By John Henson ( A traveller and Photographer) Guest Post
I still remember the humid air of Mexico City, the kind that clings to your skin like a second layer, as I wandered through the chaotic swirl of a late-night carnival in the heart of the Zócalo. It was my third week backpacking through Mexico, a 24-year-old American with a beat-up journal, a half-dead phone, and a hunger for something real—something that’d make me feel the pulse of this country I’d fallen hard for. The carnival was a kaleidoscope of color and sound: mariachi bands dueling with the thump of reggaeton, kids shrieking on rickety rides, and the smoky scent of grilling meat weaving through the crowd. I was overwhelmed, a little lost, but mostly just alive in a way I hadn’t been back home in Portland.
I’d heard whispers about Guanajuato-style Enchiladas Rojas from a street vendor in Oaxaca a few days earlier—a dish that was supposedly a must-try, distinct from the enchiladas I’d grown up eating at chain restaurants in the States. “You’ll know it when you taste it,” the vendor had said, his eyes crinkling with a knowing smile. “It’s the ancho chiles—they sing.” So when I spotted a small stall at the carnival with a hand-painted sign that read “Enchiladas Rojas de Guanajuato,” I knew I had to stop. The stall was run by a woman who looked like she’d been making these her whole life: her hands moved with the kind of quiet confidence that only comes from decades of practice, her apron stained with streaks of red salsa, and her smile warm but no-nonsense.
I ordered a plate, fumbling with my pesos, and sat on a wobbly plastic stool under a string of flickering lights. The enchiladas arrived on a chipped white plate, four rolled tortillas drenched in a deep, brick-red sauce that glistened under the carnival glow. They were topped with crumbled queso añejo, a scattering of thinly sliced onions, and a few golden, crispy potato cubes that looked like they’d been fried to perfection. I took my first bite, and it was like the world slowed down. The sauce was smoky and rich, with a heat that crept up slowly, balanced by the earthy sweetness of the ancho chiles. The tortillas were soft but sturdy, soaked just enough to hold the sauce without falling apart. The chicken inside was tender, almost melting, and the sharp tang of the cheese cut through the richness like a perfect harmony. I didn’t know food could taste like this—like history, like a story, like someone’s heart poured into every bite.
I got to talking with the woman, Doña Carmen, between bites. She told me that Enchiladas Rojas in the Guanajuato style are a point of pride where she’s from—a mining town known for its colorful streets and deep culinary roots. Unlike the brighter, tomato-heavy enchiladas I was used to, these relied on dried chiles, particularly anchos, for their depth. She said the dish was often served at celebrations, like carnivals or family gatherings, because it was hearty and fed a crowd. The potatoes, she explained, were a regional touch—sometimes swapped for carrots or skipped altogether, but in Guanajuato, they were non-negotiable. “It’s the crunch,” she said, tapping her temple. “You need the crunch.”
I left the carnival that night with a full stomach and a recipe scribbled in my journal, dictated by Doña Carmen in a mix of broken English and Spanish I could barely keep up with. I’ve made these enchiladas a dozen times since, usually when I’m homesick for that night in Mexico City. They never taste quite the same without the carnival chaos in the background, but they bring me back every time. Here’s the recipe, as close as I can get it to Doña Carmen’s magic.
Enchiladas Rojas (Guanajuato Style) Recipe
Ingredients (Serves 4)
For the Salsa Roja:
- 6 dried ancho chiles, stems and seeds removed
- 2 dried guajillo chiles, stems and seeds removed (optional, for extra depth)
- 1 small white onion, quartered
- 3 garlic cloves, peeled
- 1 teaspoon dried oregano (preferably Mexican)
- 1 teaspoon ground cumin
- 1 teaspoon salt (plus more to taste)
- 2 cups chicken broth (or water)
- 1 tablespoon vegetable oil
For the Filling:
- 2 cups cooked, shredded chicken (poached chicken breast or thigh works well)
- 1 teaspoon ground cumin
- ½ teaspoon garlic powder
- Salt and pepper to taste
For Assembly:
- 12 corn tortillas
- 1 cup queso añejo, crumbled (or substitute with queso fresco or a sharp cotija)
- 1 small white onion, thinly sliced into half-moons
- 2 medium Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled, diced into ½-inch cubes, and boiled until just tender
- ½ cup vegetable oil (for frying tortillas and potatoes)
Optional Garnishes:
- Fresh cilantro, chopped
- Pickled jalapeños or sliced radishes for extra heat and crunch
Step-by-Step Recipe
Step 1: Make the Salsa Roja
- Toast the Chiles: Heat a large skillet or comal over medium heat. Add the ancho and guajillo chiles (if using) and toast for 1-2 minutes per side, pressing them down with a spatula until they’re fragrant and slightly darkened. Be careful not to burn them, or the sauce will taste bitter.
- Soak the Chiles: Transfer the toasted chiles to a bowl and cover with hot water. Let them soak for 15-20 minutes until softened.
- Blend the Salsa: Drain the chiles and place them in a blender with the onion, garlic, oregano, cumin, salt, and 1 ½ cups of chicken broth. Blend until smooth, about 1-2 minutes. If the sauce is too thick, add more broth or water until it’s pourable but not watery. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
- Cook the Salsa: Heat 1 tablespoon of vegetable oil in a large skillet over medium heat. Pour the blended salsa into the skillet and bring to a simmer. Cook for 8-10 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the salsa thickens slightly and the flavors meld. Set aside to cool slightly.
Step 2: Prepare the Chicken Filling
- Season the Chicken: In a medium bowl, mix the shredded chicken with cumin, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Stir to combine evenly.
- Warm the Chicken (Optional): If the chicken is cold, warm it in a small skillet over low heat with a splash of chicken broth to keep it moist. Set aside.
Step 3: Fry the Potatoes
- Heat the Oil: In a medium skillet, heat ¼ cup of vegetable oil over medium-high heat until shimmering.
- Fry the Potatoes: Add the boiled potato cubes to the hot oil in a single layer. Fry for 5-7 minutes, turning occasionally, until golden and crispy on all sides. Remove with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. Sprinkle with a pinch of salt while still hot. Set aside. Keep the oil in the skillet for frying the tortillas.
Step 4: Fry the Tortillas
- Lightly Fry the Tortillas: In the same skillet with the remaining oil (add more if needed), fry each tortilla for 5-10 seconds per side, just until softened and slightly golden but still pliable. Transfer to a plate lined with paper towels to drain. Repeat with all 12 tortillas.
Step 5: Assemble the Enchiladas
- Dip the Tortillas: Pour about 1 cup of the salsa roja into a shallow dish. Dip each fried tortilla into the salsa, coating both sides lightly.
- Fill the Tortillas: Place a dipped tortilla on a flat surface and add about 2 tablespoons of shredded chicken down the center. Roll the tortilla tightly and place it seam-side down on a serving platter. Repeat with the remaining tortillas, arranging them in a single layer.
- Top with Salsa: Pour the remaining salsa roja over the rolled enchiladas, ensuring they’re generously coated.
Step 6: Garnish and Serve
- Add Toppings: Sprinkle the crumbled queso añejo over the enchiladas, followed by the sliced onions and crispy fried potatoes.
- Serve: Garnish with chopped cilantro, and serve with pickled jalapeños or sliced radishes on the side if desired. These enchiladas are best eaten immediately, with a cold agua fresca or a Mexican beer to wash them down.
A Taste That Stays With You
Making Enchiladas Rojas now, back in my tiny apartment, I can still hear the carnival noise in my head—the laughter, the music, the sizzle of Doña Carmen’s skillet. It’s funny how food can do that, how it can tether you to a moment so vividly. These enchiladas aren’t just a meal; they’re a memory of Mexico City, of Guanajuato’s culinary pride, of a night when I felt like the world was bigger and brighter than I’d ever imagined. If you ever find yourself at a carnival in Mexico, look for the stall with the red-stained apron. You won’t regret it.
