Sopa de Flor de Calabaza Poblana

This soup belongs to Puebla. To the high valley between the volcanoes where the rains come in July and the squash vines climb over every milpa from Cholula to Atlixco. By August, the flowers come in faster than the squash, and every market stall in the centro is piled with bundles of flor de calabaza tied with thin strips of corn husk. That is when you make this soup. Not in February. Not in November. August.

The flor de calabaza is the dish. Everything else, the calabacita, the elote, the rajas de poblano, the tomato charred on the comal, builds a frame around the flower. The blossoms go in last and cook for two minutes, no more. Treat them like seafood. The moment they turn from gold to translucent at the edges, the soup is done. Cook them longer and you have wasted both the flower and your morning at the mercado.

My mother was from Jalisco and she did not make this soup. I learned it from a señora named Doña Carmen in San Pedro Cholula who sold flores by the kilo from a wooden crate next to the church. She watched me try to pick out the bundle with the prettiest petals and she stopped me. She said: feel the base of the stem. If it gives, the flower is tired. If it is firm, the flower will hold up in the pot. I have bought flor de calabaza that way for twenty years. Si no conoces el mercado, no conoces la cocina.

This is a delicate soup and it is not a spicy one. Not all Mexican food is spicy. The chile poblano in this caldo is roasted and peeled for body and a soft smokiness, not for heat. The epazote is the herb that ties the central highlands together: pungent, almost medicinal, the smell of an abuela's kitchen in Tlaxcala or Puebla. Without it you have a competent vegetable soup. With it you have something that belongs to a state and a season. Cada estado, su propia cocina.