
Chef Lupita
Coditos con Camaron Sinaloenses
Sinaloa's pinata-and-wedding pasta salad. Elbow macaroni, small Pacific shrimp, mayo, crema, and the brine from a can of pickled jalapenos. Always cold. Always next to the frijoles puercos.
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Sinaloa's pantry salad of canned tuna, peas, white onion, and tomato bound with mayonnaise and the brine from a jar of pickled jalapeños. Eaten on saltines or stuffed into a bolillo, the way the coast has done it for generations.
This is from Sinaloa. The Pacific coast, the state of Culiacán and Mazatlán, where the sea sets the rhythm of the kitchen and where a hot afternoon calls for something cold, bracing, and easy. Ensalada de atún is what a Sinaloan home cook makes when she does not feel like cooking. Three cans, half an onion, the jar of pickled jalapeños from the back of the refrigerator. Lunch is on the table in fifteen minutes.
The brine is the trick. Not the chiles, the brine. That vinegary liquid from the jar of jalapeños en escabeche carries the flavor of carrots, onion, garlic, bay leaf, and oregano that the chiles were pickled with, and it cuts through the mayonnaise the way no plain vinegar can. Leave it out and you have a sad American tuna salad. Add three tablespoons and you have something that tastes like a Sinaloan kitchen on a Tuesday afternoon. Recetas probadas y garantizadas.
My mother did not make this. She was from Jalisco and she made other things. But I learned this version from a woman named Rosa in Mazatlán who ran a fonda two blocks from the Olas Altas malecón. She served it on saltines as a botana while you waited for your aguachile. She told me the brine was the only thing that mattered and laughed when I wrote it down. Cada estado, su propia cocina, and this one is Sinaloa's.
This is not a fancy salad. It does not pretend to be. It is the kind of practical, intelligent food that working kitchens make when the sun is high and the pantry is what you have. Saber cocinar es saber vivir, and sometimes that means knowing what to do with three cans of tuna.
Canned tuna entered the Mexican Pacific coast pantry in the early 20th century when industrial canneries opened in Ensenada, Mazatlán, and later Manzanillo, processing yellowfin and skipjack from Mexico's Pacific fleet for both domestic and export markets. By the 1950s, Mexican brands like Atún Dolores and later Tuny had made oil-packed tuna a household staple in coastal states, and home cooks in Sinaloa and Nayarit folded it into salads dressed with whatever pickled chiles the pantry held. The use of escabeche brine as a dressing component is a distinctly Mexican adaptation, drawing on the colonial-era Spanish technique of preserving vegetables in vinegar with bay leaf and oregano, which arrived in Mexico in the 16th century and was indigenized through the addition of jalapeño and carrot.
Quantity
3 cans (5 ounces each)
well drained
Quantity
1 cup
thawed and drained
Quantity
1/2 medium
finely diced
Quantity
2 medium
seeded and finely diced
Quantity
1/3 cup
finely chopped
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
1/2 cup
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon, plus more to taste
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
for serving
Quantity
for serving
split
Quantity
for serving
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| tuna in oilwell drained | 3 cans (5 ounces each) |
| frozen peasthawed and drained | 1 cup |
| white onionfinely diced | 1/2 medium |
| Roma tomatoesseeded and finely diced | 2 medium |
| pickled jalapeños (jalapeños en escabeche)finely chopped | 1/3 cup |
| brine from the pickled jalapeño jar | 3 tablespoons |
| Mexican mayonnaise (Mayonesa McCormick con Limón) | 1/2 cup |
| fresh lime juice | 1 tablespoon |
| kosher salt | 1/2 teaspoon, plus more to taste |
| freshly ground black pepper | to taste |
| saltine crackers (optional) | for serving |
| bolillos or teleras (optional)split | for serving |
| sliced avocado (optional) | for serving |
| bottled hot sauce (Valentina or Huichol) (optional) | for serving |
Open the cans and press the lid down hard against the tuna over the sink. Get every drop of oil out. Wet tuna makes a wet salad and a wet salad runs out the bottom of the bolillo before you finish it. Flake the drained tuna into a wide ceramic bowl with a fork. Keep the texture rough. You want flakes, not paste.
Dice the white onion as finely as you can. The onion has to disappear into the salad, not bite back. Seed the Roma tomatoes before you dice them. The seeds carry water and water is the enemy here. Chop the pickled jalapeños fine. Reserve the brine. The brine is the secret. No me vengas con atajos and do not skip it.
Add the diced onion, tomato, peas, and chopped jalapeños to the bowl with the tuna. Spoon in the mayonnaise, the lime juice, and the three tablespoons of jalapeño brine. Season with salt and black pepper. Fold gently with a wooden spoon until everything is coated and the color turns a uniform pale green-pink from the brine cutting the mayonnaise. Do not whip it. You want chunks, not a paste.
Taste it now. The salad should be bright, salty, and have a clean acidic snap from the brine. If it tastes flat, add another tablespoon of brine. If it tastes too sharp, another spoonful of mayonnaise rounds it out. The balance is yours to set. Esto no es comida de un solo Mexico, but in Sinaloa, this salad leans bright and acidic, never heavy.
On the coast, this salad goes onto saltine crackers eaten with a cold beer in the afternoon. For dinner, split a bolillo or telera, pull out some of the crumb to make room, and stuff it generously. Add sliced avocado if you want, a few drops of Valentina if your table likes it hot. Eat it standing up at the kitchen counter the way Sinaloan cooks have been doing it forever.
1 serving (about 200g)
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