Cooking Like a Mexican

 Cooking Like a Mexican

When we reflect on the vibrant tapestry of Mexican cuisine, our taste buds often gravitate towards the explosion of flavors found in tacos, enchiladas, and the bustling street food scenes. However, nestled among the beloved classics of Mexican gastronomy lies a lesser-known, yet equally delightful treasure trove of comforting stews and soul-warming soups. These heartwarming concoctions bear the hallmark of familial love, with mothers across Mexico gracefully orchestrating their culinary magic, conjuring up aromatic broths and hearty stews that are more than just meals; they are cherished memories and nourishment for the soul.

Interestingly, our mothers and abuelas display a culinary wisdom that transcends mere tradition. During the sweltering heat, when the sun mercilessly beats down, you might overhear a playful jibe, “I bet mom made a caldo today.” Surprisingly, there’s a scientific rationale underlying this seemingly paradoxical practice. Consuming hot foods during scorching weather triggers a natural cooling response as the body sweats more, reducing the temperature disparity between our skin and the relentless summer air.

In this edition, let’s embark on a culinary journey to uncover the tantalizing secrets of a dish affectionately known as “caldo marinero” or sailor’s soup—a sumptuous blend of the ocean’s bounty, lovingly simmered to perfection. What sets this seafood stew-soup hybrid apart is the ingenious incorporation of masa, infusing the broth with a velvety richness that elevates its flavors to unprecedented heights. Tracing its roots to the picturesque coastal state of Veracruz, the origins of chilpachole can be traced back to the cultural confluences of early European explorations.

Legend has it that the dish’s heritage intertwines with the influence of French culinary nuances, with the “soupe aux fruits de mer” lending its inspiration to the vibrant Mexican rendition. Echoes of a pre-Hispanic legacy reverberate in the annals of chilpachole’s history, conjuring images of an ancient era when the indigenous diet thrived on the bounties of the sea and the untamed wilderness, encompassing a rich tapestry of seafood delicacies and wild game that colored the culinary landscape.

Delving deeper into the past, the intricate web of Mexico’s historical tapestry reveals the intriguing existence of the “painani” network—a fascinating relay system where dedicated messengers, fueled by a sense of duty and determination, traversed the vast expanse of the land, ferrying not just messages but the freshest, most coveted treasures from the briny depths of the ocean. Stories of these enigmatic figures weave a romantic narrative of dedication and resilience, reflecting the rich cultural heritage that continues to define the essence of chilpachole.

Much like the revered mole, chilpachole emerged from a medley of locally sourced ingredients, meticulously intertwined with fiery chilies and robust proteins, crafting a tantalizing symphony of flavors that transcended mere sustenance, embodying the essence of familial tradition passed down through the ages. Its evocative name, “Chilpachole,” rooted in the linguistic depths of the Náhuatl language, seamlessly intertwines the essence of fiery chilies (“chilli”) with the entangled medley of ingredients (“patzolli”), paying homage to its spirited and complex nature.

Embraced by the culinary landscape during the solemn observance of Lent, chilpachole emerges as a revered staple, offering a delectable reprieve for those observing the Catholic tradition of abstaining from red meat during this sacred season. Remarkably, its culinary prowess extends beyond its spiritual significance, earning a lighthearted yet well-deserved reputation as a tried-and-true hangover remedy, earning a mischievous yet endearing place in the hearts of those who indulge in its comforting embrace.

It’s not merely a dish; it’s a culinary testament to resilience, tradition, and the intricate interplay of history and flavor, beckoning all who crave a taste of Mexico’s rich cultural heritage to immerse themselves in the heartwarming embrace of chilpachole, where every spoonful tells a story of love, history, and the enduring spirit of Mexican gastronomy. This is my first ever recipe for a “recalentado” as the flavors develop in such harmony, it is worth the 24-hour wait. Plus, cooking ahead counts as meal prep. Right?

So, whether it’s to beat the heat or conquer that lingering hangover, chilpachole summons with its story steeped in tradition and its flavors steeped in warmth. 


  • 1 lb. of shredded crab
  • 1 lb. of small shrimp
  • 1 lb. of mussels in their shell
  • 8 medium tomatoes
  • 1 medium onion
  • 6 large garlic cloves
  • 4 guajillo chilies
  • 4 pasilla chilies
  • 4 mulato chilies
  • 4 ancho chilies
  • 5.3 oz of corn masa (cornstarch can be used in case of an emergency)
  • Bunch of epazote
  • Salt and pepper to taste 


  1. Wash, rinse, and drain the crab, shrimp, and mussels.
  2. On a griddle, char the tomatoes, onions, and garlic as much as possible (preferably until blackened).
  3. Simultaneously, char the chilies without veins or seeds.
  4. Place tomatoes, onions, garlic, and chilies in a saucepan with a little water and boil for 5 minutes.
  5. Then, blend everything in a blender, adding a little salt and pepper.
  6. In a large pot, capable of holding at least 4 quarts of water, put the entire preparation over high heat, and when it begins to boil, add the crab, shrimp, and mussels, along with some epazote leaves. Stir constantly but gently.
  7. When everything is boiling, reduce the heat to low, cover the pot, and let it cook for at least an hour before turning off the heat, slightly uncovering, and allowing it to rest, preferably for the entire afternoon. When it is lukewarm, cover well and place in the refrigerator until the next day.
  8. The next morning, bring to a boil again, and when it is boiling, reduce the heat to low and add the finely crumbled corn masa. Stir constantly. Let it simmer for half an hour and serve.
  9. Add a little lemon, and preferably, some habanero sauce (just a touch).

People in Mexico use “Masa” tortilla dough (mixed with water) to thicken the soup, but since it can be hard to come by outside Mexico, I can recommend using cornstarch, but only if you really can’t get masa.

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