Roasted Tomatillo Salsa Verde

This is the mother sauce of Mexican cooking. Not Escoffier's mother sauces, those belong to another tradition. This is something older, something that predates Columbus, rooted in the milpas where tomatillos grew wild among the corn. Every Mexican grandmother has her version. Every taqueria guards its recipe. Now you'll have yours.

The technique could not be simpler. You char tomatillos under a broiler until they blister and collapse, releasing their tart juices. Serranos blacken alongside them, their vegetal heat softening into something more complex. Garlic sweetens in its papery skin. Everything goes into a blender with cilantro and lime. That's it. Thirty minutes from start to finish, and you have a sauce that will transform your cooking for the next two weeks.

I learned this from a cook in Oaxaca who laughed at my careful thermometer readings and precise timing. She watched the color of the char, listened to the sizzle, smelled when things were ready. After you make this three or four times, you will too. The broiler becomes your comal, the blender your molcajete. American adaptation of ancient technique.