Pati’s Mexican Table

Shortly after moving to the United States, I began having recurring dreams. They had a consistent theme: Coming home from work, I would open the door to our apartment in Texas. There would be Sara Martínez, aka Tochito, my childhood nanny from Oaxaca, simmering Caldo de Pollo (Mexican Chicken Broth) in my mother’s gorgeously aged soup pot. I would wake up disoriented and homesick and cover my eyes with my hands and blankets, trying to keep the dreamy aromas from flying away.

I was lonesome in my new married life in the middle of who-would-have-ever-imagined Texas, with my husband, Daniel, eternally traveling. I was working during the day and finishing my thesis by night, and I didn’t know how to cook anything more than scrambled eggs and quesadillas. Taking a cue from those night messages, I began hunting down familiar ingredients, searching for cookbooks, and transcribing directions from anyone with the tiniest notion of how to prepare the foods I craved. That’s when I started my own weekly caldo production and began to learn to cook.

Caldo has become my painter’s palette, from which come all manner of soups. I often make the ones I miss from my Mexican childhood, like Alphabet Soup, and classics like Avocado Soup and Squash Blossom Soup. Some soups are those that I’ve fallen in love with on my travels, like Hearty Pinto Bean Soup and Tomato-Zucchini Soup with Melty Cheese, and are now staples in our home. I celebrate with Red Pozole, a signature of my mother’s parties, which was served at my wedding. And I’ve also dreamed up my own concoctions, like Creamy Corn Soup, which is laced with vanilla and smoky chipotle. Every single one of these soups has the depth of flavor of the caldo that appeared in my dreams.

Recipes