It is a spectacle to see these fritters made at the churreria that opened in 1935, called Los Churros del Moro, in downtown Mexico City. The churro master, as I call him, presses a lever that pushes out the soft dough, and as it hits the oil, he moves it, forming a large coil that looks like a six-foot-long snake all curled up. He very gently bathes it with the oil. When it is golden, he pulls it out and drains it on a round metal tray. It is then handed to another churro master, who cuts it with scissors into long strips the size of a straw and rolls the strips in plain sugar or a ground canela–sugar mixture. You can get hot chocolate (there are five types: Vienna, Francesca, Español, Especial, and Mexicano, varying in sweetness) to accompany them, although some people prefer to dip them in warm cajeta or chocolate sauce. I knew the famed churreria was not going to share its recipe (I have tried for a long time), so I was always on the lookout for one that was close enough . . . Then one day, while visiting the Mercado Pino Suarez (the main market) in Villa Hermosa, Tabasco, I was suddenly distracted by the distinctive aroma of freshly made churros. I followed the scent, which led me to a small corner stand. The churros were warm, a little puffier than those at del Moro, and absolutely, undoubtedly, one of the best I’d ever had. There was no hot chocolate or sauce to dip them into. Just pure crunchy, sweet fritters with an intense cinnamon flavor and a little something else I couldn’t quite make out. I really wanted the recipe, and after a little talking and smiling, I was allowed to visit the next day to see how they were made. So, there I was, walking alone on the streets of this not-so-safe place, at 4:00 in the morning. It was still dark, and there were a few people around: some were just finishing their night and others were busy getting ready to open their businesses. I am not a morning person at all, but making churros at a market in Mexico is definitely an antidote to morning crankiness. The secret ingredient in these churros? Queso fresco! Here is the adapted recipe from Lorenzo Sanches Mendoza from the stand El As Negro, with my profound thanks.
This pasta has some really big energy about it. It’s so extra, it’s the type of thing you should be eating in your bikini while drinking a magnum of rosé, not in Hebden Bridge (or wherever you live), but on a beach on Mykonos.
Among the top tier of sauces is Indonesian satay sauce, because it is the embodiment of joy and life. In fact, this sauce is also trustworthy and highly respectful of whatever it comes into contact with—perhaps it is, in fact, the perfect friend?
Turn humble onions into this thrifty yet luxe pasta dinner.
I should address the awkward truth that I don’t use butter here but cream instead. You could, if you’re a stickler for tradition (and not a heretic like me), add a big slab of butter to the finished curry.
Caramelized onions, melty Gruyère, and a deeply savory broth deliver the kind of comfort that doesn’t need improving.
A dash of cocoa powder adds depth and richness to the broth of this easy turkey chili.
This is what I call a fridge-eater recipe. The key here is getting a nice sear on the sausage and cooking the tomato down until it coats the sausage and vegetables well.
This classic 15-minute sauce is your secret weapon for homemade mac and cheese, chowder, lasagna, and more.