To Hell With...

I spend a great deal of time here at OHC banging on about traditions. I am a great lover of traditional dishes and eye suspiciously any modern “twists” or “interpretations.” I get quite upset, for example, when someone serves a confit duck leg atop a few braised borlotti beans and calls it cassoulet. That's not cassoulet. Don't get me wrong; I am not one of those snobbish cooks who insists on by-the-book cooking. I am, in fact, nearly the polar opposite. I think of the kitchen as a creative space (though cooking is a trade, not an art) where a recipe is a vague guide and imagination coupled with a bit of skill often yields wonderful meals. Feel free, as far as I'm concerned, to invent, substitute, rearrange, and renew, but don't tell me, when you are finished, that you've you made gazpacho out of carrots, because no matter how good it tastes, it's not gazpacho. Which is my point, really. When I defend traditional dishes, I suppose I'm trying to make sure the name always signifies the same meal. In other words, I just want to know that when I order a pizza margherita I get tomato, mozzarella, and basil.

For this week's post I plan no such banner-waving. To hell with tradition. It turns out that one of my favorite street foods (to continue a theme I touched on a couple weeks ago) is a bastardization of a traditional Mexican dish with which it shares a name.



Chilaquiles traditionally is a breakfast dish, made up of leftover stale tortillas or chips which are cooked in a green chili sauce until soft, and then served with eggs and cheese. Variations include baking rather than frying, the addition of herbs, sour cream, chicken or pork, onions, white sauce, refried beans, red chili sauce, and a host of others. One friend of mine tells me, with the dreamy look of someone recalling the most comforting of foods, that his mother used to take leftover enchiladas from the night before, crack a few eggs on top, sprinkle with cheese, and bake the lot, casserole style. The result of nearly any of the above combinations is the same, more or less, at least texturally. Eating a mountain of chilaquiles it an adventure in crispy-soggy-spicy-creamy-rich-and-fresh. It's no wonder this is considered comfort food, it deeply satisfying, filling, speaks of mothers at the breakfast stove, and is as gentle as Mexican food can be.

The chilaquiles I am familiar with, however, were served to me at a farmer's market in L.A. and are quite different. They are made up of corn chips which are tossed for mere seconds on a hot flat-plate along with some fiery chargrilled tomato or tomatillo salsa, a handful of coriander, some cheese, and a few cooked, salted baby squash. They were served in a spectacular, gooey mound, with sour cream on top, all on a paper plate far too flimsy to hold them. I'd rush to a curb where I could sit and enjoy the delightful juxtaposition of crunch and sog that develops as the chips soak up the salsa and cheese.

And this is more or less how I make them at home. I know how they are traditionally prepaired, but I like these chilaquiles so much I'm not about to change. Does my version really qualify as chilaquiles? Probably not. I suppose, if I were going to be a strict traditionalist, my dish needs a name change, but I've been calling this, one of my favorite summer meals, chilaquiles for so long I don't know what else to call them.

It's Chilaquiles, OHC style, until I can think of something better.



Chilaquiles

The selection of basic ingredients for Mexican cooking in Australia is woeful. There are about 3 kinds of chillies, no great corn chips, a confusion of inauthentic salsas, and no one has ever heard of a tomatillo. This leaves me a bit limited in what I can do when a craving strikes. I get by, however, and still manage to make a pretty decent dinner.

This takes seconds to cook once you have all the ingredients ready. Be sure that you have everything ready to go before you start. Also, heat is key. If your flat plate or wok is not big enough to hold all the ingredients, work in batches rather than trying to cram everything in at once. This should serve two comfortably.

500g corn chips
200ml grilled tomato salsa (see below)
250g jack-style cheese, grated
handful of coriander, roughly chopped
4 baby yellow squash
4 baby green squash or zucchini
sour cream to garnish

Begin by cooking the squash. Bring a pot of heavily salted water to the boil. Cut the squash into 4cm pieces and blanch in the salted water until they just become soft. Remove from the water and drain thoroughly.

Heat a large flat plate or wok on high heat. When it is quite hot, toss in the chips, closely followed by the salsa and cheese. Toss a few times, coating the chips. Add the coriander and the cooked squash. Toss once or twice more and remove from the heat. Serve on plates with a dollop of sour cream on top.

Grilled Tomato Salsa

The tomatoes here are cooked two ways – half are flame grilled for a smoky flavor, and the other half are cooked under a grill (broiler) which blackens the skins and concentrates the natural sweetness in the fruit. Don't peel anything here; the blackened skins go into the blender as well. A minor touch of authenticity in a recipe somewhat otherwise devoid. Also, the heat in chillies varies widely between species and even individuals of the same crop. Taste as you go and use your judgment.

500g tomatoes, roma, heirloom, or other plump delicious variety
2 cloves garlic, not peeled
1 cayenne chili (or other hot red chili)
1 birds eye chili (or other flaming hot chili)
1 Tbsp chopped coriander
1 Tbsp red wine vinegar

Core all the tomatoes and divide in half. Blacken half of them on an open flame (bbq or gas burner) until the skin blisters everywhere and becomes quite smoky. Preheat your oven grill on the highest setting and place the remaining tomatoes, along with the garlic and chillies on a tray. Grill for 7-10 minutes, until the tomato skins blacken and peel back, turn all items, and grill 10 minutes more. Everything should be blackened and blistered. Cool slightly. Remove the stems from the chilies and peel the garlic.

Transfer all the tomatoes and the chillies to a blender, add the coriander and blend until smooth.

Transfer the mixture to a pot and simmer gently until slightly thickened. Add the vinegar, salt to taste, and cool. Store in the fridge for up to a week.