Salsa de Chicharron Chiapaneca

Chiapas gives you this salsa from the central valleys and the highland markets, where a slab of chicharron on the counter means dinner is already halfway solved. In Tuxtla Gutierrez and Chiapa de Corzo, I watched women break the pork rind straight into the cazuela with their hands. No knife. The edges have to be uneven so the salsa can catch.

The base is chile guajillo and roasted tomato, with chile simojovel for the Chiapas heat. Simojovel is not pasilla. It is not piquin. It is its own chile, small and red, and if your vendor knows Chiapas chiles she will tell you that before I have to. The momo leaf, hoja santa in other states, gives the sauce that green anise shadow you find across the south, especially where Chiapas and Tabasco speak to each other through the kitchen.

This is frugal cooking, not poor cooking. There is a difference. The chicharron thickens the salsa, carries the chile, and turns a few tomatoes into something that can feed people with tortillas and beans. La cocina no es decoracion, es trabajo. Put it in clay, set it on the table, and let the tortillas do what they were made to do.