Substituting Ingredients, Staying Rooted
My immigrant mother shares how cooking keeps her connected to her Mexican culture.
written and photographed by ISABEL LEMUS KRISTENSEN
When I call my family over the phone, my mom, Rosa, will usually tell me what she is making for dinner. Sometimes, it’s chile verde with jackfruit or something as simple as beans and rice topped with salsa verde and queso cotija. Meanwhile, I’m sitting there with microwaved mac and cheese or some other tragic meal that could only have been made by a full-time college student. Now that I’m away from my family, I’ve not only come to better appreciate the aromas and flavors of my mother’s cooking, but also the way it’s kept us rooted to our culture.
I didn’t have to move to another country to learn this lesson, however. When my mom arrived in this country, she says she quickly realized the cookbooks she brought with her from Mexico were not meant for the United States. “The ingredients you can’t find here,” she says. “There was a Mexican store that was on the other side of Salt Lake City. I remember going there and it was very bare. I was very disappointed.” So my mom had to get creative, substituting ingredients and changing recipes.
Making dishes from her homeland makes my mom “proud of being Mexican,” she tells me. “The food down there is very special.”
My mom says that different regions of Mexico have their own flavors and way of cooking. For chilaquiles, she would typically use Adobera cheese from the state of Jalisco where she grew up. But here she substitutes it with a mix of Oaxaca and cotija.
Though she has to change some of the ingredients, one thing stays the same: roasting the peppers on the comal, or a cast-iron skillet. “I enjoy making chilaquiles because it reminds me of my childhood when my mom would roast the peppers,” my mom says. “It’s very familiar to me.”
She cites her mother and grandmother as sources of inspiration, though she confesses it wasn’t always like that. “[As a kid], I saw my mom in the kitchen all day and I didn’t want to be my mom,” she says. “But now that I am an adult, and actually came to the United States on a job to cook for a family, then that made me realize how much I miss it.”
With her cookbooks and years of observing her mother and grandmother in the kitchen, my mom began to experiment with cooking. “My inspiration is also the flavors and the love put into it, so I try to take my time with each ingredient and not rush it,” she says.
Now, perhaps, my mom will pass on her knowledge and love of cooking to me.
Removing the seeds from ancho pasilla and guajillo chiles is one of the most time-consuming parts of preparing chilaquiles, my mom says.
My mom roasts peppers on the comal, or cast-iron skillet, which brings out their flavor. She says roasting the peppers is her favorite part of making chilaquiles.
Roasting the garlic, onions and tomatoes on the comal helps to mellow their flavor so they don’t overpower the peppers in the sauce.
My mom blends all the ingredients together.
The sauce bubbles as it heats over the stove.
The Oaxaca and cotija cheese is placed in between layers of tortilla chips and sauce.
My sister’s plate of chilaquiles. We sit in our backyard to share the meal as a family.
My mom takes her first bite of the chilaquiles. "It's a big thing about being connected to my culture––making that food,” she says. “It makes me proud of being Mexican.”