Elote En Vaso (Esquites) – Street-Style Corn In A Cup With Mayo, Cheese, Lime, And Chile Powder.
My cousin, Rafael? He thought he could make esquites better than my Mama. ¡Ay Dios mío!, the drama.
For centuries, Mexico has been obsessed with corn. Forget gold, forget silver – we needed elote. Originally, it was all about the cob, roasted or boiled, eaten right off the stick. Indigenous folks were doing it before anyone even thought about importing avocados (and honestly, good for them). But then street vendors, those brilliant minds, figured out a way to cut the kernels off and put it in a cup. Easier to eat while you’re dodging traffic, you know? The whole thing—mayo, cheese, lime, chili—it’s a gift from the street food gods, really. It started in Mexico City, but now, you find esquites everywhere. ¡ándale!, even in North Dakota! But the BEST esquites? Still made by someone’s Mama, let me tell you.
Rafael showing up with his fancy “artisanal” corn was just… disrespectful. My Mama, she doesn't need a Michelin star. Her esquites are legendary. She learned from her Mama, who learned from her Mama. It’s a bloodline of corn perfection. We were having the annual family cook-off, see. Tía Elena always brings her pastelitos (which are fine, I guess, if you like things that taste like flowers), and Uncle Hector insists on grilling every meat known to man. It’s chaos, but it's our chaos.
Rafael rolls up, all smug, with his tiny little cups and organic everything. He starts talking about “deconstructed” esquites, whatever that is. Deconstructed? Like he took apart a perfectly good cup of corn?! Honestly. My Papa almost threw his chancla at him right then and there.
"Look at this," Rafael says, holding up a single kernel. "I sourced this corn directly from a farmer who sings to his plants."
Mama just raised an eyebrow. "My corn listens to Vicente Fernández," she said, without missing a beat. The crowd went wild.
Then came the tasting. Rafael’s esquites were...bland. Too much lime, not enough chile, and the mayo tasted like sadness. People were trying to be polite, but you could see the disappointment in their eyes. My younger cousin, Sofia, actually spit hers out! (She's dramatic, that one.)
Mama, though? Her esquites were a revelation. Creamy, spicy, tangy, salty—a perfect symphony of flavor. It was like a fiesta in your mouth. People were practically fighting over the last cup. Even Tía Elena admitted they were better than her pastelitos. ¡Eso es decir algo!
And let me tell you about Tía Mildred…oh, that woman. She saw Rafael’s face fall, and immediately started giving him advice. "You need more garlic!" she bellowed. "And a pinch of sugar! And don't be afraid of the mayonnaise, mijo! You're treating it like it will bite you!" Tía Mildred thinks she’s a chef because she once microwaved a burrito successfully.
Poor Rafael. He tried to defend his “culinary vision,” but nobody was listening. He ended up sulking in the corner, nursing a Topo Chico. It served him right.
My Papa, he was beaming. He gave Mama a big kiss and said, “That’s my mujer! Queen of the esquites!” It was a beautiful moment, really. All the drama, all the rivalry, it just made the victory sweeter. Then, someone spilled salsa on Uncle Hector’s white shirt. More chaos ensued. It's always something.
After everyone had their fill, we sat around telling stories and laughing. That’s what family is all about, right? Good food, good company, and a little bit of friendly competition. Of course, Rafael vowed to return next year with an even more “innovative” esquite recipe. We'll be ready for him. Trust me.
Recipe
Ingredients 🌽🥘
- 6 ears of fresh corn, kernels removed (about 4 cups)
- 1/4 cup mayonnaise (Mama swears by Hellmann's, don't even think about Miracle Whip)
- 1/2 cup crumbled cotija cheese (or queso fresco if you can't find cotija—but don’t tell Mama I said that)
- 2 tablespoons lime juice (freshly squeezed, none of that bottled stuff)
- 1-2 teaspoons chili powder (depending on how spicy you like it; Tajín is fantastic)
- 1/4 cup finely chopped cilantro
- 1 tablespoon olive oil
- 1 teaspoon garlic powder
- Salt and pepper to taste
- Optional: Hot sauce to drizzle (Valentina is my personal favorite)
Tools 🔪🥄
- Large pot or skillet
- Mixing bowl
- Measuring cups and spoons
- Knife
- Cutting board
- Cups or bowls for serving
Steps
- Shuck the corn and remove the kernels. This is a good job for the kids…or your husband (if you want him to earn his dinner).
- Heat the olive oil in a large pot or skillet over medium heat. Add the corn kernels and cook for about 10-15 minutes, stirring occasionally, until slightly browned and tender. Don't overcrowd the pan; work in batches if necessary (¡ándale!, patience!).
- In a mixing bowl, combine the mayonnaise, lime juice, chili powder, garlic powder, salt, and pepper. Stir well to combine. Taste and adjust seasonings as needed. More lime? Definitely.
- Add the cooked corn kernels to the bowl with the mayonnaise mixture. Toss everything together until the corn is evenly coated. Be generous!
- Sprinkle with crumbled cotija cheese and chopped cilantro. Give it one last toss.
- Serve immediately in cups or bowls. Drizzle with hot sauce, if desired. Watch people fight over the last bite.
Make-Ahead / Storage
- You can cook the corn kernels ahead of time and store them in the refrigerator for up to 2 days.
- The mayonnaise mixture can also be made ahead of time and stored in the refrigerator.
- Assemble the esquites just before serving for the best flavor and texture.
- Leftovers can be refrigerated for up to 24 hours, but the corn will lose some of its crunch.
Side Dish Pairing
- Mini chorizo sopes – because why not add more deliciousness?
- Grilled pineapple spears dusted with Tajín – sweet, spicy, and refreshing.
Tía Mildred siempre decía, “A little extra mayo never hurt nobody!”
