Taquitos Dorados – Rolled Fried Tortillas With Shredded Chicken Or Beef.

My cousin Miguel, he thought he could win the chili cookoff against my mother. Oh, ¡ay Dios mío!, the drama.

Now, taquitos dorados? They’re not fancy. They are survival food, understand? This is the stuff your abuela makes when there’s nothing left but a sad chicken carcass and some tortillas. They go way back, mija, all the way to ancient Mexico. The Aztecs, they had something similar—corn tortillas rolled around small fish or insects. (Don’t make a face, it was protein!) Then, when the Spanish came, they added the beef, the pork, the cheese… the possibilities! You know how the Spanish are. Always gotta add something.

It really took off as street food in Mexico City, though, like in the 1950s. Little stands, little mom-and-pop operations. People would line up for these crispy little rolls of goodness. And honestly? It's still the best way to eat them. Forget your white tablecloth restaurants, give me a plastic chair and a spicy salsa any day. Because let me tell you, these aren’t just food, they are history, alright? A history of making something out of nothing. Like your tío Ricardo after he loses at dominoes. (He always claims he let you win.)

The first time I tried to make taquitos, I was maybe ten years old. I thought, “I can totally do this!” (Big mistake). I burned myself on the oil, coated the kitchen in flour, and somehow managed to roll the chicken inside OUT. My mother, she just stood there, shaking her head. She didn’t even yell, which was worse. It was like... disappointment radiating off her, burning hotter than the oil I almost set on fire.

Then there was that time my sister, Isabella, decided to "improve" the recipe. Oh, Isabella. She’s always got an opinion, that one. She said, “We need truffle oil, guys! Truffle oil will elevate it.” ¡Truffle oil in a taquito! The audacity. My father nearly choked on his café con leche. We all knew it was going to be bad, but we let her try. They tasted like… sadness and expensive mushrooms.

And don’t even get me started on the Great Salsa Spill of ’98. My cousin Carlos, he gets overexcited when he talks about soccer. He was explaining a particularly dramatic goal while waving his hands around… with a full bowl of salsa verde. (¡Ay, Dios mío!) It went everywhere. On the ceiling, on Tía Mildred’s new dress, on poor little Pepito who was just trying to eat his dinner. Tía Mildred swore vengeance, claiming it ruined her chances with Señor Rodriguez from the panaderia. A tragedy, honestly.

Speaking of Tía Mildred, she once tried to make taquitos with leftover turkey from Thanksgiving. Turkey! In a taquito! She insisted it was “fusion cuisine.” It tasted like regret and cranberry sauce. No one touched them except for Uncle Hector, who will eat anything if it’s free. Even rocks, I swear.

My abuela—she was the queen of taquitos. Her tortillas were always perfectly thin, her chicken always seasoned just right. She never measured anything, everything was “un poquito de esto, un poquito de aquello.” (A little of this, a little of that.) And she would always, always make extra, because you never knew when someone might drop by needing a good meal. And a little gossip, naturally.

I remember one time, my mother had a huge fight with her sister, Sofia, over a man. (It’s always a man, isn’t it?) My mother was making taquitos, furiously shredding the chicken, and every now and then, she’d slam the cutting board a little harder than necessary. It was very dramatic. Sofia showed up at the door five minutes later, demanding an apology. My mother offered her a taquito, and they ended up sitting at the kitchen table, eating and complaining about the same man for two hours. The power of the taquito, mija.

Then there's Roberto, my son. He wants to put avocado crema on everything. Everything! Taquitos, pizza, even his cereal. I tell him, "Son, some things are perfect as they are!" But he just rolls his eyes and says, "Mom, it's 2024." ¡Ni hablar!

The worst? When my neighbor, Mrs. Henderson, asked for the recipe. She thinks she can cook Mexican food. She tried to make them last week. She used… canned chicken. Canned chicken! (I almost fainted). And sour cream instead of Mexican crema. I politely declined to offer any further advice. Some things are sacred, alright?

But truly? Making taquitos is about family. It’s about standing around the kitchen, laughing, arguing, spilling salsa, and remembering those who came before us. It’s about sharing something simple, yet delicious, with the people you love. It's also about finally proving Miguel wrong at that chili cookoff. We'll see about that...

Recipe

Ingredients 🌽🥘

• 2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs (or chuck roast)
• 1 medium white onion, quartered
• 2 cloves garlic, smashed
• 1 tsp cumin powder
• 1/2 tsp oregano
• 1/4 tsp cayenne pepper (optional, but recommended!)
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 2 cups water (or chicken broth for extra flavor)
• 24 corn tortillas (day-old are best)
• Vegetable oil, for frying
• Mexican Crema, for topping (sour cream in a pinch, but don't tell anyone)
• Queso Fresco, crumbled, for topping
• Salsa of your choice (but make sure it doesn't spill!)

Tools 🔪🥄

• Large pot or Dutch oven
• Fork for shredding
• Tongs
• Deep frying pan or skillet
• Paper towels
• Slotted spoon

Steps

1. Place the chicken, onion, garlic, cumin, oregano, cayenne pepper, salt, pepper, and water in a large pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for about 20-25 minutes, or until the chicken is cooked through and easily shredded.
   ⏱ Timer
2. Remove the chicken from the pot and let it cool slightly. Shred the chicken using two forks. Taste and adjust seasonings as needed—don’t be shy with the salt!
3. Heat about ½ inch of vegetable oil in a deep frying pan or skillet over medium-high heat. (You want it hot enough to sizzle when you add a tortilla.)
4. Warm the tortillas slightly. You can do this by wrapping them in a damp paper towel and microwaving for 30 seconds, or quickly passing them over an open gas flame. This makes them more pliable and less likely to crack.
5. Dip each tortilla briefly into the hot oil on both sides – just enough to soften it. Don't let it get crispy yet! We're going for bendy, not breaky.
6. Fill each tortilla with about 2 tablespoons of shredded chicken. Roll tightly and secure with toothpicks if necessary (though a good roll shouldn't need them).
7. Fry the taquitos in batches, seam-side down first, for about 2-3 minutes per side, or until golden brown and crispy. Be careful not to overcrowd the pan!
   ⏱ Timer
8. Remove the taquitos from the oil and place them on a plate lined with paper towels to drain excess oil. Remove toothpicks, if used.
9. Serve immediately with Mexican crema, crumbled queso fresco, and your favorite salsa.

Make-Ahead / Storage

• Cook the chicken filling up to 2 days ahead and store it in the refrigerator.
• Assemble the taquitos a few hours ahead and keep them covered in the refrigerator until ready to fry.
• Leftover

taquitos can be stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Reheat in a 350°F (175°C) oven or air fryer to restore crispness.

Side Dish Pairing

These taquitos pair perfectly with: - Mexican Rice - Refried Beans - Guacamole and Chips - A fresh Mexican Salad

And remember, don’t be afraid to experiment with fillings! You can use pork, beef, potatoes, or even cheese. The possibilities are endless!

These taquitos are a crowd pleaser - you'll have 'em gone in a flash!

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