Pambazos – Dipped Bread Filled With Potatoes And Chorizo
Okay, okay, lemme tell you… this pambazo business almost ended in a full-blown family intervention. Seriously.
Pambazos. You think it’s just bread? Ay Dios mío, you are so wrong. This isn’t some little sandwich, it’s an event. It's history soaked in chile. It's generations of teasing from Tía Mildred.
These aren’t newfangled tacos or fancy enchiladas. Pambazos have been around since pre-Hispanic times. The original pambazo wasn't even cooked! They used bolillos – crusty rolls brought by the French in the 19th century – and filled them with whatever leftovers were hangin' around. Then they dunked those babies in guajillo chile sauce. Simple, right? Well, it wouldn't stay simple for long, especially not with my family.
Over time, different regions added their own twists. Some fill ‘em with potatoes and chorizo (our version, obviously), others with milanesa, even tinga de pollo. The key is that red sauce, though. That’s the soul of a pambazo. It stains your fingers, your shirt, probably your soul if you eat enough. And believe me, we always did.
My abuelita, bless her heart, she was the Pambazo Queen. Every Sunday, same routine. She’d be in the kitchen before sunrise, humming rancheras and yelling at my tío to stop sneaking chorizo straight from the pan. ¡Escándalo! "¡No seas cerdo!" she’d shout, which always made us kids giggle. (Tío Rafael wasn't known for restraint, okay?)
One year, my cousin Lupita decided she knew better than Abuelita about the spice level. “Too mild!” she declared. So, she went rogue and dumped in a whole bag of chile de árbol. A WHOLE BAG. I swear, smoke came out of people's ears. Even Tía Mildred had to take a break from making catty remarks to fan her mouth. (And that takes effort.)
Tía Mildred, now she’s a character. Always impeccably dressed, always with a comment ready. “Oh, so now we want to feel like dragons?” she’d say, sipping her chamomile tea like nothing was happening. She never ate more than two bites, but always judged everyone else's consumption. Like she was taste-testing for the Michelin star guide or something. Ay, that woman.
The worst part? Abuelita, stubborn as a mule, refused to admit defeat. She insisted on making another batch, equally mild. Lupita just rolled her eyes and added another handful of chiles when Abuelita wasn’t looking. My husband Carlos walked in mid-battle—once—and just quietly backed out. Smart man, that one.
Then there was the time my brother tried to deep-fry them instead of pan-frying. Said it would be “crispier.” It was a grease explosion. We spent the rest of the day mopping up oil and smelling like a county fair gone wrong. Abuelita didn’t even yell, just gave him the look. You know, the one that says, "I raised you better than this." That's worse than any scolding.
Last year, I offered to make the pambazos for our annual family gathering. Everyone looked at me like I’d grown a second head. "You?" Tía Mildred asked, raising an eyebrow. "Are you sure you can handle it?" She meant, "Can you handle the pressure of living up to Abuelita's legacy without setting the kitchen on fire?" I took it as a challenge.
It went… mostly okay. I managed not to burn anything, and the spice level was acceptable (thanks to a careful blend of guajillo and ancho chiles). But then my youngest nephew, Mateo, decided to use the red sauce as finger paint. ¡Ay, Dios mío! Red handprints everywhere.
But seeing everyone gathered around the table, messy faces and all, enjoying the pambazos…that's what it’s all about, right? The chaos, the teasing, the love. Even Tía Mildred cracked a smile. A small one, but a smile nonetheless. She mumbled something about "acceptable flavor profiles," but we all knew she secretly liked them.
And honestly, making these reminds me of Abuelita. How she’d stand over the stove, stirring the sauce with a wooden spoon, her face glowing with warmth. It’s more than just a recipe; it’s a piece of our history, a taste of home. It is pure, glorious messiness.
Recipe
Ingredients 🌽🥘
- 6 bolillos or crusty rolls
- 1 lb potatoes, peeled and cubed
- 1/2 lb Mexican chorizo, removed from casing
- 1/2 onion, chopped
- 2 cloves garlic, minced
- 1/4 cup vegetable oil
- Salt and pepper to taste
For the Guajillo Chile Sauce: - 8 dried guajillo chiles, stemmed and seeded - 2 cups hot water - 2 cloves garlic - 1/4 onion - 1 teaspoon cumin - 1/2 teaspoon oregano - Salt to taste - 2 tablespoons vegetable oil
Tools 🔪🥄
- Large pot
- Skillet
- Blender
- Shallow dish for dipping
- Paper towels (you'll need them)
Steps
- First, make the chile sauce. Soak the guajillo chiles in hot water for about 20 minutes, until softened. This is important—nobody wants crunchy chile bits!
- Drain the chiles and place them in a blender with the garlic, onion, cumin, oregano, and salt. Blend until smooth. Add a little of the soaking water if needed to get things moving. (It’s gonna be red. Embrace it.)
- Heat the 2 tablespoons of oil in a skillet and pour in the blended chile sauce. Cook for about 5-7 minutes, stirring constantly. It should thicken slightly. Set aside; this is your liquid gold.
- Now for the filling! Boil the potatoes until tender. Mash them roughly—don't go crazy, you want some texture.
- In a separate skillet, cook the chorizo over medium heat, breaking it up with a spoon. When it’s cooked through, add the chopped onion and minced garlic. Sauté until softened.
- Combine the mashed potatoes and cooked chorizo mixture. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Taste it! Adjust seasoning, because Abuelita’s watching, even when she isn't there.
- Slice the bolillos horizontally, being careful not to cut all the way through (like a submarine sandwich). Fill each roll generously with the potato-chorizo mixture.
- Heat the vegetable oil in a large skillet. Dip each filled bolillo into the guajillo chile sauce, making sure it's fully coated. Be generous! (This is where the mess starts.)
- Carefully pan-fry the dipped pambazos in the hot oil for about 2-3 minutes per side, or until golden brown and crispy. Don't overcrowd the skillet! Work in batches.
- Remove the pambazos from the skillet and place them on a plate lined with paper towels to drain excess oil. (Seriously, use a lot of paper towels.)
- Serve immediately. And have napkins ready. Lots of napkins.
Make-Ahead / Storage
- The chile sauce can be made up to 3 days ahead and stored in an airtight container in the refrigerator.
- The potato-chorizo filling can also be made a day ahead and reheated before assembling the pambazos.
- Pambazos are best eaten fresh, but leftovers can be refrigerated for up to 2 days. Reheat in a skillet to regain some crispiness.
- Honestly, they rarely last that long in my family
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Side Dish Pairing
A simple green salad with a lime vinaigrette provides a refreshing contrast to the rich, spicy pambazos. A side of Mexican rice and beans would also be a perfect accompaniment.
Don’t worry about the mess; Abuelita’s watching, even when she isn't there.
