
Chef Lupita
Besitos Yucatecos
Mérida's pale egg-yolk-and-vanilla kisses, tiny cookies built on eight yolks and a perfume of orange blossom, sandwiched with guava paste and dusted heavy with powdered sugar.
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Yucatan's volcano-shaped pan dulce, crisp at the base and soft inside, crowned with a peak of crystal sugar and named for the sweet saramuyo fruit that grows in the peninsula's home gardens.
This is from Yucatan. The peninsula, not the rest of Mexico. Yucatecan baking has its own logic, shaped by the heat, by the Mayan inheritance, by the long stretch of isolation from the central highlands that gave the region a cuisine that does not look or taste like anything else in the country. The saramuyo, the sweet sugar-apple fruit that grows in backyards from Merida to Valladolid, has a soft cream interior and a knobbed, sectioned exterior that draws to a point. The cookie is named for the fruit and shaped like it. That is the whole story of the name.
The dough is built on manteca de cerdo, not butter. This is not a French pastry. It is a Yucatecan pan dulce, and the lard gives it the crisp, almost sandy bite that defines saramuyos against the softer conchas and orejas of central Mexico. Cada estado, su propia cocina. The crystal sugar on the peak is not decoration. It caramelizes in the oven heat and becomes a tiny crisp cap, the first thing your teeth meet when you bite in.
I collected this recipe from a panadera in Izamal who has been baking saramuyos for forty years out of a wood-fired oven behind her house. She told me the dough should rest, the peak should be pinched not rolled, and the lard should never, under any circumstances, be replaced with anything else. Recetas probadas y garantizadas. No me vengas con atajos.
Yucatecan pan dulce traditions developed in relative isolation from central Mexico due to the peninsula's long-standing geographic and cultural separation, with significant influence from Lebanese and French immigrants who arrived in the 19th and early 20th centuries and opened panaderias in Merida and Campeche. The saramuyo itself, Annona squamosa, is native to the Americas and was cultivated by the Maya long before the conquest; the Yucatec Maya word survives in modern Yucatecan Spanish where central Mexico uses 'anona' or the Spanish 'chirimoya' for related species. The volcano-shaped cookie that borrows the fruit's name is documented in Yucatecan panaderia inventories from the early 20th century and remains a daily staple of breakfast bread baskets across the peninsula.
Quantity
4 cups, plus more for the work surface
Quantity
1 cup
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
1 cup
cold and cut into cubes
Quantity
2 large
Quantity
1/2 cup
cold
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
grated
Quantity
1 large
beaten with 1 tablespoon water
Quantity
1/2 cup
for the peaks
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| all-purpose flour | 4 cups, plus more for the work surface |
| granulated sugar | 1 cup |
| baking powder | 1 tablespoon |
| fine sea salt | 1/2 teaspoon |
| manteca de cerdo (pork lard)cold and cut into cubes | 1 cup |
| eggs | 2 large |
| whole milkcold | 1/2 cup |
| pure vanilla extract | 1 teaspoon |
| lime zest, from a Yucatecan lima dulce if you can find onegrated | 1/2 teaspoon |
| egg for washbeaten with 1 tablespoon water | 1 large |
| turbinado or coarse crystal sugarfor the peaks | 1/2 cup |
In a wide mixing bowl, whisk together the flour, granulated sugar, baking powder, and salt. Add the cold cubes of manteca de cerdo. Work the lard into the flour with your fingertips until the mixture looks like coarse sand with a few pea-sized lumps still visible. La manteca es el sabor. Do not substitute butter. The pork lard is what gives saramuyos their crisp shell and soft, almost sandy interior. Butter makes a different cookie entirely.
In a smaller bowl, beat the two eggs with the cold milk, vanilla, and lime zest. Pour the wet into the flour and lard mixture. Bring it together with a wooden spoon, then turn it onto the counter and knead two or three times only, just until it forms a cohesive dough. Do not overwork it. Saramuyos are not bread. The less you push, the more tender they come out.
Pat the dough into a thick disc, wrap it in a clean kitchen cloth, and let it rest at room temperature for one hour. This rest is not negotiable. The flour hydrates, the lard sets back up, and the dough relaxes enough to shape without springing back. Mexican grandmothers wait. You wait.
Heat the oven to 350F. Line two baking sheets with parchment. Divide the dough into twelve equal pieces, about the weight of a small lime each. Roll each piece into a smooth ball between your palms. Place on the sheets, then pinch the top of each ball upward between your thumb and two fingers to form a peak. The shape should remind you of the saramuyo fruit at the market in Merida: round at the base, drawn to a soft point at the top. That peak is the whole identity of the cookie.
Brush each volcano gently with the egg wash, paying attention to the peak. Pinch a generous quarter teaspoon of turbinado sugar between your fingers and press it onto the very tip of each cookie, letting a few crystals fall down the sides. The crystal sugar on the peak is the crown. It catches the oven heat first and caramelizes into a tiny crisp cap. Without it, you have a roll. With it, you have a saramuyo.
Bake for 22 to 25 minutes, rotating the sheets halfway through. The cookies are ready when the bases are deep gold, the sides are pale beige, and the sugared peaks have darkened to a glassy amber. The kitchen will smell like vanilla and pork fat warming together. That smell is the Yucatan in your oven.
Slide the parchment off the hot sheets onto a wire rack and let the saramuyos cool for at least fifteen minutes before you touch them. They firm up as they cool. Eat them with cafe de olla in the morning or a glass of cold milk in the afternoon. Así se hace y punto.
1 serving (about 107g)
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