Ingredients
2 lb tomatillos
2 serrano peppers
4 cl garlic
Cilantro (optional)
12 dry 6” corn tortillas
Cotija
Mexican cheese
1 stick Ceylon cinnamon
1 piece star anise
1 black cardamom pod
10-15 red szechuan peppercorns
Broil a bunch of tomatillos. One pound is okay, but two pounds is better. Put a serrano pepper or two on there too. And, you know what, go ahead and add a few cloves of garlic. Is it better than if you toast it in the pan? Will you taste the difference? It doesn’t matter. Just get it in there. Turn as they darken until all the skin is scorched.
Now boil the tomatillos. Give them 20 minutes to become soft. The skin may slough off on its own accord.
Meanwhile, if you’re making your own tortilla chips, set the oven to 350. Other temperatures are fine but they take longer. Then cut at least a dozen 6” corn tortillas into sixths. You need more than you think. Ideally they’re already a little stale and stiff, remnants of the previous night. But fresh will work too.
Arrange the tortilla triangles on baking sheets so they have plenty of room to breathe. If they’re fresh, they’ll need extra time to exhale their water. Dust them with salt and chili powder (I prefer harissa or aleppo). Add oil if you want them crisp and heavy. I haven’t tried that. Put them in the oven until they are dry and crispy, at least 15 minutes.
Chop half a white onion and cut up the garlic. Heat some oil or butter in a large pan on medium. An authentic recipe will use lard, but it’s better with a lighter fat. Add the onions with some salt and cook until they start to brown. Add the garlic and cook another minute or two until you smell it.
Pour the onion, garlic, and all the tomatillos into a blender. If you want cilantro, add it, but I think you shouldn’t this time. You will be able to see further without it. For me, cilantro is like hedge bushes. Nice from a distance, but too much is claustrophobic. Pulse the mixture until it’s smooth.
Meanwhile, assemble your spices. You need a black cardamom pod, cracked open with a sharp whack of the knife handle, one piece star anise, a cinnamon stick, and around ten whole szechuan peppercorns. It’s easiest to use a spice strainer, but you can also wrap them in muslin.
Pour the tomatillo mix into the pan. Add the spices. Simmer for twenty minutes, then remove spices. Salt to taste. Be bold: you might need a palmful of salt or more.
Combine tomatillo sauce with chips and serve on a festive plate. Drizzle with heavy cream or top with cotija.
Now the important part: eating.
When you eat a chip, you will feel the crunch first. The salt and the sour are immediate. If present, cilantro will demand your attention. Otherwise you are left hanging with the sharp acidity of the tomatillo with nothing beneath it to support you. More chips or more cheese could occupy that space. You might want to grab the next chip, but wait instead.
Late in the chip, you will feel the black cardamom, aided by the other spices. It is a memory of a friend, waving at you from a distant path. You can’t quite see their expression. There is something missing, not enough nature, not enough sun. Are you wanting heat? Are you wanting rocks and trees, the earthy flavor of cumin and onions? What would make this picture feel more real?
Whatever it is, it’s not here. The distance between the tomatillo’s brightness and the black cardamom’s smoky depth is a half-rendered picture. I’ve tasted something like it, something more complete, when I was in Mexico years ago. But I haven’t managed to make it myself.
If you find a way to finish the picture, let me know.
