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Mexico City's morning standard: day-old tortilla totopos folded into a fried tomatillo-serrano salsa with epazote, dressed with crema, queso fresco, raw onion, and shredded chicken. Breakfast in a cazuela.
This is a Ciudad de Mexico dish. Chilaquiles exist in other states, Sinaloa puts machaca on them, Guanajuato dresses them with mole, but the chilaquiles verdes con pollo eaten in the fondas of CDMX every morning from six to eleven are what people mean when they say chilaquiles in Mexico. This is breakfast. Not a snack. Not nachos. Breakfast.
The dish was invented to use yesterday's tortillas. That is not a footnote, it is the recipe. A fresh tortilla makes bad chilaquiles. You need the dry, day-old tortilla cut into quarters, fried to a real crisp, and then bathed in salsa fast enough that the center still has crunch when it hits the plate. The Mexican word for this is chilaquiles bien tronadores, well-crunchy. The opposite is chilaquiles aguados, soggy chilaquiles, and that is a failure no one in CDMX will forgive.
The salsa is tomatillo, serrano, white onion, garlic, and epazote. Epazote is not optional. Epazote is the herb that anchors the dish in the Valley of Mexico, the herb that grows in the cracks of patios and along roadsides from Xochimilco to Tepoztlan. Without it, you have a green salsa from anywhere. With it, you have chilaquiles verdes from CDMX.
My mother made these every Saturday morning with the leftover tortillas from the week. She would fry them in lard, blend the salsa while the chiles were still warm from the boil, and pile the plates with crema and onion and a fried egg on top. She would say: "This is a poor woman's breakfast that the rich could not improve." She was right. Saber cocinar es saber vivir.
The word chilaquiles derives from the Nahuatl 'chil-a-quilitl,' meaning chiles and greens, suggesting the dish predates the Spanish conquest in some form, likely as a way to use stale tortillas in pre-Columbian Tenochtitlan when no household could afford to waste corn. The first written recipes appear in 19th-century Mexican cookbooks, where chilaquiles are described as a working-class breakfast eaten in the markets and pulquerias of Mexico City. The distinction between chilaquiles verdes and rojos hardened in the early 20th century as regional and family preferences solidified, with verde becoming associated with the central highlands and rojo more common in the Bajio and the north; the addition of shredded chicken, crema, and queso fresco as standard finishes is a 20th-century formalization of what was originally a much simpler dish of fried tortilla and salsa.
Quantity
12
day-old, cut into quarters or sixths
Quantity
about 1 cup
for frying
Quantity
1 1/2 pounds
husked and rinsed
Quantity
3 to 4
stemmed (use 4 if you want it picosa)
Quantity
1/2 medium, plus more sliced for serving
Quantity
3
unpeeled
Quantity
1 large sprig, plus a few leaves for finishing
Quantity
1/2 cup, plus more as needed
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
2 cups
from 2 bone-in chicken breasts or thighs
Quantity
1/2 cup
Quantity
1 cup, crumbled
Quantity
1/2 small
sliced into thin rings
Quantity
for serving
Quantity
2
Quantity
for serving
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| corn tortillasday-old, cut into quarters or sixths | 12 |
| vegetable oil or lardfor frying | about 1 cup |
| tomatilloshusked and rinsed | 1 1/2 pounds |
| fresh chile serranostemmed (use 4 if you want it picosa) | 3 to 4 |
| white onion | 1/2 medium, plus more sliced for serving |
| garlic clovesunpeeled | 3 |
| fresh epazote | 1 large sprig, plus a few leaves for finishing |
| chicken broth | 1/2 cup, plus more as needed |
| lard or vegetable oil | 2 tablespoons |
| kosher salt | to taste |
| poached shredded chickenfrom 2 bone-in chicken breasts or thighs | 2 cups |
| Mexican crema | 1/2 cup |
| queso fresco | 1 cup, crumbled |
| white onion (for serving)sliced into thin rings | 1/2 small |
| fresh cilantro leaves | for serving |
| fried eggs (optional) | 2 |
| sliced avocado (optional) | for serving |
| refried black beans (optional) | for serving |
If your tortillas are fresh, lay the cut pieces in a single layer on a sheet pan and leave them out for an hour, or in a 200F oven for 15 minutes. Day-old tortillas are the real ingredient. A fresh tortilla absorbs oil and turns soggy. A dry tortilla crisps fast and stays crisp under the salsa. In Mexico City, every fonda saves yesterday's tortillas for tomorrow's chilaquiles. Nothing is wasted.
Heat the oil in a heavy skillet over medium-high until shimmering. Working in batches, fry the tortilla pieces, turning once, until they are golden and crisp, about two minutes per batch. Lift them out with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. Salt them lightly while still hot. Do not crowd the pan. Crowded tortillas steam instead of fry and you get a sad chip that will collapse the moment salsa hits it.
Place the tomatillos, serranos, half onion, and unpeeled garlic in a saucepan. Cover with water and bring to a boil. Reduce to a simmer and cook for 8 to 10 minutes, until the tomatillos turn from bright green to a duller olive and feel soft when pressed. They should be cooked through but not bursting. Drain. Peel the garlic. Some cooks roast the tomatillos on a comal instead of boiling. That gives a smokier salsa. Boiled gives a brighter, fresher one. CDMX chilaquiles lean fresh. Boil them.
Transfer the drained tomatillos, serranos, onion, and peeled garlic to a blender. Add the epazote sprig (stem and all), the chicken broth, and a teaspoon of salt. Blend until smooth but not foamy. The salsa should pour easily but coat a spoon. Taste it. It should be sour, slightly hot, herbaceous from the epazote. If it tastes flat, more salt. Always more salt before you assume the chile is wrong.
Heat the two tablespoons of lard in a wide, deep skillet or cazuela over medium-high until shimmering. Pour the salsa in all at once. It will sputter and pop. Step back. Cook, stirring, for five to seven minutes, until the salsa darkens slightly, thickens, and the raw smell goes away. La manteca es el sabor. This step turns a raw blended salsa into a cooked sauce with depth. Skip it and your chilaquiles will taste like blender water.
Reduce the heat to medium. Add the shredded chicken to the salsa and stir to warm through, about two minutes. Add the totopos all at once and toss gently with a wooden spoon, folding the salsa over the chips. Cook for no more than 30 seconds to a minute. The totopos should be coated and just starting to soften at the edges but still have crunch in the center. That texture is the entire point. Cook them too long and you have chilaquiles aguados, mushy chilaquiles. Plate them immediately. Chilaquiles do not wait.
Spoon the chilaquiles onto warm plates. Drizzle with crema in zigzag stripes the way the fondas do it. Scatter the crumbled queso fresco generously over the top, then the raw white onion rings, then the cilantro leaves and a few extra epazote leaves if you have them. If your guest wants a fried egg or refried beans on the side, add them now. Eat immediately. Así se hace y punto.
1 serving (about 400g)
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