oil
¼ cup chopped onion
¼ cup chopped poblano pepper
1 tablespoon chopped jalapeño pepper
¼ cup roasted tomato salsa, store-bought or homemade (this page)
¼ cup half-and-half
1 tablespoon cornstarch
¾ teaspoon ground cumin
¾ teaspoon garlic powder
½ teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
6 ounces Velveeta cheese, grated
2 ounces Chihuahua cheese, grated
Corn tortilla chips, for serving
1 Heat the oil in a large saucepan set over medium heat. When the oil shimmers, add the onion, poblano, and jalapeño and cook, stirring continuously, until the onion is translucent, 3 to 4 minutes. Add the salsa and cook, stirring frequently, until all the liquid has evaporated and the mixture is dry, 5 to 10 minutes.
2 In a small bowl, whisk together the half-and-half, cornstarch, cumin, garlic powder, and salt. Add the mixture to the saucepan along with ⅔ cup water. Whisk to combine. Bring to a simmer, whisking frequently. Add the cheeses, a little at a time, stirring as they melt to combine. Return the mixture to a simmer and cook, stirring frequently, until all the cheese has melted completely, 2 to 3 minutes.
3 Serve immediately with tortilla chips.
QUÉ ES
EL QUESO?
By definition, chile con queso—or “queso,” as it’s most commonly known—simply means “cheese with chile.” But for those who have developed an unshakable love for this tasty dip (which is pretty much anyone who’s ever tried it), queso is as much a part of our identity as it is a beloved appetizer.
Early references to this gooey dip date back to the 1800s, when it made appearances in Mexican literature (El Periquillo Sarniento by José Joaquín Fernández de Lizardi) and cookbooks (La Cocinera Poblana). In the 1900s, a similar concoction called Mexican rarebit, after Welsh rarebit, a savory cheese sauce, popped up in Kentucky, California, and Massachusetts newspapers. But the queso we know and love today first appeared in recipe form in a 1920s cookbook by the Woman’s Club of San Antonio, after which it became a fairly common side dish.
In 1916, a processed cheese made from a mixture of Colby and cheddar, with curds and emulsifiers, was created by the Kraft food company. During World War II, this “American cheese” was used in military kitchens. Following the war, as a way to maintain the price of dairy when industry subsidies led to a surplus of milk, the government made a whole bunch of American cheese, which was given to welfare beneficiaries. This processed cheese was made more popular in the mass market by Kraft, who created single-serving slices of American cheese and an easy-melting cheese product called Velveeta.
Queso got its big break as a Tex-Mex classic in the 1940s, when the Texas-based Ro-Tel company began to market its recipe for stirring their canned tomatoes with green chiles into melted Velveeta as a dip to be served with tortilla chips. The rest, as they say, is history. Each of the quesos I’ve shared in this book is a classic in its own way.
OPENED IN 1937 BY FELIX TIJERINA and his family, Felix Mexican Restaurant was one of Houston’s iconic Tex-Mex joints, serving generations of Houstonians until its closing in 2008. Tijerina made an indelible mark on the city in his own right as a community activist pioneering an English-immersion program, the Little Schools of 400, for Hispanic first-grade students, which became the inspiration for Lyndon B. Johnson’s Head Start program, one of the country’s most successful federal initiatives. The restaurant’s queso was famous, arriving at the table in a small bowl rimmed with reddish oil from the sautéed vegetables that had been stirred into the cheese. It was a thicker style of queso that hung onto the chip, and it was different from any other I’ve ever had.
I’ve done my best to re-create Felix’s amazing queso based on a clipping about it from an old Houston Chronicle article. A word of warning: If you didn’t grow up on this dish, you might say, “Ford??!?!? What are you thinking?!” Just trust me.
3 dried chiles de árbol, stemmed
1 cup boiling water
½ cup vegetable oil
1 cup drained canned diced tomatoes
½ cup finely chopped onion
2 garlic cloves, minced
1½ teaspoons sugar
½ teaspoon ground cumin
½ teaspoon kosher salt
¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
2 cups grated yellow American cheese
Corn tortilla chips, for serving
1 Put the chiles in a small bowl and pour over the boiling water. Let sit for 5 minutes to soften the chiles. Drain and chop the chiles.
2 In a medium nonstick skillet over low heat, combine the chopped chiles, oil, tomatoes, onion, garlic, sugar, cumin, salt, and pepper. Cook, stirring frequently, until the onion and chiles have softened, 10 to 15 minutes.
3 In a small bowl, stir together the flour and 2 tablespoons water to make a paste. Add the paste to the skillet and cook, stirring until the mixture is well combined, for 2 minutes. Add the cheese and cook, stirring continuously, until the cheese has melted, 3 to 4 minutes.
4 Serve immediately with tortilla chips.
QUESO FUNDIDO means “molten cheese,” and you’ll sometimes find this dish listed on menus as queso flameado, or “flamed cheese.” It’s essentially broiled white cheese that gets its name from literally being on fire in a cast-iron dish. Usually you’ll see it cooked with chorizo, shrimp, mushrooms, or poblano peppers. I love its stringy quality and how it expands as you pull it away from the dish. I’m pretty sure some recipes use mozzarella cheese, which is a good option for that stretchy effect, but I like Oaxaca and Monterey Jack cheeses for their flavor. This dish is best served with flour tortillas.
6 ounces Mexican (fresh) chorizo, crumbled
8 ounces Chihuahua cheese, shredded
4 ounces Monterey Jack cheese, shredded
4 ounces Oaxaca cheese, shredded
1 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano
6-inch flour or corn tortillas, store-bought or homemade (this page or this page), for serving
1 Place a rack 6 to 8 inches from the heat source and preheat the oven to broil.
2 In a medium sauté pan set over medium heat, cook the chorizo, stirring, until lightly browned and cooked through, 5 to 6 minutes. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the chorizo to a paper-towel-lined plate to drain.
3 In a medium bowl, combine the chorizo, all the cheeses, and the oregano and toss to combine. Transfer the mixture to a shallow ovenproof baking dish.
4 Broil until the cheese is bubbling and golden brown on top, 4 to 5 minutes.
5 Serve immediately, dolloping a spoonful or two onto the center of a warm tortilla and rolling it up like a taco.
YOU DON’T SEE THIS DISH on Tex-Mex menus very often these days, but those who remember that crispy puff of fried corn tortilla doused with creamy chile con queso know it was a thing of legend. They might be part of a combo platter listed on the menu as “Cheese enchilada, crispy beef taco, and chile con queso,” but the queso would come out on a separate plate, poured on top of a crisp, puffed shell. I liked to crack it open with my fork to watch the steam come out. Though it seemed proper to eat it with a fork and knife, you really only needed a utensil to crack it—after that, you had to just get in there with your fingers.
Vegetable oil
12 (6-inch) corn tortillas, store-bought or homemade (this page)
2 cups Chile con Queso (this page)
½ cup finely chopped onion
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
1 Fill a deep, heavy pot or Dutch oven with oil to a depth of 1½ inches. Heat the oil over medium-high heat to 375°F. Line a wire rack with paper towels, place it on a baking sheet, and set it nearby.
2 Working one at a time, carefully place a tortilla in the hot oil. Fry the tortilla, continuously spooning oil over the top with a large metal spoon, until it begins to puff, 10 to 15 seconds. Continue to baste the tortilla and cook until golden brown, 1 minute. (Do not flip the tortilla.) Using a slotted spoon, transfer the tortilla to the prepared rack to drain. Repeat with the remaining tortillas, letting the oil return to 375°F after frying each one.
3 When ready to serve, gently push down on the tops of the puffed shells to create small openings. Place a generous spoonful of queso into each tostada. Top each with 2 teaspoons of the onion and a sprinkling of cilantro. Serve immediately.
Tortilla soup is a Mexican classic that has earned an enduring place in Tex-Mex cuisine. Traditionally made with a base of tomato and chicken broth, the soup is often laced with aromatic epazote in Mexico, but in Tex-Mex you see cilantro used more often as the flavoring agent. Dried chiles add a depth of flavor that makes the soup even more delicious. And, of course, freshly fried strips of corn tortillas are this dish’s signature. Serve them on top of the soup with a few slices of avocado, mesquite-grilled chicken fajita meat, and a sprinkle of Monterey Jack or queso fresco, and you’ve turned the humble chicken soup into a special meal.
For the tortilla strips
8 (6-inch) corn tortillas, store-bought or homemade (this page)
Vegetable oil, for frying
Kosher salt
For the broth
1½ quarts chicken broth
1 small onion, quartered
1 carrot, coarsely chopped
1 celery stalk, coarsely chopped
1 poblano pepper, seeded and coarsely chopped
¼ cup chopped fresh cilantro
½ teaspoon dried Mexican oregano
2 (6-inch) corn tortillas, store-bought or homemade (this page)
1½ teaspoons kosher salt, plus more to taste
For the soup
1 (15-ounce) can hominy, drained and rinsed
1 small onion, sliced
2 small carrots, sliced
1 small zucchini, sliced
2 cups coarsely chopped Fajita Chicken (this page) or store-bought rotisserie chicken
1 cup shredded Chihuahua cheese
1 avocado, pitted, peeled, and diced
½ cup pico de gallo, store-bought or homemade (this page)
1 Make the tortilla strips Fill a Dutch oven or other heavy pot with oil to a depth of 1 inch. Heat the oil over medium-high heat to 350°F. Line a wire rack with paper towels, place it on a baking sheet, and set it nearby.
2 Cut the tortillas into thin strips, about ¼ inch wide. Carefully add a few tortilla pieces at a time to the hot oil and fry them, stirring gently, until golden and crispy, 2 to 3 minutes. Using a slotted spoon or tongs, transfer the strips to the prepared rack and lightly season them with salt. Repeat with the remaining tortilla pieces. Carefully discard the oil.
3 Make the broth In the same Dutch oven, combine the broth, onion, carrot, celery, poblano, cilantro, oregano, and salt. Bring to a simmer over medium heat, stirring occasionally. Reduce the heat to low, cover, and simmer, stirring occasionally, until the vegetables have softened, 1 hour. Strain the broth, discarding the solids. Taste and add more salt as needed. Return the broth to the pot and set the pot over low heat.
4 Make the soup Add the hominy, onion, carrots, and zucchini to the broth. Increase the heat to high and bring to a boil, stirring occasionally, about 10 minutes. Add the chicken and bring the soup back to a boil.
5 Divide the soup among four serving bowls. Garnish with the cheese, avocado, pico de gallo, and tortilla strips and serve.
