Lengua En Salsa Verde – Beef Tongue In Green Sauce.
Okay, okay. You want a story? I got stories. This one…this one involves a tongue. Like, an actual cow tongue. ¡Ay Dios mío!, it was a disaster. A delicious disaster, but still.
Now, lengua – beef tongue, for you gringos—it’s been around FOREVER. The Aztecs? They were all about it, considered it a delicacy. Sacrifices and feasts, you know how they were. Then the Spanish came along, said "hmm, interesting” and started making it their own way. It’s humble food, right? Food for people who respect the animal, use everything. Not like these fancy chefs wasting truffle oil on everything (like my cousin Ricardo, honestly).
And Mexico took it, really took it. Each state has its own version. Some roast it, some boil it. But the salsa verde? That’s key. Green sauce is life, mija. My grandma, she made the best. Spicy, tangy, enough cilantro to make your nose tickle. She learned from her mama, who learned from hers. It's a history in every bite.
My abuela Elena, she was a force of nature. Small woman, pero powerful. Ran that kitchen like a general. And every year, for my tío Miguel's birthday, she would make lengua en salsa verde. He loved it. Said it reminded him of his childhood. Which, if you knew Tío Miguel, was saying something, because he didn't show affection to anyone. Especially not his wife, Rosaura. (That was a whole other telenovela.)
The first time I tried to help with the lengua, I almost fainted. Seriously! Seeing the whole thing…it looked like a giant alien organ. Abuela just laughed and said, “Don’t be such a baby! Everything tastes good with enough chile.” She wasn't wrong. She'd boil it for hours, scraping off the skin, until it was tender as a whisper.
Then came the salsa verde. Oh, the salsa verde! Roasting the tomatillos, the chiles serranos (she always used serranos—she liked the heat), the garlic. The smell would fill the whole house. Everyone knew what was happening. Even the neighbors.
One year, my cousin Lupita decided to ‘help.’ Lupita thinks she’s a chef now because she watched three episodes of some cooking show. She thought Abuela's salsa was “old-fashioned.” ¡Ay, Dios mío! She started adding mango. Mango! To salsa verde! Abuela nearly had a heart attack. A full-on chancla flew across the kitchen (Lupita still has a dent in her arm to prove it).
And then there’s Tía Mildred. Oh, Tía Mildred. She doesn't cook. Ever. But she always shows up at these events, commenting on everything. "Too spicy!" "Not enough salt!" "Is that organic?" (Like we’re growing our own tomatillos in the backyard!). She even once tried to suggest adding pineapple. Pineapple!
My tío Miguel, he noticed everything. He saw the tension between Rosaura and Abuela, Lupita's sabotage, Tía Mildred's judgment. And he'd just sit there, quietly eating his lengua, looking pleased as punch. He lived for the drama. It fueled him.
That one year, I was responsible for the cilantro. Big responsibility, right? Fresh cilantro is everything. Well, I accidentally left it in the sun too long. It wilted. All of it. Abuela looked at me like I’d committed a crime against humanity. She didn't yell, though. Just gave me the look. You know, the one that says, “You will pay for this later."
But Rosaura, seeing my misery, snuck out and bought more cilantro from the bodega. Saved the day, she did. Even got a small smile from Tío Miguel. It was a tiny victory, but a victory nonetheless. It also made Tía Mildred complain about the color being ‘too bright’.
I learned my lesson that day: always protect the cilantro. And never, ever mess with Abuela’s salsa verde. Unless you want to feel the wrath of a Mexican grandmother. And trust me, that’s something you don’t want to experience. Now, I make it just like her. Almost exactly. I add a tiny pinch of cumin. Don't tell anyone.
Recipe
Ingredients 🌽🥘
- 1 (2-3 lb) beef tongue
- 1 tbsp salt
- 1 medium onion, quartered
- 4 cloves garlic, smashed
- 1 lb tomatillos, husked and rinsed
- 2-4 chile serrano peppers (depending on spice preference), stemmed
- 1/2 white onion, roughly chopped
- 2 cloves garlic, unpeeled
- 1 cup cilantro, roughly chopped
- 1/4 cup water
- 1 tsp cumin (shhh!)
- 2 tbsp vegetable oil
- Salt & pepper to taste
Tools 🔪🥄
- Large stockpot
- Baking sheet
- Blender or food processor
- Medium saucepan
- Tongs
Steps
- Place the beef tongue in the stockpot, cover with water, add the 1 tbsp salt, quartered onion, and smashed garlic. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 3-3.5 hours, or until incredibly tender. You should be able to easily pierce it with a fork. ¡Paciencia, mija!
- While the tongue is simmering, prepare the salsa verde. Preheat your oven to broil. Spread the tomatillos, serrano peppers, and unpeeled garlic on a baking sheet. Broil for 5-7 minutes, turning once halfway through, until blistered and slightly charred. Watch them closely – you don’t want burnt tomatillos!
- Let the roasted vegetables cool slightly, then peel the skin off the garlic. In a blender or food processor, combine the roasted tomatillos, serranos, peeled garlic, chopped white onion, cilantro, and water. Blend until smooth. Taste and season with salt and cumin (remember, it's our secret!).
- Once the tongue is cooked, remove it from the pot and let it cool enough to handle. Peel off the tough outer skin - it should come off easily. Slice the tongue thinly against the grain.
- Heat the vegetable oil in the medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the sliced tongue and cook for 5-7 minutes, stirring occasionally, until lightly browned. This step adds flavor, trust me.
- Pour the salsa verde over the tongue and bring to a simmer. Cook for another 10-15 minutes, allowing the flavors to meld together. Adjust seasoning with salt and pepper as needed.
Make-Ahead / Storage
- The lengua can be boiled a day ahead and refrigerated, covered.
- Salsa verde can be made 2 days ahead and stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator.
- Leftovers can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Reheat gently on the stovetop.
- Freezing isn't ideal because the texture changes, but if you must, freeze in portions and thaw completely before reheating.
Side Dish Pairing
- Esquites (Mexican street corn salad). The sweetness of the corn complements the richness of the lengua beautifully.
- Warm tortillas with a side of pickled red onions.
Tía Mildred siempre decía, “This needs more parsley!”
