i8tonite

Tag: Southern Arizona

  • Tucson Breakfast Burrito Tour + Chicken Thighs with Cream and Chiltepin

    Tucson Breakfast Burrito Tour + Chicken Thighs with Cream and Chiltepin

    We have been in Tucson for nearly six months. Nick and I have been eating out a lot , trying to get a better sense of Southern Arizona through its food. I’m grateful to have a partner who allows me this indulgence. There is no misunderstanding that eating is far more expensive than it’s ever been, for everyone. However, this is our extravagance. We aren’t big on moviegoing, concerts or theater, maybe the occasional symphony, but dining out is our big thing. It’s our entertainment. I know that when you eat at restaurants in an area and shop at its farmers’ markets, you get to understand its culture better than anything else.

    I’ve even been trying to eat my way through as many breakfast burritos in Tucson as I can. While I love burritos, I heart an egg, cheese, bean and whatever else can be stuffed into the Mexican roll-up. It’s a perfect balance of carbs, fat, and protein in one portable, easy-to-eat meal.

    Over the last several weeks, we had breakfast at four very different tables: Tumerico, Tito + Pep, El Brunch Bistro, and Buendia Breakfast & Lunch Cafe.

    At Tio & Pep, brunch is an energetic and gestural, artsy experience. The dishes look more abstract expressionist, with sauces dripping from well-conceived proteins on large plates, serving as canvases. The interior even sets a specific tone with its Midcentury modern appeal and a philodendron that vines itself around the ceiling.

    Inside Tito & Pep with the philodendron.
    Inside Tito & Pep with the philodendron.

    The very well-known Tumerico pulls you in a different direction with its commitment to vegetarianism.  I went in thinking light and left with something more substantial than expected. Chef Wendy Garcia doesn’t sell you on anything; she cooks with the intention of flavor. Even when you think you’re ordering simply, there’s more going on beneath it, and the menu changes frequently.

    Vegetarian breakfast burrito at Tumerico.
    Chef Wendy Garcia’s breakfast burrito at Tumerico in Tucson’s Sam Hughes neighborhood.

    Over at Buendia Breakfast & Lunch Cafe, husband and wife team, Julio and Jael Garcia sprinkle a bit of happiness over every meal. (We can all use that right about now.) Their rendition of a burrito is actually two with housemade refried beans as a dipping sauce. Charming place that you can – or I can go in like a crab-apple and come out as sweet as a peach. 

    Buendia burrito and bean dipping sauce
    Buendia burrito and bean dipping sauce

    And then El Brunch Bistro, a hidden carry-out spot where the burrito, a mas grande ham, cheese and egg log felt like it belonged to the burrito-eating project I’ve silently been on. It was warm, lusciously straightforward, and exactly what you want to be fed well with lots of  smack. This is the kind of robust burrito that keeps me seeking out others just like it. Look at the ceiling and it’s not tin, but old license plates painted white. Nice touch.

    Ham and cheese with potatoes in a burrito at El Bruncho.
    Ham and cheese burrito at El Bruncho.

    This is where we are eating right now: Out in the Old Pueblo, somewhere in the middle of a very unofficial burrito tour and at home.

    After a week of eating out, I ended up back in our kitchen, trying to cook something that carried a bit of comfort, depth, and enough heat to wake everything up, including my stuffed sinuses from the desert pollen. That’s where this came from: Chicken thighs with cream and chiltepin.

    It’s a simple, European-inspired dish with seared skin, a delectable richness from the cream, and a little sharp, indigenous Sonoran heat from the chiltepin, making a dish that tastes like it rightfully belongs in the desert.

    Chicken Thighs with Cream and Chiltepin

    Ingredients

    • 4 bone-in, skin-on chicken thighs
    • Salt and pepper
    • 1 tablespoon olive oil
    • One medium chopped onion
    • 2 cloves garlic, minced
    • 1 cup heavy cream
    • 1/2 teaspoon crushed chiltepin (more if you want heat)
    • 1/2 cup chicken stock
    • Optional: squeeze of lime, chopped herbs.

    Instructions

    1. Pat the chicken thighs dry, then season with salt and pepper.
    2. Heat olive oil in a skillet over medium heat. Place the chicken skin-side down and cook until the skin is golden and crisp, about 6–8 minutes. Flip and cook for another 5 minutes. Remove and set aside.
    3. In the same pan, add garlic and onion and cook briefly until your kitchen smells aromatic.
    4. Pour in the chicken stock, scraping up any browned bits. Let it reduce slightly.
    5. Add the cream and chiltepin, stirring to combine.
    6. Return the chicken to the pan and simmer until cooked through and the sauce thickens, about 10–15 minutes.
    7. Finish with a squeeze of lime or and freshly chopped herbs, such as Mexican oregano or epazote, if you like.

    Serve with rice, handmade tortillas, or a freshly baked bolillo, toasted, to sop up the sauce.

    Saguaro National Park
    Saguaro National Park

    The end. Go eat.

  • Mesquite Almond Flour Chocolate Chip Cookies: Smoke, Sweet and Salt

    Mesquite Almond Flour Chocolate Chip Cookies: Smoke, Sweet and Salt

    When two food cultures meet, you get something that feels familiar but tastes different, with a deeper flavor. Mixing things doesn’t erase what was there, but enhances it.

    Lobster folded into mac and cheese. Watermelon with feta and salt. Mango or pineapple with chile and lime.   There is still a sweetness and richness, but the lobster in the cheese adds dimension and even a touch of luxury.  The salinity against the watermelon makes it sweeter and brighter, and the sugar gets punched up against the heat and citrus. Something new moves in, but the original is still there, just changed.

    Some of the most interesting combinations come not from a restaurant kitchen, but from the food that grows in a region.

    Mesquite doesn’t smell like a sweet dessert. It smells like heat and smoke caught in desert air. Stand near a mesquite tree in Southern Arizona, and you understand that the aroma comes from being grown in the aridness and sun.

    But chocolate chip cookies tell a different story. Even before a taste, it’s a comfort only from a home kitchen. Butter, sugar, vanilla and chocolate turned into dough that doesn’t need explaining. It’s a childhood come back in a flavor.

    What happens when you fold mesquite flour into a chocolate chip cookie? You get something you recognize, but the sweetness shifts toward caramel and molasses. Think sassafras and root beer.

    Indigenous communities have harvested and ground mesquite pods for thousands of years, transforming what grows in the Sonoran Desert under drought into nourishment. There’s a faint smokiness beneath it all, subtle and dry, a flavor that doesn’t shout but lingers.

    So, when mesquite is added to the recipe, it’s still a chocolate chip cookie, but there’s more happening underneath. It’s bringing in the Indigenous tastes, unique and wholly American, because it’s from here.

    The chocolate chip cookie may be one of the most adaptable eats. It’s welcome anywhere. It’s what you bake when you want assurance that all is right with the world. Mesquite brings in drought and sun, turning the cookie into a more meaningful treat. Even if you never leave your kitchen, wherever that is, it’s like moving between places.

    I use almond flour because my partner is celiac. You can use regular wheat flour. What’s important to remember is that foods change because we do. We are not statues; we follow our health, which takes us to the kitchens and destinations.  Changing a recipe keeps it alive.

    And then there’s salt. Salt brightens it. Without it, the sweetness falls flat; with it, the flavors become more pronounced. If this cookie were a person, it would be me. Don’t laugh. (Okay, laugh.) But it’s made by many places, with a convoluted history that doesn’t fit in one place. I’ve spent my life in that in-between, never just one thing or another. Like mesquite in a cookie, I don’t always match what they expect. Once, someone said when they met me, they expected me to be blonde and blue-eyed.

    This version is very Southern Arizona. It’s where desert ingredients meet European baking. It’s still butter, sugar, and chocolate, but with something more grounding—like nutmeg or cinnamon —only sweeter and unfamiliar.

    When I make this, I feel it showcases my new home, bringing the old and the new together. It’s still a chocolate chip cookie, for chrissakes, but now it has more of a story.

    Mesquite Almond Chocolate Chip Cookies

    Makes about 24 cookies

    Ingredients

    2 cups finely ground almond flour

    3 tablespoons mesquite flour

    ½ teaspoon baking soda

    ½ teaspoon fine sea salt

    ½ cup unsalted butter, melted and cooled slightly

    ¾ cup dark brown sugar, packed

    1 large egg, room temperature

    1 teaspoon vanilla extract

    ¾–1 cup dark chocolate chips or chunks (use the higher amount if you like them generous)

    Optional but good:

    ¼ teaspoon ground cinnamon

    Flaky salt for finishing

    Instructions

    1. Heat the oven to 350°F. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper.
    2. In a medium bowl, whisk together the almond flour, mesquite flour, baking soda, salt, and cinnamon if using. Set aside.
    3. In a larger bowl, whisk the melted butter and brown sugar until smooth and glossy. Add the egg and vanilla, whisking until fully emulsified.
    4. Stir the dry ingredients into the wet ingredients until just combined. The dough will be soft but scoopable. Fold in the chocolate.
    5. Scoop heaping tablespoons of dough (about 1½ tablespoons each) onto the prepared sheets, spacing them about 2½ inches apart. Gently flatten the tops slightly with your fingers.
    6. Bake for 10–12 minutes. Rotating the pans halfway through baking until the edges are set and lightly golden, while the centers remain soft.
    7. Remove from the oven, sprinkle lightly with flaky salt if using, and let the cookies cool on the pan for 10 minutes before transferring to a rack.

    Mesquite flour is naturally sweet and aromatic, so resist the urge to add more sugar. This balance lets the caramel notes come through.

    Almond flour keeps these tender. If the dough feels oily, chill it for 15 minutes before baking.

    These improve after a few hours and are excellent the next day—especially with coffee.

  • Tucson’s Black Foodways and the Sonoran Desert

    Tucson’s Black Foodways and the Sonoran Desert

    Black American history is incorporated into the story of Southern Arizona in ways we don’t see in other cities. In the Sonoran Desert, Black life didn’t grow out of the big migration waves or the busy neighborhoods that influenced food in Chicago, the South, or Los Angeles. There were no rows of storefronts, no restaurant scenes built on being seen. Instead, in this arid landscape, where survival depends on resilience, Black communities adapted to the land, forming in small, often invisible ways.

    Black history in Tucson and throughout the borderlands starts with the Spanish colonial era, not the U.S. South. By the mid-1500s, Afro-Mexicans were living throughout the region, outnumbering white settlers, with Mexico ending slavery in 1829. After the Civil War, the Buffalo Soldiers stationed in Arizona remained and built lives there.  As time passed, Black Arizonaians entered the military, worked on the railroads, taught, and held civic jobs. Neighborhoods formed, as they often do, around churches, schools, and civic institutions.

    Enslavement under Spain was brutal, just like that of those bought and sold in the American South, but it operated differently. Spanish colonial slavery allowed for indentured servitude, wage earning, and migration freedom, so by the eighteenth century, many people of African descent in Mexico, then called New Spain, were living outside plantations or farms. Regarding food, cooking was done at home rather than along trade routes, unlike much of the Confederacy. In other words, they were tending their farms and livestock because they owned them. In Chicago and other northern Midwest cities, Southern recipes and traditions were sustained by churches, clubs, and restaurants that served as community gathering places. In the South, food came from working on plantations and farms.  Black cooking along the West Coast is part of a broader conversation, blending with Mexican, Central American, and Asian Pacific flavors.

    Black Buffalo Soldiers stand and sit near a military camp in the American Southwest in the early 20th century, surrounded by tents and arid landscape.
    Buffalo Soldiers at a military camp in the American Southwest, early 20th century. Public domain image, Library of Congress.

    In Tucson, Black life took shape through military service, particularly at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, because the city is a service town—railroad jobs, education, and civic work—not through dense neighborhoods like Harlem or South Central. There was never a big soul food scene here. Instead, a blend of Afro-Mexican and Mexican cultures began to emerge, found in ingredients that could withstand the heat. The result is a mix that also draws from Indigenous culinary history, too, in what the desert grows and sustains.

    Importantly, the Tucson Black History Museum tells the story of Black culture in Southern Arizona, weaving work, service, and the slow building of community, not through big culinary scenes.   Across the region’s churches, homes, and workplaces, the food stories told become part of everyday life rather than being celebrated publicly.

    Portrait of a Buffalo Soldier in U.S. Army uniform from the late 19th century, photographed in a studio setting.
    Portrait of a Buffalo Soldier, circa 1896–1899. Public domain image courtesy of the Smithsonian National Museum of African American History and Culture

    Preserved by the museum, a quote from a longtime resident, “You cooked what you could get here, not what you remembered from somewhere else. The desert decided a lot of that for you.”

    The other night, I cooked cod with garlic, butter, lime, and chiltepín. I used what I had on hand, which I thought might honor those before me. I served the pan-roasted fish with quinoa, roasted cabbage and green onion. It’s a Borderlands meal, but the ingredients might show up in Black kitchens in Borderlandia. Instead of vinegar or tomato sauce, lime provides acidity, shifting the flavors toward the Southwest. Chiltepín, native to this region, adds the heat. Quinoa can be used in place of sorghum or rice, though either would work.  The farmers-market cabbage and green onions, sautéed and mixed in, tie it together.

    These ingredients don’t match what you’d find in Chicago, the South, or Los Angeles, because life and farming are defined by the desert and what grows here. Everything in the Sonoran has to adapt to heat, to scarce water and to being resilient in the face of adversity.

    Paddle cactus at Mission Gardens

    Recipe

    Cod with garlic, lime, butter, and chiltepín

    Quinoa with charred cabbage and green onion

    Serves 2

    Ingredients

    2 cod fillets

    Olive oil

    Salt and black pepper

    2 tablespoons butter

    2 garlic cloves, smashed or thinly sliced

    1 lime

    Chiltepín, crushed, to taste

    1 cup cooked quinoa

    2 cups thinly sliced green or Napa cabbage

    2 green onions, sliced

    Roasted unsalted peanuts, chopped or crushed

    Instructions

    Begin by cooking the quinoa, then set it aside. 

    Heat a wide skillet over medium-high heat with olive oil. Add the cabbage and let it sit undisturbed for a minute or two, until it starts to char. Stir, add the garlic, season with salt, and cook until tender, with browned edges. Remove from the heat and fold into the quinoa, along with the green onion and peanuts, if using. Finish with lime zest, a small squeeze of lime juice, and salt to taste. Set aside.

    Pat the cod dry and season with salt and pepper. Heat a skillet over medium-high heat with olive oil. Add the cod and cook without stirring for approximately 3 minutes, until lightly browned. Flip, add butter and garlic, and baste the fish for another 1 to 2 minutes as it finishes cooking. Remove from heat and finish with lime juice and a pinch of crushed chiltepín.

    To serve, spoon the quinoa and cabbage mixture onto the plate and place the cod on top. Drizzle some of the spicy butter and lime sauce over the fish.