Tortitas De Papa – Crispy Potato Patties Topped With Salsa

My cousin’s wedding was supposed to be about love and commitment, but it ended up being mostly about Tía Mildred trying to teach the priest how to salsa dance. ¡Ay Dios mío!

Now, you gotta understand, my family takes potatoes seriously. It’s in our blood, probably from some Irish great-grandma nobody talks about, mixed with Aztec corn farming magic. And potato patties? Tortitas de papa? That’s not just food, mija, it's a legacy. My abuelita, she learned to make them during the Revolution—not because times were fancy, obviously, but because they were cheap, filling, and could hide whatever veggies she managed to scavenge. She used to say every bite held a little bit of defiance against hunger. It wasn't glamorous, surviving, but it was clever.

The recipe itself traveled north with my family when they came looking for work. They settled in Chicago, where the winters are colder than a politician’s heart, and Abuelita kept making her tortitas. They became a taste of home, a reminder of everything they left behind. She always said a good tortita could cure anything – heartbreak, the blues, even Auntie Mildred’s questionable life choices (she didn't say that to Mildred's face, obviously). Each generation tweaked it, added their own little something. My mama started adding a pinch of smoked paprika. I swear, she thinks it makes everything better.

This past weekend at the wedding, though, it all came flooding back. The whole family was crammed into this rented hall, and everyone was arguing about the music. Naturally. My uncle Rafael was insisting on mariachi, my other uncle, Javier, wanted cumbia, and then Tía Mildred decided she needed to provide the entertainment. She grabbed the poor priest’s hand and tried to lead him through a salsa routine while everyone else watched. The priest looked terrified, which honestly made it even funnier.

I was helping Abuelita in the kitchen when the chaos started. She was supervising, naturally. “Más cilantro, mija!” she commanded, waving a wooden spoon like a conductor’s baton. "Don’t be stingy! Cilantro is life!" I was trying to peel potatoes faster so I wouldn’t miss the disaster unfolding in the hall, but she was relentless. And she was questioning my potato-peeling technique. Apparently, I was wasting too much potato. Which, honestly? Is kind of her job as abuela.

"You are peeling like a gringo," she declared, peering over my shoulder. "Look! You're taking off half the potato! A peasant would weep." I just sighed and peeled faster. This wasn’t about the potatoes; it was about control. It always is with Abuelita.

Suddenly, cousin Sofia bursts into the kitchen, nearly tripping over a box of onions. “OMG, you will NOT believe what Tía Mildred is doing!” she shrieked. We both ran to the hall and witnessed the priestly salsa lesson firsthand. I almost choked on my own laughter.

“Someone stop her!” I yelled, but it was too late. Tía Mildred was fully committed. She had the priest spinning (badly) and yelling “¡Uno, dos, tres!” My mother was trying to discreetly steer her away, while Uncle Rafael cheered her on and offered tequila shots to anyone nearby. Honestly, it was glorious mess.

Then, Abuelita showed up, her eyes flashing. “Mildred! ¡Basta ya!” she boomed. “You are embarrassing everyone! Come back here and help me with the tortitas.” Tía Mildred, surprisingly, obeyed. She grumbled something about artistic expression, but she came back to the kitchen.

And then, even she got roped into potato duty. “These potatoes aren’t mashed enough,” she announced, grabbing a fork. “They need more…passion.” She proceeded to mash them with an intensity that suggested she was settling a personal score. I swear, you could feel the energy in the room shift.

I managed to salvage some potatoes and get the patties frying. The smell filled the kitchen—a warm, comforting aroma that somehow calmed everyone down. People started gravitating towards the kitchen, drawn by the scent and the promise of good food. Even the priest wandered in, looking relieved to escape Tía Mildred's dance floor.

The tortitas were a hit, of course. Crispy on the outside, fluffy on the inside, topped with a vibrant, spicy salsa. They reminded everyone of home, of family, of simpler times. And for a few precious moments, everyone forgot about the wedding drama and just enjoyed the food. Except for Tía Mildred, who was still complaining about the lack of rhythm in the kitchen. You can’t win with that woman. She insists the key ingredient is a full moon and a whispered prayer to Santa Rita.

Recipe

Tortitas de Papa – Crispy Potato Patties with Salsa

(A taste of Abuelita’s Revolution-era comfort)

This recipe has been passed down through generations, evolving with each cook. It's not fancy, but it's full of love (and a healthy dose of potato).

Ingredients 🌽🥘

• 2 lbs russet potatoes, peeled and quartered
• 1/4 cup milk
• 2 tbsp butter
• 1/4 cup finely chopped onion
• 1 tsp smoked paprika (Mama's touch!)
• 1/2 cup all-purpose flour, plus more for coating
• 1 egg, lightly beaten
• Salt and pepper to taste
• Vegetable oil, for frying

For the Salsa: - 2 ripe tomatoes, roasted or broiled until softened - 1/4 white onion, roughly chopped - 1 jalapeño, seeded and minced (adjust to your spice level) - 1/4 cup cilantro, chopped - 1 tbsp lime juice - Salt to taste

Tools 🔪🥄

• Large pot
• Potato masher (or ricer, if you're fancy)
• Mixing bowl
• Shallow dishes for coating
• Large skillet or frying pan
• Slotted spoon

Steps

1. Boil the potatoes in salted water until tender, about 15-20 minutes. Drain well and return them to the pot. ¡No one likes soggy tortitas!
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2. Add the milk, butter, and onion to the potatoes and mash until smooth. Don’t overmix – a little texture is good.
3. Stir in the smoked paprika, flour, and egg. Season with salt and pepper. The mixture should be thick enough to hold its shape, but still soft.
4. Form the potato mixture into patties about 2-3 inches in diameter. Dredge each patty lightly in flour. My abuela always said this helped them get extra crispy.
5. Heat about 1/2 inch of vegetable oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Fry the patties in batches for 3-4 minutes per side, until golden brown and crispy. Work carefully—hot oil is no joke.
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6. Remove the patties with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. Let cool slightly before topping with salsa.
7. To make the salsa: Combine the roasted tomatoes, onion, jalapeño, cilantro, lime juice, and salt in a food processor or blender. Pulse until coarsely chopped. Or just chop it all by hand like Abuelita does – it tastes better that way, I swear.

Make-Ahead / Storage

• You can boil and mash the potatoes up to a day ahead. Store them covered in the refrigerator.
• Formed patties can also be refrigerated for a few hours before frying.
• Leftover tortitas can be stored in the refrigerator for up to 3 days. Reheat in a skillet or oven to restore crispness.
• Freezing isn't ideal, as they lose some texture, but you can freeze cooked patties; reheat carefully.

Side Dish Pairing

• A cooling avocado crema would be

lovely with these. - Simple black beans are a classic accompaniment. - A fresh green salad provides a nice contrast to the richness of the tortitas.

Grandma’s secret? A little bit of love, and a whole lot of frying.

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