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Pambazos Mexican Salsa Dunked Sandwiches — Red Chile at the Table, Where the Game Is Won

Kids went back to school on Monday and the house exhaled. I love my children with a ferocity that borders on clinical, but four kids home for two weeks is a stress test that no marriage should have to endure more than once a year. By Friday of winter break, Marco and Elena had turned the living room into something between a fort and a crime scene, Diego had watched enough football highlights to qualify for a broadcasting degree, and Sofia had read every book on her shelf and started rereading them, which she does with the solemn dedication of a monk returning to scripture.

Monday afternoon I picked Diego up from school and he told me Tyler Morrison said the Broncos were better than the Cowboys and he told Tyler he was wrong and they argued and now they're not talking. He is nine years old and already willing to end a friendship over football. I should correct this behavior. I am secretly proud of it. I told him Tyler can have his opinion and Diego can have his, and that doesn't mean they can't be friends. I did not tell him that Tyler is objectively wrong about the Cowboys. Lisa would want me to note that I showed restraint.

I've been in the weight room every morning this week with the offseason guys — the ones who show up in January, not because anyone makes them but because they want it. These are my guys. The ones who'll be starters next year, the ones who run extra when nobody's watching. I ran them through circuits and talked about commitment and consistency, two words that mean the same thing if you're doing them right.

Wednesday night I made carne adovada — pork shoulder cubed and braised in red chile sauce, slow and low for three hours until the meat falls apart when you look at it. This is Hector's favorite dish. Gloria makes it with dried red chile pods she orders from a farm outside Hatch — stems removed, seeds shaken out, rehydrated in hot water, then blended into a sauce so red it looks like it could power a sunset. I use the same pods. Same source. I called Hector while it simmered and asked how his blood sugar was. He said, "Fine." He always says fine. I asked if he was taking his metformin. He said, "Carlos." Just my name, in a tone that means: stop asking, I'm your father, not your patient. I stopped asking. For now.

Feed your people. The game is won at the table.

That carne adovada stayed with me all week — the smell of it, the phone call, the way Hector said my name like a period at the end of a sentence. Sometimes when I’m carrying something heavy I cook something that fights back a little, something with crunch and salt and mess, something that demands you be present while you’re making it. Pambazos are that dish for me: bolillo rolls dunked in guajillo salsa until they’re brick-red and blistered, loaded with chorizo and potato, the kind of sandwich that doesn’t care about your feelings but somehow fixes them anyway. Here’s how I made them.

Pambazos — Mexican Salsa Dunked Sandwiches

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 50 minutes | Servings: 6

Ingredients

  • 6 bolillo rolls or telera rolls, halved lengthwise
  • 12 oz Mexican chorizo, casings removed
  • 1 lb Yukon Gold potatoes, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
  • 1/2 medium white onion, finely diced
  • 2 cloves garlic, minced
  • 1 tsp kosher salt, plus more to taste
  • 2 tbsp neutral oil (canola or vegetable), divided, plus more for pan-frying
  • For the guajillo sauce:
  • 6 dried guajillo chiles, stems and seeds removed
  • 2 dried ancho chiles, stems and seeds removed
  • 3 cloves garlic
  • 1/4 tsp dried oregano (preferably Mexican)
  • 1/4 tsp ground cumin
  • 1/2 tsp kosher salt
  • 1 cup chile soaking liquid (reserved from rehydrating)
  • For topping:
  • 2 cups shredded romaine or iceberg lettuce
  • 1/2 cup Mexican crema or sour cream
  • 1/2 cup crumbled queso fresco
  • Pickled jalapeño slices, optional

Instructions

  1. Rehydrate the chiles. Place guajillo and ancho chiles in a heatproof bowl. Pour enough boiling water over them to submerge, and let them soak 15 to 20 minutes until softened. Reserve 1 cup of the soaking liquid before draining.
  2. Blend the sauce. Transfer the softened chiles to a blender with the garlic, oregano, cumin, salt, and reserved soaking liquid. Blend on high until completely smooth, 60 to 90 seconds. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve into a wide, shallow bowl or baking dish, pressing solids with a spoon. Taste and adjust salt. Set aside.
  3. Cook the potatoes. Bring a medium saucepan of salted water to a boil. Add the diced potatoes and cook until just fork-tender, about 8 minutes. Drain and set aside.
  4. Make the filling. Heat 1 tbsp oil in a large skillet over medium-high heat. Add the chorizo and cook, breaking it up with a spoon, until browned and cooked through, 5 to 6 minutes. Add the onion and garlic and cook 2 minutes more. Add the cooked potatoes, season with salt, and stir to combine. Cook another 2 minutes so the potatoes pick up color. Remove from heat.
  5. Fill the rolls. Divide the chorizo-potato filling evenly among the bottom halves of the rolls. Close each sandwich and press gently to hold.
  6. Dunk in the sauce. Working one at a time, dip each assembled pambazo in the guajillo sauce, turning to coat both sides generously. The bread should be saturated but not falling apart.
  7. Pan-fry until crispy. Heat a thin layer of oil in a large skillet or griddle over medium heat. Add the sauce-coated sandwiches and cook 2 to 3 minutes per side, pressing lightly with a spatula, until the exterior is crisp and darkened in spots. Work in batches to avoid crowding.
  8. Top and serve. Open each pambazo and layer in shredded lettuce, a drizzle of crema, crumbled queso fresco, and pickled jalapeños if using. Serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 520 | Protein: 21g | Fat: 26g | Carbs: 51g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 870mg

Carlos Medina
About the cook who shared this
Carlos Medina
Week 42 of Carlos’s 30-year story · Denver, Colorado
Carlos is a high school football coach and married father of four in Denver whose family has been in New Mexico since before the Mayflower landed. He grew up on his grandmother's green chile — roasted over an open flame, the smell thick enough to stop traffic — and he puts it on everything. Eggs, burgers, pizza, ice cream once on a dare. His cooking is hearty, New Mexican, and built to feed a team. Literally.

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