
Chef Lupita
Caldo de Camarón con Chepil
A Lenten caldo from Oaxaca's Valles Centrales built on dried shrimp and chile costeño, thickened with a whisper of masa, and finished with chepil leaves that taste like nothing outside that state.
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Oaxaca's convent-kitchen almond stew, chicken braised in a sauce of toasted almonds, green olives, capers, raisins, and saffron, the kind of pot that appears at weddings, baptisms, and Christmas Eve tables across the Valles Centrales.
This is an Oaxacan dish, but not the Oaxaca most people imagine. No mole negro. No chile pasilla oaxaqueño. No smoky heat. Estofado almendrado belongs to the other Oaxaca, the one built in the convent kitchens of Antequera, where Dominican nuns combined the almonds, olives, capers, and saffron of Spain with the tomatoes and chiles of the Americas and created something that belongs to neither continent alone.
The chile ancho here is for color and sweetness, not for fire. People who reduce Mexican food to 'spicy' have never tasted this dish. The almonds are the spine. You toast them golden in a dry pan and blend them with roasted tomato, fried bread, and a fistful of whole spices until the blender gives you a sauce with body and perfume. Then you fry that sauce in manteca de cerdo until it darkens and the fat separates. That frying is the step that makes the difference between an estofado that tastes layered and one that tastes raw. No me vengas con atajos.
I collected three versions of this estofado in the Valles Centrales, one from a señora in Etla who adds a ripe plantain to the sauce, one from a cook near Tlacolula who insists on azafrán de Castilla, and one from a woman in the city who told me her grandmother learned it from the nuns at the Convento de Santo Domingo. All three had almonds, olives, and capers. All three fried the sauce in lard. All three served it at celebrations. The constants tell you what matters.
My mother didn't make estofado. She was jalisciense, not oaxaqueña. But she had a note in her notebook, copied from a neighbor who was from Oaxaca, that said: 'Estofado is the dish you make when you want the table to know this meal cost you something.' She was right. Saber cocinar es saber vivir.
Estofado oaxaqueño traces directly to the Dominican convents established in Antequera (now Oaxaca de Juárez) in the 16th and 17th centuries, where cloistered nuns adapted Spanish stew recipes using New World tomatoes and chiles while preserving Old World pantry staples like almonds, olives, capers, saffron, and raisins. The dish is structurally a descendant of Iberian estofados and the Moorish-influenced almond sauces of Andalusia, but its use of chile ancho for body and color, and the technique of frying the blended sauce in lard until the fat separates, are distinctly Oaxacan adaptations with no Spanish parallel. Estofado occupies a specific position in Oaxaca's celebration hierarchy: it is the dish served alongside mole negro at weddings and is sometimes called 'estofado de bodas,' though its presence on Christmas Eve tables across the Valles Centrales is equally entrenched.
Quantity
1 (about 3 1/2 to 4 pounds)
cut into serving pieces
Quantity
1 medium
quartered, for the broth
Quantity
1/2 medium
for roasting
Quantity
3
peeled, for the broth
Quantity
3
unpeeled, for roasting
Quantity
2
Quantity
4 sprigs
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
4 sprigs
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
6
Quantity
1 tablespoon, plus more to taste
Quantity
1 cup
Quantity
3
stemmed and seeded
Quantity
4
Quantity
1
peeled and sliced into 1/2-inch rounds
Quantity
2 slices, about 1/2-inch thick
Quantity
1 stick, about 2 inches
Quantity
4
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
1/2 cup
pitted
Quantity
3 tablespoons
drained
Quantity
1/3 cup
Quantity
for serving
warmed
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| whole chickencut into serving pieces | 1 (about 3 1/2 to 4 pounds) |
| white onionquartered, for the broth | 1 medium |
| white onionfor roasting | 1/2 medium |
| garlic clovespeeled, for the broth | 3 |
| garlic clovesunpeeled, for roasting | 3 |
| bay leaves | 2 |
| fresh thyme | 4 sprigs |
| dried thyme | 1 teaspoon |
| fresh marjoram | 4 sprigs |
| dried marjoram | 1 teaspoon |
| black peppercorns | 6 |
| kosher salt | 1 tablespoon, plus more to taste |
| blanched whole almonds | 1 cup |
| dried chile anchostemmed and seeded | 3 |
| Roma tomatoes | 4 |
| ripe plantainpeeled and sliced into 1/2-inch rounds | 1 |
| day-old bolillo or French bread | 2 slices, about 1/2-inch thick |
| Mexican cinnamon (canela) | 1 stick, about 2 inches |
| whole cloves | 4 |
| saffron threads (azafran de Castilla) | 1/4 teaspoon |
| pork lard (manteca de cerdo) | 3 tablespoons |
| green manzanilla olivespitted | 1/2 cup |
| capersdrained | 3 tablespoons |
| raisins | 1/3 cup |
| corn tortillas or bolillo bread (optional)warmed | for serving |
Place the chicken pieces in a heavy stockpot or Dutch oven. Cover with cold water by two inches. Add the quartered onion, the three peeled garlic cloves, bay leaves, thyme sprigs, marjoram sprigs, peppercorns, and salt. Bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat. Skim the gray foam that rises in the first ten minutes. Reduce to a lazy bubble and cook partially covered for 35 to 40 minutes, until the thigh meat pulls away from the bone easily. Remove the chicken to a platter and strain the broth. Reserve at least two cups. This broth is the liquid foundation of the sauce and it carries everything the spices and bones gave up. Do not discard it.
While the chicken poaches, heat a dry comal or heavy skillet over medium-low. Add the blanched almonds in a single layer and toast them, stirring constantly, for four to five minutes. They should turn golden and smell nutty, not brown and not burned. One shade past golden and they turn bitter. Pull them off the comal the moment they are ready and set aside. The almonds are the spine of this sauce. Everything else leans on them.
On the same dry comal, toast the chile ancho for about 20 seconds per side. They should puff, darken slightly, and release a sweet, raisin-like smell. Not a burned smell. Transfer to a bowl and cover with hot tap water. Let them soak for 15 minutes. On the comal, toast the canela stick and the cloves for about 30 seconds, until the kitchen fills with warm spice. Pull them immediately. Toast the saffron threads for 10 seconds, just a flash of heat, and crumble them into a small cup with two tablespoons of warm chicken broth to bloom.
Place the four Roma tomatoes, the half onion, and the three unpeeled garlic cloves directly on the hot comal. Let them char slowly, turning every few minutes. The tomatoes need about eight minutes total, until the skins blister and blacken in spots and the flesh softens. The onion takes ten minutes, until the cut face is deeply browned. The garlic takes five minutes. Peel the garlic when cool enough to handle. Everything goes into the blender later, char and all. The char is flavor.
In a small skillet, melt one tablespoon of the lard over medium heat. Fry the bread slices until golden on both sides, about two minutes per side. Remove and set aside. In the same lard, fry the plantain rounds until they caramelize and turn deep amber, about three minutes per side. The plantain adds a sweetness that rounds the sauce and keeps it from tasting sharp. This is one of those ingredients that a cook from Etla told me about, something her mother always added. La cocina no es decoracion, es trabajo.
Drain the soaked chiles. Place them in a blender with the toasted almonds, roasted tomatoes, roasted onion, roasted garlic, fried bread torn into pieces, fried plantain, the toasted canela and cloves, the dried thyme and marjoram, and the bloomed saffron with its liquid. Add one cup of the reserved chicken broth. Blend on high for two full minutes. You are looking for a completely smooth, thick sauce the color of dark terra cotta. If the blender fights you, add another quarter cup of broth. Strain through a medium-mesh sieve, pressing hard on the solids with a wooden spoon. Discard the skins. The sauce should feel velvety, not gritty.
In the same stockpot or Dutch oven, cleaned out, melt the remaining two tablespoons of lard over medium heat. When the lard shimmers, pour in the strained sauce all at once. It will sputter. Stir immediately. Cook the sauce for ten to twelve minutes, stirring regularly, until it darkens by a shade, thickens enough to coat the back of a spoon, and the fat begins to separate and pool at the edges. La manteca es el sabor. This frying step transforms the sauce from raw-tasting to deep and layered. There is no shortcut. Asi se hace y punto.
Nestle the poached chicken pieces into the fried sauce. Add the olives, capers, and raisins, scattering them around the chicken so every piece gets its share. Pour in another half cup of the reserved broth to loosen the sauce to a consistency that coats the chicken generously without being soupy. Stir gently. The olives give brine, the capers give sharpness, the raisins give a burst of sweetness. This is the baroque balance of the dish, nothing dominates, everything negotiates.
Reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for 25 to 30 minutes. The chicken will absorb the sauce and the almonds will continue to thicken the liquid. Stir once or twice to make sure nothing sticks to the bottom. Taste for salt. The olives and capers add salinity, so be careful. You may not need more. The sauce should be thick enough to cling to the chicken but loose enough to pool on the plate. If it tightens too much, add another splash of broth.
Bring the cazuela or pot to the table. Serve the chicken pieces with the sauce ladled generously over each portion, making sure every plate gets its share of olives, capers, and raisins. Set warm corn tortillas or sliced bolillo on the side for the sauce. This is not a dish that needs garnish or decoration. The olives and raisins scattered across the dark almond sauce are the presentation. Cada estado, su propia cocina. This one belongs to Oaxaca's convent kitchens, and it has looked like this for four hundred years.
1 serving (about 330g)
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