Birria Hysteria

fig. a: the low rider is a little higher

fig. b: Californi-vacation

fig. c: sunset kingdom

fig. d: moonrise kingdom

The trip we took to Los Angeles in December of 2019 has taken on greater and greater significance over time.

For one thing, and perhaps most importantly, that was the last real trip we took before everything took a dramatic (and traumatic) turn early in 2020.

For another, that was when our love affair with birria began in earnest.

I’d been following the development of birria hysteria south of the border for a few years now.

fig. e: “How birria tacos conquered America”

I’d read about birria establishments in Tijuana, Chicago, Los Angeles, Houston, New York, Richmond, CA, and elsewhere. iIn some ways my fascination with birria mirrored my fascination with barbacoa. In both cases, full-blown culinary explosions were taking place all across the U.S., inspiring passionate, even ecstatic, followings. In both cases, these were not trends that had made their way north of the border in any appreciable manner. Of course, it’s just a matter of time. In fact, the process is already underway.

Los Angeles had become the epicentre of the “birria boom” according to most accounts. Proximity to Tijuana, sheer range of regional Mexican regional cuisines represented (and thus varieties of birria), and dedication to Instagram and TikTok were all factors behind this phenomenon. And we were staying in Venice, in close proximity to an outpost of one of the superstars of L.A.’s birria scene: Teddy’s Red Tacos.

This is how quickly things have happened: Though birria’s roots in Tijuana date back to the 1950s, when a Poblano native imported a dish from his home region and adapted it to local tastes (and cost efficiencies), it remained a minor culinary development there as late as the mid-1980s, when one Teddy Vasquez was born. By the early 2000s, birria had gained in popularity quite significantly in Tijuana, but one stand in particular, Tacos Aarón, dominated the scene. And it wasn’t until 2015—just over five years ago—that Teddy returned to Tijuana from Los Angeles during a particularly difficult time in his life and underwent a full-on birria conversion—on a religious scale. He returned to L.A. convinced that birria would be his salvation. He delivered food via Uber and Lyft in order to raise the capital for some kitchen equipment, and soon began selling beef-shoulder birria de res out of his car, developing a following on Facebook and Instagram in the process. Soon he’d upgraded to a food truck, and now Teddy’s Red Tacos is a mini-empire, consisting of half a dozen locations—most of them trucks, all of them hugely successful—spread out across Los Angeles. The influence of Teddy’s Red Tacos is much, much wider, however, because the operation is also an online sensation. The point is: Teddy Vasquez graduated from noviciate to high priest of birria in just five short years!

For us, one combo plate at Teddy’s was all it took. Actually, just one portion of one of Teddy’s combo plates was all it took: the quesabirria, or birria taco with cheese. The straight-up Teddy’s birria taco was already a work of art. The addition of cheese, which when dipped into the steaming container of consomé (spicy beef broth) that accompanied it (like in the photo above), became even gooier (impossibly so), even more decadent, was a masterpiece.

Anyway, at some point over the last year, with travel largely an impossibility, and nothing remotely like Teddy’s Red Tacos anywhere nearby, birria became a pandemic project around here. And it’s easy to get carried away. The range of recipes that are available in traditional resources like magazines and newspapers are already impressive. Explore Instagram and TikTok and the sources of inspiration grow exponentially.

Like all classic braises, birria is deeply satisfying to make. In fact, the aromas unleashed in our apartment each time I’ve made birria have been downright hallucinatory—the most intoxicating aromas I’ve created in the kitchen in recent memory. And not only are your best birria recipes highly addictive, but they tend to be extremely generous, and they freeze and keep well. Have a sudden hankering for a fully loaded, overstuffed birria burrito? No problem. Just grab one of those 250-ml containers of birria de res that you froze a few weeks ago, start your rice, and gently reheat it. Want to try your hand at birria ramen? or birria pizza? or birria tortellini? (This being an internet craze, the mash-ups are endless.) Same deal. You’ve already got the most important ingredient on hand.

Tejal Rao’s New York Times article “The Birria Boom Is Complicated, but Simply Delicious” from earlier this year, is a great overview of birria mania and its permutations. It also comes with a selection of tantalizing recipes, including an excellent one for birria de res from chef Josef Centeno of L.A.’s Bar Amá Although he trained in haute cuisine temples like Manresa in Los Gatos, CA, Centeno is originally from Texas, and his restaurant is a sophisticated ode to the Tex-Mex comfort food he grew up with. Birria is not a major part of his menu, but it is a staple, although it often appears in non-traditional forms, like the mushroom birria that is currently on offer. His classic birria de res at Amá, which he makes on a seasonal basis, when the temperatures are right, is based on how his grandmother made her version.

Though the present birria craze is a modern phenomenon, and is largely beef-centric, the dish and its roots go back centuries to pre-Columbian times, and involve a wide variety of meats, depending on the region of origin, much like barbacoa. As a matter of fact, both dishes are closely associated with the use of fire pits.

fig. f: “Mexico’s original celebrity chef”

Rao cites a recipe that was published in a book of regional Mexican dishes that were collected by Josefina Vélazquez de Léon—a woman Saveur named “Mexico’s original celebrity chef”—back in 1946. The recipe in question is Zacatecan and it calls for an entire sheep (!), which is then rubbed in chilies, herbs, and spices, allowed to marinate, and then placed in a (presumably large) pot, sealed tight with masa, and buried in a fire pit—not unlike barbacoa.

Where birria and barbacoa differ widely is how they’re served. In the case of birria, traditionally the dish was served in a bowl, swimming in a plentiful amount of heady consomé. Though purveyors of birria tacos and related dishes—quesabirrias, vampiros, mulitas, etc.—have gotten the lion’s share of the attention on Instagram and TikTok, this more traditional version of the dish—a stew served with corn tortillas and an assortment of simple accompaniments—remains a significant part of the “birria boom.” Rao’s article cites several places in Los Angeles alone that serve these types of birria, including Bar Amá.

And it’s this brothier, more traditional approach that we’ve been working on in the AEB test kitchen. The first recipe we tried was Centeno’s birria de res, as featured in The New York Times (and adapted by Rao). Even though Rao gives considerable attention to the birria tacos craze (as you’d expect), it’s Centeno’s version that serves as the lead image for her article.

fig. g: birria de res and the “birria boom”

And in a rare instance of truth in advertising, Centeno’s recipe turns out exactly like this when you actually make it. We made our own corn tortillas, too, so the overall arrangement was very similar to what you see in the photo above.

This birria de res is really great, and a great place to start if you’ve never made this dish. The consomé is rich and seductive, the beef luscious. It’s everything you want in a beef stew—and more! This is a recipe that gives and gives and gives. The leftovers are heavenly, and it freezes very well. You’ll probably end up with more consomé than meat, but that’s a good thing. Trust me, it will come in very handy when it comes to dressing up a burrito, for instance.

A couple of months later, just before Easter, our local butcher, Aliments Viens, advertised that they’d gotten a nice shipment of Quebec lamb. I remembered a recipe I’d come across years ago in an issue of Bon Appétit that was originally created with goat in mind, but had been adapted for lamb (recalling Vélazquez de Léon’s recipe mentioned above). So I called Aliments Viens, and asked them to put a shoulder aside for me.

The recipe in question came courtesy of a birria specialist restaurant in Chicago, Birrieria Zaragoza, but it’s based on a version that has its origins in the Zaragoza family’s hometown, La Barca, in Mexico’s Jalisco state. It was one of the very first birria recipes to really catch my eye. I’d been meaning to make it for years. Suddenly I had all the inspiration I needed: I was in the midst of my own personal birria craze, I had access to fresh, locally raised lamb shoulder, and it was Easter. I couldn’t think of a better rendition of the paschal lamb—a spicy, blissed-out version that was both braised and roasted, and oh-so giving. Once again, the results were sensational—a true show-stopper.

fig. h: braised lamb shoulder

fig. i: roasted lamb shoulder

fig. j: all the fixings

Braised Lamb Birria

4 ounces ancho chiles (about 10), seeds removed 1⁄2 cup raw peanuts

11⁄2 teaspoons cumin seeds

1 teaspoon black peppercorns

2 cloves garlic, peeled

1⁄2 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1⁄4 disk Abuelita Mexican chocolate or 11⁄2 ounces dark chocolate

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

5 pounds bone-in goat or lamb shoulder

Kosher salt

2 bay leaves

2 chiles de árbol, seeds removed

1⁄2 15-ounce can fire-roasted tomatoes

4 cups low-sodium chicken broth, preferably homemade

1⁄2 teaspoon dried oregano

Accompaniments: Chopped white onion, chopped cilantro, lime wedges, and warm corn tortillas (for serving)

Special equipment: a mortar and pestle or spice mill

Preheat your oven to 275° F. Bring ancho chiles and 4 cups water to a boil over medium-high. Remove from heat and let cool.

Meanwhile, toast peanuts on a rimmed baking sheet, tossing once, until golden brown, 15–20 minutes. Let cool.

Turn the oven down to 250º F.

Toast the cumin seeds and peppercorns in a dry small skillet, tossing occasionally, until very fragrant, about 2 minutes. Let them cool, then finely grind them together in a spice mill or with mortar and pestle, along with the cinnamon.

Purée the ancho chiles and soaking liquid, peanuts, spice mixture, garlic, and chocolate in a blender until smooth. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve into a Dutch oven or another large heavy pot, reserving any solids. Return the solids in a sieve to the blender and add 3 cups water. Process until smooth and strain back into Dutch oven; discard any solids.

Heat the oil in a large skillet over medium-high. Season meat generously with salt. Cook, turning occasionally, until browned all over, 12–15 minutes total. Carefully add meat to Dutch oven and add bay leaves. Bring liquid to a simmer over medium-high. As soon as it begins to bubble, lower the heat, cover the pan tightly with foil, then place lid on top. Place the Dutch oven in the oven and braise the meat until it shrinks off of bones and is fork-tender, 3–3 1⁄2 hours (check periodically to make sure liquid is at a gentle simmer).

Meanwhile, purée the chiles de árbol, tomatoes, broth, and oregano in a clean blender until smooth. Strain through a clean sieve into a large saucepan and bring to a simmer over medium heat; cook 10 minutes to let the flavours meld. Season with salt; keep this sauce warm.

Increase the temperature of the oven to 400°. Let the meat cool, uncovered, in braising liquid 30 minutes. Transfer meat to a rimmed baking sheet and roast until edges begin to brown, 13–17 minutes. Pull or slice meat into servings. Divide among shallow bowls along with tomato-chile sauce.

Serve meat with onion, cilantro, lime wedges, and tortillas alongside.

[Serves 8 generously, or makes some wonderful leftovers]

{Based very closely on a recipe from Jonathan Zaragoza of Birrieria Zaragoza in Chicago}

As you can see in the photo above, in addition to the onion, cilantro, and the lime wedges and tortillas (unpictured), I made some pico de gallo, some salsa verde, and some pickled serranos to complete the scene. Sour cream and Tapatio were also served, just in case needed someone needed even more layers of taste sensation. What you can’t see, is just how elegant this version is. The meat is deeply roasted, remarkably tender, and extraordinarily flavourful, and it’s served in a pool of thin, but incredibly tasty broth (the “tomato-chile sauce”). The tacos that result, if you’re so inclined, are outstanding. It was hard for me to imagine a better Easter meal. Birria for the win, once again!

For the moment at least, it’s birria’s world, and some of us are lucky enough to live in it.

aj

What We Need Now 1: Pan Pizza

fig. a: The Joy of Pan Pizza

I’m definitely not the first person to point this out, but what we need now are simple, satisfying recipes; recipes that don’t require a bunch of obscure ingredients, but instead feature items that can be easily found at your local supermarket, green grocer, or co-op; recipes that actually turn out well (exceptionally well) and that are rewarding to make.

And if these recipes should have a touch of nostalgia to them, all the better.  

Enter pan pizza.

So much of the literature on pan pizza—and, believe me, there is a fairly extensive body of literature on the topic—is dripping with nostalgia.  Almost literally so.  There’s a real obsession with trying to recreate those buttery, decadent crusts of yore, topped with excessive amounts of gooey cheese, and lots of piping-hot, slightly sweet tomato sauce—the ones that you cherished as a child.  The ones you may still cherish today.

While my family definitely ate a considerable amount of pizza, I didn’t grow up in a pan pizza household.  I never had that powerful association with Pizza Hut and its ilk that so many others had.  I wasn’t entirely averse to the pan pizza thing—its charms were pretty obvious to me—but, for better or for worse, other types of pizza exerted a stronger influence on me.

All of which is to say, that when I got interested in making pizza at home a number of years ago, I gravitated toward other styles:  mainly Neapolitan (or rather, Neapolitan-esque), New York-style (or what might more accurately be described as New York-ish), some approximation of Bay Area pizzas we’d admired in the past, and sheet pizzas that mimicked those of Sullivan Street Bakery.  Even though I often read about pan pizza with interest, it took me years to actually get around to trying one of these new-school, homemade pan pizza recipes out.

Big mistake.

When I began to experiment with pan pizza a couple of years ago I quickly realized that these were among the very easiest, most consistently excellent, and most satisfying home pizza recipes out there.  They didn’t require ingredients that were difficult to find, and you didn’t need a pizzaiolo’s touch or a whole lot of fancy equipment.  Hell, you didn’t even need a pizza peel (or some kind of substitute for one), you just needed a 10-inch skillet, preferably cast-iron.

fig. b: Look, Ma, no peel!

My go-to pan pizza recipe is actually a mash-up of two popular recipes that have appeared online in recent years:  one from Serious Eats, and the other from The New York Times Magazine.

The dough recipe comes from J. Kenji López-Alt, it’s incredibly easy to make, and, even better, it’s foolproof—or as close to foolproof as a recipe can be. In fact, that’s what it’s called: Foolproof Pan Pizza Recipe.  The only investment needed is time.  I typically start the process late at night, before I go to bed.  This step takes mere minutes.  The next morning I form my dough balls.  Again, this step takes no more than 10-15 minutes (tops!).  And by late afternoon/early evening, my pizza dough is ready to go—the only thing is that you need to allow 2 hours for your dough to temper and come to room temperature.  Once your dough has tempered, you’ll find it incredibly easy to handle and stretch.  You’ll also find it very much alive.  Twenty to twenty-five minutes later, you’ll be pulling piping-hot pan pizza from the oven—quite likely, the lightest, tastiest pan pizza you’ve ever tasted.  Sounds do-able, right?

Kenji’s accompanying sauce recipe is perfectly excellent.  But even better, in my opinion, is a sweeter, somewhat more decadent sauce developed by Anthony Falco of Roberta’s.  It, too, is foolproof—or as close to it as imaginable—and its Bit-o-Honey finish is the ultimate flavour sensation with these crispy, chewy, buttery, and wonderfully gooey pies.

J. Kenji López-Alt’s Seriously Foolproof Pan Pizza

400g bread flour, plus more for dusting

10g kosher salt, plus more for sprinkling

4g instant yeast

275g water

8g extra-virgin olive oil, plus more to coat pans and for drizzling

1 1/2 cups pizza sauce (such as Anthony Falco’s Pan Pizza Sauce [see below])

12 ounces grated full-fat, low moisture (dry) mozzarella cheese

2 ounces grated Parmesan or Pecorino Romano cheese

1.  Make the pizza dough, keeping in mind that this is a slow-ferment dough that requires over 12 hours to be made properly, and that will benefit from even more time.  (My normal schedule has been to mix the dough late at night before I go to bed.  Form the pizza doughs the next morning.  Wrap them and place them in the fridge to hold all day.  Then remove from the fridge two hours before baking so they can temper at room temperature [see details below].)

2.  Combine flour, salt, yeast, water, and oil in a large bowl. Mix with hands or a wooden spoon until no dry flour remains. (The bowl should be at least 4 to 6 times the volume of the dough to account for rising.

3.  Cover bowl tightly with plastic wrap, making sure that the edges are well sealed, then let rest at cool room temperature (no warmer than 75°F) for at least 8 hours and up to 24. Dough should rise dramatically and fill bowl. In a hot kitchen, the dough may overproof near the end of that range.

4.  Sprinkle top of dough lightly with flour, then transfer it to a well-floured work surface. Divide dough into 2 pieces and form each into a ball by holding it with well-floured hands and tucking the dough underneath itself, rotating it until it forms a tight ball with a smooth surface.

5.  If you’re aiming to bake some pies in about 2 hours, skip the next step and move on to Step #7.

6.  If you still need some time, place the doughs on a well-floured small rimmed baking tray, cover with plastic wrap, and place in the fridge for several hours (up to 36).

7.  Pour 2 tablespoons oil in the bottom of two 10-inch cast iron skillets. Place 1 dough ball in each pan and turn to coat evenly with oil. Using a flat palm, press dough around the pan, flattening it slightly and spreading oil around the entire bottom and edges of the pan. Cover tightly with plastic wrap and let dough sit at room temperature for 2 hours (at room temperatures above 75°F, the dough may require less time to rise; at temperatures below 65°F/18°C, it may require more time). After the first hour, adjust an oven rack to the middle position and preheat oven to 550°F (290°C).

8.  After 2 hours, dough should be mostly filling the pan up to the edges. Use your fingertips to press it around until it fills in every corner, popping any large bubbles that appear. Lift up one edge of the dough to let any air bubbles underneath escape, then repeat, moving around the dough until there are no air bubbles left underneath and the dough is evenly spread around the pan.

9.  Top each round of dough with 3/4 cup sauce, spreading sauce to the very edge with the back of a spoon. Sprinkle evenly with mozzarella cheese, all the way to the edges. Season with salt. Drizzle with olive oil.

10.  Transfer pan to oven and bake until top is golden brown and bubbly and bottom is golden brown and crisp when you lift it with a thin spatula, 12 to 15 minutes. Immediately sprinkle with grated Parmesan or Pecorino Romano cheese, if using. Using a thin spatula, loosen pizza and peek underneath. If bottom is not as crisp as desired, place pan over a burner on your stove and cook on medium heat, moving the pan around to cook evenly until it is crisp, 1 to 3 minutes. Remove the pizzas and transfer to a cutting board. Cut each pizza into 6 slices and serve immediately.

Now that we’ve learned to make the dough and bake the pizza, it’s time to hit the sauce.

Anthony Falco’s Pan Pizza Sauce

2 tablespoons olive oil

1 clove garlic, peeled and minced

2 tablespoons tomato paste

Pinch of chile flakes, to taste

1 x 28-ounce can whole San Marzano tomatoes, crushed by hand

2 tablespoons honey

1 teaspoon kosher salt, or to taste

Place a saucepan over medium-low heat, and add to it 2 tablespoons olive oil. When the oil is shimmering, add the minced garlic and cook, stirring, until it is golden and aromatic, approximately 2 to 3 minutes.

Add the tomato paste and a pinch of chile flakes, and raise the heat to medium. Cook, stirring often, until the mixture is glossy and just beginning to caramelize.

Add the tomatoes, bring to a boil, then lower heat and allow to simmer for 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Take sauce off the heat, and stir in the honey and salt, to taste, then blend in an immersion blender or allow to cool and use a regular blender.

Use as directed.

Okay, now that we’ve covered the basics, feel free to get creative. 

Personally, I like my pan pizza pretty simple and basic:  dough + sauce + cheese, with maybe some chili flakes, or some hot sauce, or some hot honey added at the last second, just before I’m about to chomp my still-blistering-hot slice. 

Pepperoni is considered by many to be a classic variation, especially by contemporary hot honey enthusiasts, but I never make it at home. 

What I will highly recommend is a version that’s still very much possible RIGHT NOW, while you can still find choice local cherry tomatoes around. 

fig. c: How ‘bout them tomatoes?

It’s super simple.  It just involves adding cherry tomato slices to a basic tomato-cheese pie, but if you source the right tomatoes, and you’re the kind of tomato fanatic that I am, they will take your pan pizza into the stratosphere.  Plus, it’s got a cute name.

fig. d: What more do you need?

A.J.’s Tomayto-Tomahto Pan Pizza

Additional topping:

4-5 fresh, locally grown, organic cherry tomatoes (the sweetest, tastiest ones you can find) [per pie], sliced

Revised instructions:  

Follow instructions 1-9 to a T.  At that point follow these steps:

10.  Transfer pan to oven and bake until top is golden brown and bubbly and bottom is golden brown and crisp when you lift it with a thin spatula, 12 minutes. Remove from oven.  Distribute cherry tomato rounds evenly, pressing them gently into the molten cheese, while being careful not to press too hard, thereby scalding yourself.  Sprinkle with grated Parmesan or Pecorino Romano cheese. Return to oven and bake for another 2-3 minutes, until tomatoes are golden-brown and Parmesan or Pecorino is also bubbling wildly.  Using a thin spatula, loosen pizza and peek underneath. If bottom is not as crisp as desired, place pan over a burner and cook on medium heat, moving the pan around to cook evenly until it is crisp, 1 to 3 minutes. Remove the pizzas and transfer to a cutting board. Cut each pizza into 6 slices and serve immediately, keeping in mind that this pizza is a hot, molten, delicious, but dangerous mess at the moment.  Be careful.  Proceed with great anticipation, and an ounce of caution.

You’re all set.  

What more do you need?

aj