
Chef Lupita
Acitrón de Cidra Conventual
Puebla's convent-style acitrón, made from cidra peel instead of endangered biznaga, built through repeated syrup soakings until the cubes turn firm, translucent, and ready for rosca or chiles en nogada.
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Sinaloa's candied pumpkin, simmered slow in piloncillo syrup with canela and cloves until the wedges turn translucent amber. Eaten in a clay bowl with cold milk poured over the top.
This is from Sinaloa. The northern Pacific coast, where calabaza de Castilla grows enormous and the cooks have been turning it into dulce since before the trains came through. You will find versions of dulce de calabaza in many Mexican states, calabaza en tacha is the Michoacan and central Mexico name for the Day of the Dead version, but the sinaloense version is its own animal: less spice, more piloncillo, and that bowl of cold milk that turns the dish from a candy into a meal.
The two things that make this dish work are the calabaza de Castilla and the piloncillo. The calabaza de Castilla is the big green-and-orange pumpkin that sits in heaps at the mercados from October through February. Its flesh is dense, almost dry, with a deep squash flavor that holds up to hours in syrup. A butternut will give you mush. A jack-o-lantern pumpkin will give you sadness. Wait for the right calabaza or do not make this dish.
The piloncillo is the unrefined cane sugar that comes in cones, dark brown, mineral, with a flavor that white sugar and brown sugar both can only dream about. La piloncillo es el sabor de este dulce. The canela, the cloves, the orange peel, those are the supporting cast. The piloncillo is the star.
My mother did not make this. She was from Jalisco and she made calabaza en tacha for Dia de Muertos with a heavier hand on the spices. The sinaloense version I learned from a senora in Culiacan named Dona Esperanza, who fed it to me in a clay bowl at her kitchen table with a tall glass jar of cold milk on the side. She poured the milk over my bowl herself and watched me eat it. Cada estado, su propia cocina. This one belongs to Sinaloa.
Calabaza is one of the three pre-Columbian staples of Mesoamerica, the third sister alongside corn and beans, and was cultivated across what is now Mexico for at least 8,000 years before the Spanish arrived. The piloncillo that defines this dulce came with sugarcane, which the Spanish introduced in the 16th century and which took root in tropical and semi-tropical states including Veracruz, Morelos, and the lower elevations of Sinaloa; the unrefined cone form of piloncillo became the everyday Mexican sweetener because it was cheaper and less processed than refined sugar. The pairing of candied calabaza with cold milk is specifically northern, and reflects Sinaloa's dairy-producing tradition: the state's coastal plains support cattle alongside its famous shrimp fisheries, and the milk-and-dulce combination remains a fixture of Sinaloense home tables from October through Candelaria in February.
Quantity
1 (about 5 to 6 pounds)
washed
Quantity
1 1/2 pounds (about 3 to 4 cones)
roughly chopped
Quantity
2 cups
Quantity
2 sticks, about 4 inches each
Quantity
6
Quantity
1
common in northern Sinaloa
Quantity
1 strip
pith removed
Quantity
2 tablespoons
for the soaking water
Quantity
8 cups
Quantity
for serving
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| calabaza de Castillawashed | 1 (about 5 to 6 pounds) |
| piloncilloroughly chopped | 1 1/2 pounds (about 3 to 4 cones) |
| water | 2 cups |
| canela (Mexican cinnamon) | 2 sticks, about 4 inches each |
| whole cloves | 6 |
| star anise (optional)common in northern Sinaloa | 1 |
| orange peelpith removed | 1 strip |
| cal (slaked lime)for the soaking water | 2 tablespoons |
| water for soaking | 8 cups |
| cold whole milk | for serving |
| pan de pueblo or bolillo (optional) | for serving |
Set the calabaza on a sturdy cutting board. Use a heavy chef's knife or cleaver and cut it in half through the stem, then into quarters, then into wedges about three inches wide at the skin. Scrape out the seeds and stringy pulp with a spoon. Leave the skin on. The skin holds the wedge together during the long simmer, and the cook eats around it at the table. This is calabaza de Castilla, the green and orange-fleshed pumpkin you see piled high in the mercados from October through February. Do not use a Halloween jack-o-lantern pumpkin. That is decoration, not food.
Dissolve the cal in the 8 cups of cold water in a large bowl. Stir until the cloudiness settles into a faint suspension. Submerge the calabaza wedges and soak for one hour. The cal does what it does for nixtamal: it firms the flesh so the wedges hold their shape through hours of simmering in syrup, instead of dissolving into a sad puree. This is the step most home cooks outside Sinaloa skip, and it is the difference between dulce de calabaza and pumpkin soup with sugar.
Drain the calabaza and rinse each wedge under cold running water until the water runs clear. Take a paring knife and score the skin in a shallow diamond pattern, just deep enough to break the surface. This is how the syrup gets inside the wedge through the back door, while the flesh side soaks it up from the front. No me vengas con atajos. Skip the scoring and the skin side will be plain while the cut side gets all the sweetness.
In a wide, heavy-bottomed pot or cazuela (a 7-quart Dutch oven or a clay cazuela works), combine the chopped piloncillo and the 2 cups of water. Heat over medium until the piloncillo dissolves, stirring occasionally with a wooden spoon. The syrup will go from cloudy brown to dark amber and start to smell like brown sugar and molasses. That is the piloncillo waking up. Do not use brown sugar. Piloncillo carries a mineral, almost smoky depth that refined brown sugar cannot reproduce. La piloncillo es el sabor de este dulce.
When the piloncillo is fully dissolved, add the canela, cloves, star anise if using, and the strip of orange peel. Let the spices steep in the syrup for five minutes over low heat. Now lay the calabaza wedges in the pot, skin side down where you can, packed snug in a single layer. The syrup will not cover them. That is correct. The wedges will release their own water as they cook and the syrup will rise to meet them.
Cover the pot and lower the heat until the syrup bubbles lazily around the edges. Cook for two hours, basting the wedges with the syrup every twenty minutes or so by tilting the pot and spooning the dark liquid over the exposed flesh. Do not stir. You do not want to break the wedges. After the first hour, the syrup will have darkened to a deep mahogany and the calabaza will have softened to the point where a knife slides in without resistance. The flesh turns from bright orange to a translucent amber as the syrup soaks through. That translucency is the sign.
Uncover the pot. Raise the heat to medium and cook for another 20 to 30 minutes, basting the wedges more often now. The syrup will thicken from a thin liquid to something closer to a loose honey, dark and glossy. Tilt a wedge with a spoon: the syrup should coat the back of the spoon and leave a clean trail when you run a finger through it. Pull the pot off the heat the moment the syrup is thick. If it goes too far, it crystallizes as it cools, and there is no fixing that.
Let the dulce rest in the pot, uncovered, for at least an hour. This is when the magic happens. The wedges keep drinking up the syrup as everything cools, and the flavor deepens into something that tastes like the dish has been sitting in a Sinaloa kitchen since the morning. Serve at room temperature or lightly warmed, one or two wedges per person in a shallow clay bowl, with a generous pour of cold whole milk over the top. The cold milk against the warm-spiced calabaza is the whole point. A piece of bolillo on the side to sop up the syrup is how my tio from Mazatlan eats it. Saber cocinar es saber vivir.
1 serving (about 280g)
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