Ay, mi niño — come closer and warm your hands. Sit by the pot and listen while I tell you about locro, the stew that has fed my family on cold mornings and on the big national days when everyone comes together. Locro is not just a recipe; it is memory, smoke, and the kind of comfort that only a slow-simmered pot can give.
The old story (a little history from my mouth to yours)
Long before the city lights and the big parrillas, our ancestors in the high Andes made thick, nourishing stews from corn, squash, potatoes, and native tubers. That old, warm porridge is the seed of what we call locro today — a dish with roots in the Indigenous Andean kitchen. Over centuries, with Spanish influence and new ingredients arriving from Europe, locro grew richer: pork, chorizo, and other meats were added and the stew became a symbol of home in many regions of South America.
In Argentina, locro traveled from the northwest and the mountains to the rest of the country and became something a little like a national embrace — especially eaten on patriotic days like the May Revolution celebrations. Families bring out the largest pot, and everyone shares from it.
What goes into a true locro (the soul of the pot)
Every family has its own version — but the heart of locro is corn (often white hominy or peeled corn kernels), pumpkin or squash (that gives the golden color), beans or legumes, and sometimes potatoes. Meats such as pancetta (pork belly), chorizo, and other cuts are common in the richer, festive locros. The stew is cooked slowly until it is thick, almost creamy, and each spoonful carries history.
We also top it at the end with a little spicy oil and scallions called quiquirimichi (or similar seasonings), which wakes up the flavor — not too proud, just enough to make the stew sing.
Abuela’s Step-by-Step Locro (serves about 6–8)
This is how I make mine on cold mornings or for the family when the whole house gathers. Read it through, then get your hands warm — locro needs patience and love.
Ingredients
- 2 cups dried white corn kernels (peeled hominy / maíz pelado) — soaked overnight, or 2 cans of cooked hominy, drained
- 1 cup dried white beans (porotos) — soaked overnight and drained (or 1 can, drained)
- 1 small pumpkin or butternut squash (about 1–1.5 kg / 2–3 lb), peeled and cut into 2 cm cubes (traditionally zapallo plomo where available)
- 300–400 g (10–14 oz) pork belly or pancetta, cut into chunks
- 2 chorizo sausages, sliced
- 200 g (7 oz) beef or smoked beef jerky (optional) — some families use charqui
- 1 large onion, finely chopped
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 2 tbsp vegetable oil or lard
- 1–2 bay leaves
- 1 tbsp paprika (pimentón) — sweet or smoked to taste
- Salt and black pepper, to taste
- Water or stock to cover (about 2–3 liters depending on pot size)
For the finishing oil (quiquirimichi):
- 3 tbsp oil (sunflower or vegetable) or a spoon of pork fat
- 1 tsp smoked paprika or red pepper flakes
- 2 green onions (scallions), finely chopped
- Salt to taste
Method — slow and steady, como debe ser
- Prepare the dried grains (if using dried): the night before, cover the dried corn and beans separately with plenty of water and soak for 8–12 hours. Drain before cooking.
- Start the pot: In a heavy-bottomed pot, warm the oil or lard over medium heat. Add the chopped onion and cook until soft and translucent. Add garlic and stir briefly (do not burn).
- Brown the meats: Add the pork belly (pancetta) pieces and brown them to render some fat and flavor. If using smoked jerky or beef, add and let the aromas join the pot. Stir in the sliced chorizo — just enough to release its spice.
- Add grains and liquid: Add the soaked, drained corn and beans to the pot. Cover everything with water or stock so there is about 2–3 cm (1 inch) of liquid above the ingredients. Add the bay leaves. Bring to a gentle boil.
- Simmer very slowly: Reduce heat to low so the pot barely whispers. Let it simmer for 1½ to 2 hours, uncovered or partially covered, stirring occasionally so nothing sticks. Add water if it gets too dry; we want it to become thick, not soupy.
- Add the squash: After the grains and beans have softened (they should be tender), add the cubed pumpkin or squash. Continue to cook another 30–45 minutes. The squash will begin to break down and thicken the stew — that is the creaminess of locro.
- Season: When everything is soft and the stew has a thick, stew-like consistency, taste and season with salt, pepper, and the smoked paprika. If you prefer, mash a few cubes of pumpkin against the side of the pot to help thicken further.
- Rest a little: Turn off the heat and let the locro sit for a few minutes. It will settle and the flavors will marry.
- Make the quiquirimichi (finishing oil): In a small pan, warm the oil or a spoon of rendered fat. Add the smoked paprika or red pepper flakes very briefly (do not burn). Remove from heat and stir in the chopped scallions and a little salt. This bright, spicy oil is spooned over each bowl before serving.
- Serve: Ladle into bowls, drizzle a little quiquirimichi on top, add an extra sprinkle of chopped scallions. Serve with bread and a simple green salad if you like. Eat slowly, share stories, and pass the bowl around.
Little secrets from my pot (Abuela’s tips)
- If you use canned hominy or beans, add them later so they don’t fall apart — the slow-cooked dried versions give the best texture.
- The pumpkin is the soul of the stew — do not skip it or make it a small piece. Let it melt into the broth and give locro its color.
- Some families add potatoes or wheat to bulk it up — it’s a forgiving dish and welcomes small changes.
- If you want a vegetarian locro (we call it huascha sometimes), omit the meats and add extra beans and smoked paprika for depth.
Why we call it family food
When the pot is on the stove, neighbors knock, cousins arrive, and the house becomes full. Locro was always for sharing: the big pot was set in the middle of the table, and everyone served themselves. It is a food that remembers the land — corn and squash — and remembers the hands that keep the tradition alive. Whether on a cold winter evening or a patriotic holiday, locro brings people together.
Ay, now go fetch a wooden spoon and a warm roll. Let me ladle you a bowl. Taste it slowly — that first spoon will tell you if it needs a touch more salt, or a little more quiquirimichi. And if you like, next time I’ll teach you how to make empanadas to go with it.
Buen provecho — y que el guiso caliente tu corazón.
