Slow Cooker Birria Tacos

October in Denver is when the city remembers it has weather. Monday was seventy-two degrees. Thursday it snowed. Not much — a dusting that melted by noon — but the message was clear: summer's gone, fall means business, and if you haven't winterized your grill setup you're an amateur. I have not winterized my grill setup. I am not an amateur. I am a man from southern New Mexico who moved to a place with real winters and has spent two years pretending that grilling in twenty-degree weather is normal. It is not normal. I do it anyway. The Weber doesn't judge.

We played Mullen on Friday — Catholic school, disciplined, the kind of team that doesn't make mistakes and waits for you to make yours. We made ours. Two fumbles in the first half, both in our own territory, both converted into touchdowns. Down 14-3 at halftime. The locker room was quiet in the wrong way — not focused quiet, scared quiet. I told them: "You're not losing because they're better. You're losing because you're giving them the ball and asking them to score. Stop giving them the ball. We handle what we can handle." It's not Shakespeare. It's coaching. Sometimes it works. We scored seventeen unanswered in the second half and won 20-14. Marcus threw the go-ahead touchdown to Jaylen on a slant that Marcus had no business throwing into double coverage, but the ball was perfect and Jaylen made a catch that I will put on the highlight reel and the coaching tape for different reasons. 4-0.

Sunday I made posole. Real posole — the kind that takes half a day and fills the house with a smell that wraps around you like a blanket. Pork shoulder, simmered until it shreds. Hominy from a can because I am honest about my shortcuts. A red chile sauce from dried guajillos and anchos — toasted, rehydrated, blended with garlic and cumin and oregano. I added a handful of chopped Hatch green chile because I am constitutionally incapable of making a pot of anything without adding green chile. It doesn't belong in posole. I don't care. It's my pot.

Lisa came home from her shift smelling like hospital soap and looking like a woman who'd been on her feet for twelve hours, which she had. She sat at the table and I put a bowl in front of her with a squeeze of lime and a warm tortilla. She ate without talking. Then she said, "Thank you." Two words. Twelve hours of ER nursing in two words. I refilled her bowl. That's marriage. That's the whole game.

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

That posole night—Lisa’s two words, the refilled bowl, the whole quiet weight of it—reminded me that feeding someone well is its own language, and I wanted to stay in that language a little longer. So the next weekend I made birria, because if posole is a blanket, birria is a fire: deeper, louder, the kind of thing that turns the whole kitchen red and fills every corner of the house with dried chile and slow-cooked beef. Here’s how I did it.

Prep Time: 45 min | Cook Time: 8 hrs | Total Time: 8 hrs 45 min | Servings: 6–8

Ingredients

3 lbs beef chuck roast, cut into 3-inch chunks
1 lb bone-in beef short ribs
6 dried guajillo chiles, stems and seeds removed
3 dried ancho chiles, stems and seeds removed
2 dried chiles de arbol (optional, for heat)
1 medium white onion, halved — one half roughly chopped, one half reserved for serving
6 garlic cloves
1 (14 oz) can fire-roasted diced tomatoes
2 cups beef broth
2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1 1/2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 teaspoon dried Mexican oregano
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground cloves
2 bay leaves
Salt and black pepper to taste
2 tablespoons neutral oil
12–16 corn tortillas
2 cups shredded Oaxacan or mozzarella cheese
Fresh cilantro, diced white onion, lime wedges, and sliced radishes for serving

Instructions

Toast the dried chiles. Heat a dry skillet or comal over medium heat. Add the guajillo, ancho, and chile de arbol and press them flat with a spatula. Toast 20–30 seconds per side until fragrant and slightly darkened — watch closely, bitter is one shade past where you want to be. Transfer to a bowl, cover with boiling water, and soak 20 minutes until fully softened.
Sear the beef. Pat the chuck roast and short ribs dry with paper towels and season generously with salt and pepper. Heat the oil in a heavy skillet or Dutch oven over high heat. Sear the beef in batches until deeply browned on all sides, about 3–4 minutes per side. Don’t crowd the pan. Transfer to the slow cooker.
Build the chile sauce. Drain the soaked chiles and add them to a blender along with the chopped onion half, garlic cloves, fire-roasted tomatoes, apple cider vinegar, cumin, oregano, cinnamon, cloves, and 1 cup of the beef broth. Blend on high until completely smooth, at least 60 seconds. Taste for salt.
Load the slow cooker. Pour the chile sauce over the seared beef. Add the remaining cup of beef broth and the bay leaves. The liquid should come about two-thirds up the meat — you’re braising, not boiling. Cover and cook on LOW for 7–8 hours, or HIGH for 4–5, until the beef shreds easily with two forks.
Shred and rest. Remove the beef to a cutting board and shred with two forks, discarding any large bones. Skim the excess fat from the top of the braising liquid — this red-orange fat is your gold for frying the tacos. Return the shredded meat to the pot and stir to combine. Taste the consomé and adjust salt.
Fry the tacos. Heat a skillet or griddle over medium-high. Skim some of the red fat from the top of the consomé and brush or spoon it onto the skillet. Dip a corn tortilla briefly into the consomé, lay it in the skillet, add a generous pinch of cheese and a scoop of shredded meat to one half, then fold and press gently. Cook 2–3 minutes per side until crispy and the cheese is melted. Work in batches.
Serve with consomé. Ladle the remaining broth into small bowls for dipping. Serve tacos immediately with fresh cilantro, diced white onion, sliced radishes, and lime wedges on the side. A warm tortilla alongside never hurts.

Nutrition (per serving)

Slow Cooker Birria Tacos — The Bowl That Says Everything Without Saying Anything