Latin Bowls

When I was six years old and in elementary school, my class took a field trip to the large market in Guatemala City, called the Mercado Central. My mother gave me a couple of quetzales—in those days equal to two American dollars—and the admonition to spend them wisely. I still remember having enough money to buy one avocado, a bunch of daisies, and one portable bowl of tomato-enriched broth, aromatic with cilantro, and with a few noodles, called fideos, swimming in the bottom. I ate the soup on the ride back to school and brought my prized avocado and my flowers home. Ever since that day, I’ve loved soups.

Almost every meal in my childhood began with a bowl of soup, and to this day, I serve it whenever I can. Soups are easy to make, and since they only include a few ingredients, they are also economical. I love serving them to my family because one hefty bowl is enough to satisfy a hungry appetite. They require such little attention that it allows me to spend time away from the stove, and I use those hours instead to watch classic films with my kids or go out for a walk with my husband.

Soups help to settle the appetite so that when the main component of the meal is served, the palate can truly enjoy the flavors. On the other hand, soup also makes a great meal itself. For me, soups and stews are comfort in a bowl. Not surprisingly, bowls filled to the rim with rich, soothing flavors are among the most popular offerings on the streets of Latin America.

On any given day, you’ll see people sitting at makeshift tables or standing on city corners holding cups filled with steamy goodness, embracing the sense of calm and peaceful satisfaction that comes from a warm and filling meal. No matter the weather, people simply gravitate toward soups and stews. If you stroll along the coastal areas of Belize during the summer or walk on a busy street in the high peaks of Bolivia during winter, you’ll see people enjoying bowls of something good. People walking through the mist in the middle of a Latin American city on rainy days reach for bowls of soups. Hungry students who can’t get home in time to eat one of their mom’s stews between classes find reassurance in the bowls that they find on the streets. Every day, and for very little money, day laborers and construction workers can eat reinforcing meals that give them strength for a few more hours of strenuous work.

A great soup, carefully built so that it packs flavor, vitamins, and nutrients, can be a great source of sustenance. Some of these mouth-watering renditions are perfect for everyday meals at home, while others, like the coconut-infused soups found from Guatemala to Brazil, are more suitable for elegant occasions. However, street food vendors offer both varieties. In this chapter, you’ll find soups made with fresh ingredients and unadulterated flavors that allow each spoonful to shine. Best of all, none is complicated to make.

Take a bit of water, a few aromatics, and a handful of seasonal vegetables, and you’re on your way to building a succulent soup. This is how most recipes start on the streets, where ingredients are often inexpensive and local. From Mexico to Honduras and Panama, you can choose from broth-infused noodle soups called caldos, creamy bean porridges, and meatball soups. In South America, you’ll find an array of velvety vegetable locros, chunky potato ajíacos, and meaty laguas.

Spain’s influence on Latin American cuisine is most apparent in the soups offered by street vendors. In the pucheros of Argentina and Bolivia, the ollas of Costa Rica, the sancochos of Colombia, and the cocidos of Guatemala and Mexico, you’ll find clear associations with Spanish ollas podridas and caldos Gallegos. All of these dishes are made by boiling large pieces of meat and lots of vegetables in large pots. Each ensuing meal becomes a one-pot wonder that yields bowls of tasty clear broth, sliced meats that can be enjoyed as part of the soup or as a component of other recipes, such as the meat in the cocido that is used to make the Beef and Radish Soft Tacos on page 94, and deliciously flavored vegetables that turn into side dishes, or contornos. The Beef and Vegetable Pot in this chapter (page 113) is among the healthiest meals you’ll find on the streets. I also included two popular soups from Colombia and Panama that are made with chicken and starchy vegetables that disintegrate while they cook, making the broth creamy.

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An indigenous woman sells sancocho (broth-filled stew) in the Sacred Valley of the Incas, Peru.

Boiled meats from soups are often shredded and stirred into sauces. The name of these dishes varies from country to country, but they all originate from the Spanish dish called ropa vieja (old clothes). The Central American version is served with scoops of rice. In Venezuela, the shredded beef is served with rice, beans, and plantains—the trio known as the Latin trinity—making up what many Venezuelans consider their national dish, called “Pabellón.” I include here a delectable variation of the dish found on Guatemalan streets called hilachas that I often prepare at home.

In this chapter, you’ll also find a vegetarian soup and some recipes that are neither soups nor stews but fall somewhere in between, including the famous pozoles of Mexico. Street food vendors always have lots of different toppings that customers can sprinkle on their bowls of soup or stew and that offer textural and temperature contrasts. If you love toppings, you’ll be happy to know that the selection in this chapter will present you with plenty of opportunities to add them to your heart’s content.

Beef and Vegetable Pot (Cocido o Puchero)

Latin America inherited a tradition of boiled meats from Europe. On the streets, for very little money, you can get a large bowl of beef and vegetables filled to the rim with light broth. The classic Central American version is called cocido. If you replace the cilantro and the yuca with parsley and butternut squash, it becomes a typical Argentinean puchero. This pot provides you with delicious broth, plenty of vegetables, and a prized piece of succulent meat. I like to reserve part of the beef to use as the filling for Costa Rican Tacos Ticos (page 93) or Beef and Radish Soft Tacos (page 94). In fact, you can use any leftover beef in this recipe for any of the dishes in this book that feature shredded beef or pork.

Serves 6–8

Place the beef in a large stockpot over medium-high heat and cover with cold water by 2–3 inches (about 3 quarts, depending on the size of your pot). Bring the water to a boil; reduce the heat and simmer for 15–20 minutes, skimming off (and discarding) the foam that rises to the top. Add the green onions, cilantro, garlic, salt, peppercorns, and bay leaf. Bring the liquid back to a boil; cover, reduce the heat, and simmer for 1 1/2–2 hours or until the juices of the beef run clear when it’s pierced with a knife. Add the yuca, potatoes, carrots, corn, and cabbage and continue simmering until the potatoes are tender, about 20–25 minutes. Remove the beef from the broth; season the broth with salt and pepper.

To serve, cut the beef into 1/4-inch-thick slices and place on a platter. Transfer the vegetables to a large serving bowl. Serve the broth in bowls and let each person add beef and vegetables, to taste.

NOTE: The leftovers taste great the next day and also freeze well for up to 1 month.

Central American Meatball Soup with Chayote

This aromatic and filling soup is often sold on the streets of Honduras. It’s a healthy and popular lunch on the go. I serve it in ceramic mugs called pocillos with plenty of warm corn tortillas that have been sprinkled with salt and rolled like a cigar for easy dunking and Jalapeños, Onions, and Carrots in Escabeche (page 266). Chilling the meatballs before cooking helps them retain their shape as they boil, and cooking them in water before adding them to the soup prevents the stock from becoming cloudy. This soup is a perfect one-pot meal, and it freezes beautifully for up to three months.

Serves 8

FOR THE MEATBALLS

FOR THE BROTH

In a large bowl, combine the beef, pork, egg, bread crumbs, parsley, cilantro, mint, cumin, salt, and pepper. Form small meatballs (1 tablespoon each), rolling them between your hands and place them on a plate. Chill them for 30 minutes.

In the meantime, heat the oil in a large stockpot over medium-high heat; add the onions, bell peppers, garlic, bay leaf, and thyme and sauté until the onions have softened slightly, about 2 minutes. Add the tomatoes and chile powder; reduce the heat to medium-low and simmer for 15 minutes. Add the stock, carrots, potatoes, and mint and bring to a boil; reduce the heat and simmer, uncovered, for 20 minutes.

In a separate pot, heat 2 quarts of water over medium-high heat to boiling. Working in batches, add the meatballs; cook them until they rise to the surface, about 2–3 minutes; remove them with a slotted spoon and transfer them to the soup. Discard the water.

Add all of the cooked meatballs and the chayote to the soup. Cover and simmer until the chayote is tender, about 10 minutes; season with salt and pepper.

To serve, remove the mint and ladle the soup into bowls.

Red Pozole

This Mexican pork and hominy stew gets its rusty-red color from dried chiles. It’s mildly spicy, very filling, and very comforting. Although pozoles are enjoyed all over Mexico, they’re said to have originated in the State of Guerrero. They come in the different colors of the Mexican flag: red, green, and white. They can be made with chicken or shrimp, but pork versions are traditional. The toppings for pozole also vary by region. When I was little, my great-aunt Militza lived in Mexico. Her son, Héctor—who loved to remind me of the fact that although he was several years younger than me, he was technically my uncle—spent many summer vacations with my brothers and me. During one of their visits, Tía Militza and my grandmother got together to make pozole and I was allowed to watch. Then they invited all of the kids to eat supper with them. That night, Tía told us that this was the stew to cure all hangovers. Today, I love to start each New Year with bowls of this satisfyingly rich stew.

Serves 8

In a large Dutch oven, melt half of the lard over medium-high heat. Working in batches, sauté the pork until the pieces are browned on all sides, about 8–10 minutes total, adding more lard as needed. Remove the browned pork with a slotted spoon to a plate. Pour off all but 1 tablespoon of the rendered fat in the pot.

Reduce the heat to medium and add half of the onions; sauté until softened and slightly golden, about 3–4 minutes. Add the bay leaves, oregano, and thyme. Return the pork (and any accumulated juices) to the pot, cover with water by 2 inches (about 6–7 cups), and bring the liquid to a boil. Cover, reduce the heat, and simmer until the pork is tender, about 1 1/2–2 hours. Add the hominy; cover and simmer for 15 minutes.

In the meantime, place the chiles in a large bowl and cover with 4 cups of boiling water (put a plate on top of the chiles to keep them submerged) and soak for 10 minutes. Drain the chiles and reserve the soaking liquid.

Remove the stems, seeds, and veins of the chiles and discard; place the chiles in a blender. Add 2 cups of the soaking liquid, the remaining 1 1/2 cups of onion, and the garlic; blend until smooth. Strain the mixture through a sieve, pressing down firmly and add it to the simmering pork; return the strained chiles (left in the strainer) to the blender. Add 1/2 cup of the reserved soaking liquid and blend again. Strain the mixture again and stir it into the simmering pork (discard the chile residue in the strainer); season the pozole with salt and pepper and simmer for 20 minutes.

To serve, ladle the pozole into bowls and garnish with lettuce, radishes, oregano, and lime wedges.

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Green Pozole

Green Pozole

This Mexican pumpkin seed and pork stew is sold in markets and on busy street corners. Pumpkin seeds, or pepitas, thicken the broth; chiles and herbs lend a green color. Although dried hominy (which must be soaked and cooked in order to soften it) is most often used to make traditional pozole, I find that canned hominy works well and is more practical to use. Mayan and Aztec culinary traditions often call for “frying” sauces. Nothing gets the attention of my cooking students faster than the promise of an exciting maneuver and the sound of sizzle. A sauce is fried by adding it to fat (usually lard but sometimes oil) that has been heated in a deep pot. When the sauce hits the fat, it sizzles and splatters. This technique sets the color and deepens the flavor of a sauce in a way that cannot be achieved by merely heating it. Keep in mind that the fat must be very hot. Be sure when you add the sauce to stand at an arm’s length from the pot and add it all at once. The sauce will splatter for just a few seconds, and once you reduce the heat and stir it, it will bubble like any other sauce. Use the tallest pot you have, stir the sauce with a long-handled spatula, and arm yourself with a splatter guard. It is important to dry any meat well before adding it to hot fat or it will splatter and then steam instead of browning. To do this, simply dry the pieces of meat with paper towels.

Serves 8

In a large Dutch oven, melt half of the lard over medium-high heat. Working in batches, sauté the pork until the pieces are browned on all sides, about 8–10 minutes total, adding more lard as needed. Remove the browned pork with a slotted spoon to a plate. Pour off all but 1 tablespoon of the rendered fat in the pot; reserve.

Reduce the heat to medium and add the onions; sauté until softened (they will change color as they lift the browned bits left from the pork), about 4–5 minutes. Add the oregano and garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Return the pork (and any accumulated juices) to the pot and cover with water by 2 inches (about 7 cups). Increase the heat to medium-high and bring the liquid to a boil; cover, reduce the heat and simmer until the pork is tender, about 1 1/2–2 hours. Add the hominy; cover and simmer for 15 minutes.

In a blender, combine the tomatillos, chiles, cilantro, pepitas, and 1/2 cup of water; blend until smooth.

In a medium saucepan over medium-high heat, heat 1 tablespoon of the reserved fat; when the fat is hot, add the blended mixture (careful, it will splatter); reduce the heat and simmer for 5 minutes.

Add the sauce to the pork mixture and stir well; season with salt and pepper. Simmer for 20 minutes.

To serve, ladle the soup into deep bowls; garnish with the radishes, lettuce, oregano, and lime wedges. Leftovers can be frozen for up to 3 months.

Seafood and Coconut Stew (Tapado de Mariscos)

Tapado means “covered,” but what makes these creamy chowders so particular to the coastal area of Central America is not only that they’re made in covered pots, but that they always feature coconut milk. These creamy stews are served at beach stalls from Belize to El Salvador to Honduras. Tapados can be made with poultry, beef, or pork, but you’ll swoon over this seafood version. The classic combination of green plantains and yuca provide the starch of this one-pot meal. You can usually find culantro, the pointy-leafed herb used in the Latin Caribbean that tastes like ubercilantro and retains its bright green color even after it’s cooked for a long time, in the produce section of Latin American grocery stores in the United States. If you can’t find it, use cilantro instead, but add it toward the very end so it doesn’t blacken. Just one spoonful of this soup takes me back to the black sandy beaches and vibrantly orange and deep pink sunsets of my youth. If I close my eyes while I taste this, I can almost hear the sound of the waves crashing on the beach.

Serves 4–6

Place the plantains in a large pot and cover with water; bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, cover, and simmer until they’re fork-tender, about 15 minutes. Drain, peel, and set them aside.

In the same pot, place the yuca; cover with cold water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, cover, and simmer until they’re fork-tender, about 10–15 minutes. Drain and set aside.

In a large Dutch oven, heat the oil over medium-high heat; add the onions and sauté until they begin to soften, about 1–2 minutes. Add the tomatoes and bell peppers and cook, stirring often, until softened, about 2 minutes. Add the garlic and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the fish stock, clam juice, plantains, and yuca. Bring to a boil; reduce the heat, cover, and simmer for 5 minutes. Stir in the shrimp, crabmeat, fish, and culantro (if using cilantro, add just before serving); simmer for 5 minutes. Add the coconut milk and season with salt and pepper. Simmer for 5 minutes (being careful not to let it boil or it will curdle). Serve immediately.

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Shredded Beef and Vegetable Stew (Hilachas)

Shredded Beef and Vegetable Stew (Hilachas)

In this mouth-watering stew, beef, potatoes, and carrots simmer in a roasted tomato and annatto sauce with a faint hint of heat, courtesy of a single dried chile. Every Latin country makes a version of shredded beef. Some are thicker than others; the sauce in this one is thickened slightly with masa harina. Cubans make a similar stew called ropa vieja (old clothes). In other countries it’s known as carne deshebrada, and in Guatemala, this dish is simply known as hilachas (shreds), and I grew up eating it at home. On any given day in markets throughout Latin America, you’ll find slight variations of this stew served with rice and beans. This freezes beautifully, and like many such dishes, it tastes better the next day, after the flavors have been allowed to blend. Here is a delicious way to use an inexpensive cut of beef.

Serves 6

In a large Dutch oven, place the meat, 1 cup of the onions, the garlic, and the bay leaf, and enough water to cover (about 5 cups). Bring the liquid to a boil; reduce the heat and simmer for 15–20 minutes, skimming off (and discarding) the foam that rises to the top. Bring the liquid back to a boil; cover, reduce the heat, and simmer for 1–1 1/2 hours or until the beef shreds easily. Remove the pan from the heat and let the meat cool in the broth for 30 minutes. Remove the beef and strain the liquid, reserving 1 cup to thin the sauce. (The rest can be used in other recipes.) Let the beef rest for 30 minutes or until it’s cool to the touch. Shred the meat finely into thin strands (you should have about 4 cups); cover and keep refrigerated until ready to use.

In a dry cast-iron skillet or griddle over medium-high heat, place the tomatillos and the tomatoes. Turning them often, roast them until their skins are charred on all sides and transfer them to a blender. In the same skillet, toast the chile for 20 seconds on each side, or just until pliable. Remove it from the heat; seed, devein, and cut it into 4–5 pieces and add it to the blender. Add the rest of the onion, annatto, masa harina, and half of the reserved liquid to the blender; blend until smooth. (Add more of the reserved liquid to help get the motor started, if needed; discard the rest.)

In a large Dutch oven, melt the lard (or heat the oil) over medium-high heat; when the lard is hot, add the blended sauce all at once (careful, it will splatter) and using a long-handled spatula, stir for 2 minutes. Add the shredded meat, potatoes, and carrots; season with salt and pepper. Stir and bring to a boil; reduce the heat, cover, and simmer until the vegetables are tender, about 20–25 minutes. Serve over rice (if using).

Chicken and Root Vegetable Stew (Sancocho Panameño)

On any given day, you’ll see Panamanians sitting in front of street stalls enjoying bowls of this comforting and filling stew, traditionally made with hens or free-range chickens. Sancocho is the national dish of Panama, and what distinguishes this from other boiled stews is the addition of culantro. Not to be confused with cilantro, which has small, feathery leaves, culantro has pointy leaves that are anywhere from four to eight inches long. Culantro, which is the herb of choice in the Latin Caribbean, tastes like cilantro times a thousand, and, unlike cilantro, it stays vibrantly green even when cooked for long periods of time. Find it in the produce section of Latin American stores. You can substitute cilantro if you can’t find it, but don’t add it until just before you serve the stew because it will blacken as it cooks. The root vegetable of choice for this stew is called ñame. It looks like a giant sweet potato, with a brown, barklike skin and yellow or white flesh; ñame takes longer to cook than potatoes, but it has pretty much the same culinary uses. It breaks down as it cooks, thickening the broth and giving the sancocho the creamy texture it’s revered for. If you can’t find ñame, use starchy potatoes instead. Sancochos are normally served with steamed white rice.

Serves 10

Place the chicken in a large bowl. Season it well with salt and pepper; add the culantro, oregano, and onions and drizzle with the oil; stir to combine. Marinate the chicken at room temperature for 30 minutes (or up to 8 hours in the refrigerator).

Place the chicken mixture (and any juices that collected) in a large stockpot over medium heat. Cover and cook, stirring once or twice, until the chicken and the onions have begun to sweat, about 6–8 minutes (they should not be allowed to brown). Cover the chicken with cold water by 2 inches and add the ñame. Bring the liquid to a rolling boil; cover, reduce the heat, and simmer for 20 minutes. Add the butternut squash and continue cooking until the vegetables are tender, about 20–25 minutes (if the liquid is evaporating too quickly, add more water as it cooks). Serve hot over rice (if using).

NOTE: Once cut, ñame will oxidize (turn brown) quickly. The cold water will prevent this for up to 30 minutes.

If you want the broth to be creamier, remove the chicken and butternut squash from the soup right before serving and keep it warm; continue cooking the ñame, mashing it down slightly with a potato masher until it has reached the desired consistency. Return the chicken and squash to the broth; stir, heat through, and serve immediately.

Potato, Chicken, and Corn Stew (Ajíaco Bogotano)

When I was in my teens, my family traveled to the island of San Andrés in Colombia. We arrived on a stormy night, only to find that our hotel was overbooked and we had nowhere to stay. There, I was introduced to this most famous soup in Colombia. Its creamy broth and deep chicken flavor soothed our exhaustion on that cool night. Traditionally, ajíaco incorporates a variety of yellow, red, and white potatoes. Andean potatoes, called papas criollas, are preferred because they disintegrate while they cook and make the broth creamy. You can sometimes find them in Latin stores, frozen or dried; if you can’t find them, use small creamer potatoes like Yukon Gold, which also break apart. Guascas (Galinsoga parviflora) is an herb that grows wild throughout Latin America. Also known as Colombian mint, it can be found dried, or fresh in Latin tiendas. It gives this stew the floral taste that defines it. If it’s unavailable, use cilantro instead. Historically, ajíaco is served in large, black clay bowls. It’s always garnished with avocados, capers, and cream. We ended up finding a place to stay, but what truly made my vacation memorable was the warmth and soothing taste of this classic soup.

Serves 6

In a large pot over medium-high heat, place the cilantro, green onions, garlic, celery, bay leaf, chicken breasts, and salt; cover with the broth. Bring the liquid to a boil; reduce the heat to low and simmer for 15 minutes, skimming off (and discarding) the foam that rises to the top. Continue simmering, uncovered, for an additional 15–20 minutes or until the chicken is cooked through. Remove the chicken to a platter; when cool enough to handle, shred it into large pieces; chill until ready to serve.

Strain the broth over a large bowl and discard all of the solids; return the broth to the pot and set it over medium-high heat. Add the creamer potatoes and bring to a boil; cover, reduce the heat, and simmer for 20 minutes. Add the remaining potatoes; cover and simmer until they are fork-tender (about 30 minutes). Add the corn and the guascas and cook for about 25 minutes or until the corn is tender.

Remove 1 cup of the potatoes and mash them until smooth; return them to the soup and stir. Add the chicken and simmer for 5 minutes.

To serve, peel, pit, and slice the avocados. Place a piece of chicken in each bowl; ladle the soup and vegetables on top, and garnish with avocado, capers, and dollops of crema.

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Corn Stew with Mayonnaise, Cheese, and Chile Serrano (Esquites)

Corn Stew with Mayonnaise, Cheese, and Chile Serrano (Esquites)

In this Mexican street favorite, corn taken right off the cob is cooked in a spicy and buttery broth. In markets, esquites are served in small glasses and customers add their own toppings. It’s the soupy version of Corn on the Cob with Cream and Cheese (page 201) and shares a similar flavor profile. Epazote, or wormseed, is an herb native to Mesoamerica. Its flavor is hard to decipher, but it has a very distinctive aroma that reminds me of a combination of camphor and tarragon. It’s sold both fresh and dried in Latin American stores. I prefer using fresh epazote because it’s easier to remove after it has done its job flavoring the stew, whereas the dried herb is grassy and impossible to retrieve and can overpower. If you can’t find epazote, don’t worry: This stew, crowned with creamy toppings, will still be hearty and delicious.

Serves 4–6

In a large Dutch oven, melt the butter over medium-high heat. Add the corn, onions, and chiles. Cook, stirring, until the corn is tender, about 10 minutes. Add the garlic and epazote (if using) and cook until fragrant, about 30 seconds. Add the water and salt. Bring the liquid to a boil; cover, reduce the heat, and simmer for 10 minutes. If you’ve used the epazote, remove and discard it.

To serve, ladle the stew into mugs and top with a dollop each of mayonnaise and sour cream. Sprinkle with the cheese and chile powder and garnish with a lime wedge.

NOTE: The amount of water you use depends on how thick you want your esquites. I prefer it thick, so I usually add only the 2 1/2 cups of water, but use more if you want more broth.