Enfrijoladas — A Bean Pot That Earns Its Place in the Archive

The last full week of January. Hartford in its darkest stretch. Sunrise at 7:10 AM. Sunset at 4:55 PM. The day is a little slip of light between two oceans of dark, and I have been going to bed by 9 PM because my body has decided winter is for sleeping.

I worked on the notebook this week. Volume two has six recipes now — bacalaítos, ajilimójili sauce, mofongo relleno, pasteles (second version, with the adjustments Mami had dictated last year), tres leches with rum syrup, and a page of "small things" I made up: how to read whether rice is done without opening the lid (listen for the water), how to tell if pernil needs more time (the bone slides, or it does not), how to judge sofrito (smell, only smell, never color).

Mami came Thursday for our dictation session. She was sharp. She asked to read the bacalaítos. She read the page slowly. She said, "You do not mention the tail." I said, "Mami?" She said, "Bacalao has a tail. The tail meat is different. You cook it shorter because it cooks faster." I had never known this. I said, "Mami, I have been cooking bacalao for thirty-five years." She said, "Yes. And for thirty-five years you have been cooking the tail too long. Your grandmother used to separate the tail meat. I forgot to tell you." I wrote it in the margin. "Mami revealed the tail secret on January 25, 2024." This is the kind of correction that could have died with her.

Habichuelas on Tuesday. A big pot. The freezer is becoming a bean archive. I have a bean section now. A sofrito section. A stew section. A pasteles section still has twelve pasteles from December. Retirement freezer is a thing of beauty.

Saturday Eduardo and I had lunch at a diner on Farmington Avenue — nothing fancy, just the two of us, out on a cold Saturday — and we talked about a trip. Eduardo wants to go to Puerto Rico with me in February. Not for the annual solo trip; he wants to come with me. "I have not been in eight years, Carmen. I want to see your sister. I want to eat the mofongo at the place." I said, "Eduardo, you hate to travel." He said, "I can travel with you. I can travel for a week." I said, "Let me think." I thought for a day. I said yes. We booked flights Sunday. We are going in two weeks. Marisol is thrilled.

Mami on Sunday said, "You and Eduardo going to Puerto Rico together. I have not seen that since 1990." I said, "Mami, we went in 2015." She said, "Still a long time." She said, "Bring back sazón." I said, "Mami, I always bring back sazón." She said, "More this year. Double." I said, "Yes, Mami." Wepa.

Tuesday’s habichuelas were for the archive — a big quiet pot simmered down and packed away — but beans kept pulling at me all week, the way they do when winter is long and the freezer is full of good intentions. Enfrijoladas felt like the right answer: a dish that takes beans seriously, wraps them around something warm, and asks nothing complicated of you. After a week of dictation sessions and margin notes and flights booked on a Sunday whim, I needed a recipe that was honest and steady, the kind that reminds you why you started keeping the notebook in the first place.

Enfrijoladas

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 40 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 2 cans (15 oz each) black beans or pinto beans, drained, liquid reserved
• 1/2 white onion, roughly chopped, plus thin-sliced rings for garnish
• 3 garlic cloves, peeled
• 1 chipotle pepper in adobo sauce, plus 1 teaspoon adobo sauce
• 1 cup low-sodium chicken or vegetable broth
• 1 tablespoon olive oil
• 1 teaspoon ground cumin
• 1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• 12 corn tortillas (6-inch)
• 1 cup crumbled queso fresco or cotija cheese
• 1/2 cup Mexican crema or sour cream, thinned with 1 tablespoon milk
• 1/2 cup fresh cilantro leaves, for garnish
• Vegetable oil, for softening tortillas

Instructions

1. Build the bean sauce. In a blender, combine the drained beans, chopped onion, garlic, chipotle pepper, adobo sauce, and broth. Blend on high until completely smooth, about 60 seconds. If the sauce seems very thick, add a splash of the reserved bean liquid.
2. Cook the sauce. Heat the olive oil in a wide saucepan or deep skillet over medium heat. Pour in the blended bean mixture — it will sputter, so stand back. Stir in the cumin and oregano. Cook, stirring frequently, for 10 to 12 minutes until the sauce darkens slightly, thickens to a pourable consistency, and the raw onion smell is gone. Season with salt and pepper. Reduce heat to low and keep warm.
3. Soften the tortillas. In a separate small skillet, heat a thin film of vegetable oil over medium-high heat. Working one at a time, cook each tortilla for about 10 seconds per side — just enough to make it pliable, not crispy. Drain on paper towels. Repeat with all 12 tortillas.
4. Dip and fold. One at a time, slide a softened tortilla into the warm bean sauce, turning to coat both sides fully. Fold it in half, then in half again to form a triangle, or roll it loosely. Arrange on a serving platter or individual plates, overlapping slightly. Repeat with remaining tortillas, nestling each one close to the last.
5. Spoon and finish. Ladle any remaining warm bean sauce generously over the folded tortillas. Drizzle the thinned crema over the top in a zigzag. Scatter the crumbled queso fresco evenly, then top with cilantro leaves and onion rings.
6. Serve immediately. Enfrijoladas wait for no one — bring them straight to the table while the sauce is still warm and the tortillas have not yet absorbed all of it.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 415 | Protein: 17g | Fat: 13g | Carbs: 58g | Fiber: 11g | Sodium: 540mg