Homemade Flour Tortillas

Mother's Day. The one day a year where I'm supposed to take over everything Jessica does, which is hilarious because Jessica does everything every day and I just pretend not to notice the scale of it. She manages the house, the bills, the schedules, the school research, the doctor appointments, Diego's nap schedule (which changes weekly, like a cruel algorithm designed to prevent planning), and Sofia's increasingly complex social calendar — playdates, swim lessons, library time. She does all of this while working full-time as an accountant. And she does it during my 48-hour shifts when I am literally not home. So yes, Mother's Day is the least I can do, and I'm aware that "the least" is exactly what it is.

I got up at 5 AM and made breakfast. The full spread: huevos rancheros with homemade salsa roja, refried beans, sliced avocado, Mexican rice, fresh tortillas (I cheated — store-bought, but the good ones from the Mexican market on 35th Avenue), and coffee. Jessica came out of the bedroom at 7 to find the kitchen destroyed, the table set, and me standing there in an apron with a nine-month-old on my hip and a three-year-old at my feet "helping" by putting napkins in everyone's water glasses.

"You didn't have to do all this," she said.

"I know I didn't have to. I wanted to."

She cried a little. Not a lot — Jessica's not a big crier — but enough. Then she ate two plates of huevos rancheros, which is the real compliment.

We went to Elena's after breakfast. Mom's Mother's Day tradition is simple: she cooks. I know that defeats the purpose, but you try telling Elena Rivera not to cook on Mother's Day. I've tried. Roberto's tried. The Pope could try. She would hand him an apron and point at the onions. So we went to Maryvale and Elena made mole — the real mole, the one that takes two days, with six different chiles and chocolate and cinnamon and approximately forty-seven other ingredients that she refuses to write down because "you're supposed to feel it, not read it."

I stood in her kitchen and watched. I've been watching her cook my entire life, but lately I watch differently. I watch to learn. I watch to remember. I watch because someday I'll have to make this mole without her standing next to me, and the thought of that makes my throat tight.

Sofia gave Elena a hand-drawn card that said "Abuela" with a heart the size of Elena's face. Elena held it like it was the Mona Lisa. Diego pulled Elena's hair and then laughed, which Elena also treated like a gift.

Jessica got: a card I wrote (not hallmark, handwritten, because that's what she deserves), a gift certificate for a spa day (she's never been to a spa, which is a crime against a woman who manages this much chaos), and a promise that I would handle bedtime alone for a full week. She said the bedtime promise was the best gift she's ever received. I'm choosing not to be insulted.

I said I cheated with the store-bought tortillas, and I meant it — they were good, but they weren’t Elena’s. Standing in her kitchen that afternoon, watching her roll out tortillas like she’d done it ten thousand times (she has), I realized that next Mother’s Day, I’m making them from scratch. Jessica ate two plates of huevos rancheros this year. With homemade tortillas? She might go for three. So here’s the recipe I’m practicing until I get it right — because the women in my life deserve better than “the good ones from the Mexican market on 35th Avenue.”

Prep Time: 30 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 12 tortillas

Ingredients

3 cups all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/3 cup lard or vegetable shortening
1 cup warm water

Instructions

Mix the dry ingredients. In a large bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, and baking powder until evenly combined.
Cut in the fat. Add the lard or shortening and work it into the flour mixture with your fingers or a pastry cutter until it resembles coarse crumbs with no large pieces remaining.
Add the water. Pour in the warm water and stir with a fork until a shaggy dough forms. Turn out onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 2 to 3 minutes until smooth and elastic. The dough should be soft but not sticky.
Rest the dough. Divide the dough into 12 equal balls, about the size of a golf ball. Place them on a plate or sheet pan, cover with a clean kitchen towel, and let rest for at least 15 minutes. This relaxes the gluten and makes rolling much easier.
Roll them out. On a lightly floured surface, roll each ball into a thin round, about 7 to 8 inches in diameter. Rotate the dough a quarter turn between each roll to keep the shape even. Don’t worry about perfect circles — Elena’s aren’t perfect either, and hers are the best.
Cook the tortillas. Heat a dry cast-iron skillet or comal over medium-high heat until very hot. Place a tortilla on the skillet and cook for 45 seconds to 1 minute, until light brown spots appear on the bottom and the surface begins to bubble. Flip and cook another 30 to 45 seconds on the other side.
Keep them warm. Transfer cooked tortillas to a towel-lined plate or tortilla warmer and cover immediately. The steam keeps them soft and pliable. Serve warm.

Nutrition (per serving)

Homemade Flour Tortillas — Because Next Time, I’m Not Cheating