Huevos Divorciados – Eggs With Two Different Sauces (Red + Green).

My cousin Javier once tried to impress a girl by making "fancy" breakfast. ¡Ay Dios mío! It was a disaster. I’m telling you, smoke alarms, burnt toast, the whole telenovela. And it all started because he didn’t respect the huevos.

Now, Huevos Divorciados—divorced eggs, right?—it’s a classic for a reason. Not just because the name is dramatic (we love drama, we are Mexican!). But because it goes WAY back. Originally, you see, it comes from Veracruz. The port city, where everything arrives. They say it started in the 1950s in a cantina called La Casa de la Abuela (Grandma's House) owned by a woman named Doña Elvira. She served two salsas, roja and verde, representing the warring political factions of the time – the red symbolizing the conservatives and the green, the liberals. (¡Qué escándalo!)

The eggs were supposed to be caught between these two sides, peacefully enjoying both flavors instead of taking sides, supposedly promoting unity. Sounds nice, right? Politicians! Of course, things never stay peaceful for long. People started arguing about which salsa was better, which led to…well, more arguing. The dish itself became a symbol of compromise, but also the impossibility of true agreement. (It's a deep dish, mija.) It’s beautiful, really. Food reflecting life.

So, everyone thinks it's about the divorce of a couple—nonsense! It's politics! Though, my family has had plenty of divorces…and arguments over salsa. My abuela, she could make a salsa so good, people would fight over the last drop. Serious business. Especially with Tía Mildred around—she always claimed her version was superior, even though everyone knew it tasted like sadness and too much cumin. (Poor Tía Mildred.)

Last year for Christmas, it all happened again. My sister, Isabel, decided she was going to be the breakfast queen. “I saw it on Pinterest!” she announced, like Pinterest knows anything about real Mexican cooking. She made Huevos Divorciados, but used some fancy imported chipotle peppers in the red sauce. ¡Ay, caramba! Disaster. My uncle Ricardo practically staged a coup d'état.

“That is NOT traditional!” he bellowed, waving a tortilla like a flag. “Where is the guajillo? Where is the respect?” He accused Isabel of disrespecting our ancestors. Honestly, the drama was worthy of an Oscar. Even the dog hid under the table. I quietly slipped a little extra green salsa onto my eggs. Don't tell anyone.

And then there was Javier, trying to redeem himself after his Pinterest fiasco. He said, “I have perfected the technique!” and proceeded to splatter hot oil everywhere. He was aiming for “authentic sizzle,” he said. It mostly just sounded like panic. He burned his eyebrows off. It was glorious. I almost choked on my café con leche laughing.

My mom tried to mediate, naturally. She’s the saint of the family. "Everyone calm down," she said, brandishing a chancla. “It’s just eggs. And salsa." But you know how it goes. One comment leads to another, suddenly we’re reliving every family argument from the last twenty years. Abuela’s salsa recipe was a constant point of contention—was it three chiles or four? A pinch of oregano or a handful?

Tía Mildred decided this was her moment to shine. She produced a jar of her salsa, claiming it was the original recipe passed down from Doña Elvira herself. (We all knew she bought it at the supermarket.) Everyone politely pretended to taste it while making gagging noises behind their hands. (The woman has no palate, I swear.) She insisted I needed to use a teaspoon of sugar. ¡Una cucharadita! Sugar?! In salsa roja?! The audacity!

This year, I’m in charge. No Pinterest. No fancy peppers. Just simple, honest Huevos Divorciados, made with love, and a healthy dose of caution. I already hid the chancla. And locked Tía Mildred in the sewing room. (Just kidding…mostly). I learned my lesson: family + breakfast = absolute chaos. But a delicious chaos.

Recipe

Ingredients 🌽🥘

• 8 large eggs
• 2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided
• 1/2 white onion, finely chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• 4 medium Roma tomatoes, quartered
• 2-3 dried guajillo chiles, stemmed & seeded (soaked in hot water for 30 mins)
• 1-2 chile de árbol (optional, for extra heat)
• 1/4 cup chicken broth or water
• 1 teaspoon Mexican oregano
• 1/2 teaspoon cumin
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 4 tomatillos, husked and rinsed
• 1 jalapeño, stemmed and seeded (adjust to your spice preference)
• 1/4 cup cilantro, roughly chopped
• Cotija cheese, crumbled (for garnish)
• Avocado slices (for garnish)

Tools 🔪🥄

• Large skillet
• Small saucepan
• Blender or food processor
• Slotted spoon
• Whisk

Steps

1. First, make the red salsa. In a small saucepan, heat 1 tablespoon of oil over medium heat. Sauté the onion and garlic until softened—about 5 minutes. Don’t let them brown! They're delicate, like my abuela’s feelings.
2. Add the quartered tomatoes, soaked guajillo chiles, chile de árbol (if using), chicken broth, oregano, cumin, salt, and pepper. Bring to a simmer and cook for 10-15 minutes, until the tomatoes are soft. ¡Paciencia, mija! Patience is key.
   ⏱ Timer
3. Carefully transfer the tomato mixture to a blender or food processor and blend until smooth. Taste and adjust seasoning as needed. Set aside. It should be a vibrant red, like Ricardo’s face when he talks about tradition.
4. Now, the green salsa. In the same skillet, heat the remaining tablespoon of oil. Sauté the onion and garlic until softened. Then add the tomatillos and jalapeño. Cook for another 5-7 minutes, until the tomatillos change color and soften.
   ⏱ Timer
5. Transfer the tomatillo mixture to the blender along with the cilantro, salt, and pepper. Blend until smooth and bright green. This is where it gets fun—balance that heat! Too much jalapeño and you’ll regret everything.
6. Crack the eggs into the skillet and fry them to your liking – sunny-side up is traditional (and dramatic). ¡No rompas la yema! Don’t break the yolk. That's sacrilege.
7. Place two fried eggs on each plate, one in a pool of red salsa and one in green salsa. Garnish generously with crumbled cotija cheese and avocado slices. Honestly, just LOOK at that beauty. A masterpiece.
8. Serve immediately, preferably with a side of gossip and family arguments.

Make-Ahead / Storage

• The red and green salsas can be made up to 3 days in advance and stored in airtight containers in the refrigerator.
• Leftover salsas can also be frozen for up to 2 months. Thaw overnight before using.
• Fried eggs are best enjoyed immediately. Reheating them doesn't do them any favors.

Side Dish Pairing

• Crispy fried plantains dusted with cinnamon sugar for a sweet and savory contrast.
• Esquites (Mexican street corn salad) because, honestly, you can never have too much flavor.

Tía Mildred siempre decía, “A little sugar fixes everything!”

Keywords