
Chef Lupita
Alegrías de Amaranto
Oaxaca's pre-Columbian amaranth bar, popped on a hot comal and bound with piloncillo, honey, and the sacred Zapotec grain that the Spanish tried, and failed, to outlaw.
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Oaxaca's Christmas buñuelos, hand-stretched until you can almost see through them, fried to dark amber, and drowned in a piloncillo syrup spiced with canela, anise, and orange peel.
This is an Oaxacan dish. Specifically a Christmas Eve dish, eaten on the cobblestones around the Zócalo and Jardín Sócrates after midnight Mass, when the puestos light up with vendors stretching dough thin over their knees and ladling hot piloncillo syrup over discs the size of a dinner plate.
There are buñuelos in many Mexican states. Aguascalientes makes them. Michoacan makes a different kind. The buñuelo oaxaqueño is its own animal: thin as parchment, the size of a wheel, served flat in a clay dish and drowned in miel de piloncillo. Not powdered sugar, not honey, not piloncillo dry on top. Miel. Warm syrup with canela, anise, orange peel, and sometimes guava simmered into it. The buñuelo soaks at the edges and stays brittle in the center. That contrast is the whole point.
The other thing that defines this version is what happens after you eat. In the Centro Histórico of Oaxaca de Juárez, you smash the empty clay plate on the cobblestones. Old plates from Atzompa are sold cheap for exactly this purpose during Navidad. The act is meant to break with the troubles of the year that is ending. I have done it. I have watched abuelas do it. The cobblestones around the cathedral on Christmas Eve are covered in red shards by morning.
My mother did not make Oaxacan buñuelos. She made buñuelos jalisciences, smaller and dusted with cinnamon sugar. The first time I had the Oaxacan version was on a December trip in 1998, sitting on a bench in Jardín Sócrates with a senora named Doña Lupe who ran a stall and let me write down what she did. She used anisado in the dough and guava in the syrup. The notebook entry from that night is one of my favorites. Saber cocinar es saber vivir.
Buñuelos arrived in New Spain with the Spanish in the 16th century, descendants of Andalusian fritters that themselves trace back to the Moorish presence in Iberia. Convent kitchens, particularly in Puebla and Oaxaca, refined the dish through the colonial period, marrying the wheat-flour fritter to indigenous sweetening agents like piloncillo (unrefined cane sugar pressed in regional trapiches) and to local spices including Mexican canela and the anise that had been cultivated in the Valles Centrales since the 17th century. The Christmas Eve plate-smashing tradition specific to the Oaxaca Centro Histórico is documented in 19th-century accounts of the city's posada celebrations and survives today in the puestos that line the Zócalo each December.
Quantity
3 cups, plus more for rolling
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
2
lightly beaten
Quantity
3 tablespoons
melted and cooled
Quantity
1/2 cup, plus more as needed
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
about 4 cups
Quantity
2 (about 16 ounces total)
chopped
Quantity
3 cups
Quantity
1 (about 4 inches)
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 strip
no white pith
Quantity
2
Quantity
1/4 cup
for the syrup
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| all-purpose wheat flour | 3 cups, plus more for rolling |
| granulated sugar | 2 tablespoons |
| baking powder | 1 teaspoon |
| fine sea salt | 1/2 teaspoon |
| large eggslightly beaten | 2 |
| manteca de cerdo (pork lard)melted and cooled | 3 tablespoons |
| warm whole milk | 1/2 cup, plus more as needed |
| anisado (anise liqueur) or strong anise tea | 1 tablespoon |
| manteca de cerdo or vegetable oil, for frying | about 4 cups |
| piloncillo coneschopped | 2 (about 16 ounces total) |
| water | 3 cups |
| Mexican canela stick | 1 (about 4 inches) |
| whole anise seed | 1 tablespoon |
| orange peelno white pith | 1 strip |
| whole cloves | 2 |
| chopped guava (optional)for the syrup | 1/4 cup |
Whisk the flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt together in a wide bowl. Make a well in the center. Pour in the beaten eggs, the melted lard, the warm milk, and the anisado. Mix with your hand or a wooden spoon until a shaggy dough forms. If it feels dry, add warm milk a tablespoon at a time. The dough should hold together but not stick to your palm. La manteca es el sabor, even here. Do not substitute butter. The lard gives the buñuelo the snap it needs when it hits the hot oil.
Turn the dough onto a lightly floured surface. Knead for about eight minutes. Push, fold, turn. The dough will start out rough and end smooth, elastic, and the color of pale wheat. When you press it with a finger, the dent should spring back slowly. Wrap it in a clean cloth and let it rest for at least 30 minutes. The rest is not optional. The gluten needs to relax or your buñuelos will fight you when you try to stretch them thin.
While the dough rests, combine the piloncillo, water, canela, anise seed, orange peel, cloves, and guava if using in a heavy saucepan. Bring to a simmer over medium heat. Stir until the piloncillo dissolves completely. Lower the heat and let it bubble gently for 20 to 25 minutes until the syrup coats the back of a spoon and runs off in a slow ribbon. Strain out the spices and pour the miel into a wide bowl. The syrup should taste like spiced caramel with a deep anise hum. Asi se hace y punto.
Divide the rested dough into 18 equal balls, about the size of a small lime. Cover with a damp cloth so they do not dry out. Working one at a time, roll each ball on a lightly floured surface into a thin disc, about 7 to 8 inches across. Now lift it. Drape it over the back of your hands or over a clean cloth-covered overturned bowl, and gently pull from the edges with your fingertips until you can almost see through it. The traditional method in the Centro Histórico is to stretch the buñuelo over the cook's bare knee covered in a cloth. You can stretch it on a cloth-covered round bowl. The discs do not have to be perfectly round. Imperfect edges are the signature of hand-stretched buñuelos.
Pour the lard or oil into a wide heavy skillet to a depth of about one inch. Heat over medium-high until it reaches 360 to 375°F. Test it with a small scrap of dough: it should rise and bubble immediately, turning gold in 20 seconds. If the fat is too cool, the buñuelo absorbs grease and goes limp. If it is too hot, the outside burns before the inside cooks through.
Slide one stretched disc into the hot fat. It will balloon and puff in spots within seconds. Use the back of a slotted spoon or a long fork to baste hot fat over the top, then flip after about 30 seconds. The second side cooks even faster, maybe 20 seconds. Pull the buñuelo when it is the color of dark amber, the color of the piloncillo syrup itself. Drain on a wire rack set over a sheet pan, never on paper towels. Paper traps the steam underneath and softens what should be brittle.
Set each finished buñuelo in a wide shallow bowl, traditionally a barro rojo plate from Atzompa. Ladle the warm miel de piloncillo generously over the top until the buñuelo sits in a small pool of syrup. The crisp wheat will start to drink the miel at the edges and stay snappy at the center. Eat immediately, with your hands. In Oaxaca, on Christmas Eve, the tradition in Jardín Sócrates is that after you finish, you smash the clay plate on the cobblestones for good luck in the year to come. Save your good plates. Use the working ones.
1 serving (about 165g)
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