February 2039. I turned fifty-nine. Lisa made breakfast burritos, candle in the burrito, same as every year. I ate it at the kitchen table and thought: fifty-nine years old. The number doesn't frighten me but it requires respect. I'm no longer young in any traditional sense and I've stopped performing otherwise. My hair is fully gray. My back requires a few minutes in the morning before it cooperates. I run slower than I did at forty-five and I'm at peace with that. The body is doing what bodies do. I'm attending to it more carefully than I used to.
I've been going through my coaching notes — the box of them I've been accumulating since my first year at Eldorado Prep. Yellow legal pads mostly, some spiral notebooks, some printed play diagrams with handwritten annotations. Rodriguez's voice in my head says book. I'm not sure it's a book. But I've been organizing the notes chronologically, going back through the years, reading my own handwriting from 2019 and 2024 and 2031 and noticing what I was certain about then that I'm less certain about now, and what I was uncertain about then that I've since confirmed. It's a strange kind of archaeology. You dig through your own past decisions and you try to be honest about what held up.
Diego brought Maya on Sunday. She's five now and she's started reading and she read the labels on my spice jars with concentration and asked me what cumin was. I put a small amount on her finger. She smelled it, licked it, made a face, then said: more. I said: that's cumin. She said: why do you use it? I said: because it's warm and a little earthy and it rounds out the red chile. She stared at me for a second and then nodded with the gravity of a judge reaching a verdict. Then she climbed onto the step stool and asked what we were making today.
After Maya climbed onto that step stool and asked what we were making, I knew it couldn’t be anything ordinary — it had to be something warm and a little mysterious, something that would reward her curiosity the same way the cumin had. Champurrado felt exactly right: it’s thick and earthy and sweet, it carries chocolate and masa in the same cup, and explaining it to a five-year-old is one of the most satisfying things I’ve done in a kitchen. It’s also, quietly, what I made for myself after Lisa’s birthday burrito — standing at the stove, fifty-nine years old, watching the masa thicken, feeling like time was doing something generous.
Mexican Champurrado
Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 30 minutes | Servings: 4
Ingredients
- 4 cups whole milk
- 1 cup water
- 1/3 cup masa harina
- 2 discs (approximately 3 oz each) Mexican chocolate (such as Ibarra or Abuelita), roughly chopped
- 1 cinnamon stick
- 3 tablespoons piloncillo or packed dark brown sugar, plus more to taste
- 1/2 teaspoon pure vanilla extract
- Pinch of salt
Instructions
- Dissolve the masa. In a medium bowl, whisk together the masa harina and 1 cup of water until completely smooth with no lumps. Set aside.
- Warm the milk. Pour the milk into a medium saucepan over medium heat. Add the cinnamon stick and piloncillo. Heat, stirring occasionally, until the piloncillo dissolves and the milk is just beginning to steam, about 5 minutes. Do not boil.
- Add the chocolate. Stir in the chopped Mexican chocolate and continue stirring until fully melted and incorporated, about 3–4 minutes.
- Incorporate the masa mixture. Slowly pour the masa harina mixture into the pot in a thin, steady stream, whisking constantly to prevent lumps from forming.
- Thicken the champurrado. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, stirring frequently with a wooden spoon or whisk, until the drink thickens to a creamy, pourable consistency, about 8–10 minutes. It should coat the back of a spoon.
- Finish and serve. Remove the cinnamon stick. Stir in the vanilla extract and a pinch of salt. Taste and adjust sweetness. Ladle into mugs and serve immediately, optionally dusted with a little ground cinnamon on top.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 290 | Protein: 8g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 44g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 115mg