The Best Taco Soup -- Feeding the Family Table Where Cherokee and Mexican Food Meet

Spring is fully here now and the Oklahoma evenings are getting long and golden in that way that makes you forget the summers are going to be brutal. I got off work early on Friday — rare, pipeline schedule doesn't usually allow it — and came home to find Hannah on the back porch with her laptop, writing a grant application for the Cherokee Nation's nutrition program while Luna slept in the carrier on her chest and Kai drew on the concrete with sidewalk chalk. She looked up at me and said, "I need two uninterrupted hours," and I said, "You got it," and took both kids inside. That's marriage. Not the big moments. The two uninterrupted hours.

I decided to make kanuchi, which is maybe the most Cherokee thing I cook. Kanuchi is hickory nut soup — you take dried hickory nuts, pound them into a paste using a kanuchi stone (I use a heavy mortar and pestle because I don't have a traditional stone yet, which bothers me more than it should), then dissolve the paste in water and cook it into this rich, creamy, nutty broth. It's one of the oldest Cherokee recipes there is. Hannah taught me the process, and her grandmother taught her, and somebody taught the grandmother, and the chain goes back further than anyone can trace.

The thing about kanuchi is it takes time. You can't rush the pounding. You can't rush the dissolving. You have to stand there and work the nuts and let the oils release slowly, and if you're a guy who spends his days welding at speed, the slowness is either maddening or meditative depending on your mood. Friday it was meditative. I needed something slow after a week that had been nothing but fast and loud — the grinder, the torch, the pipe, the noise. Kai sat on the kitchen floor and played with measuring cups while I pounded hickory nuts, and the rhythm of it — pound, scrape, pound — was like a heartbeat, steady and old.

I brought a jar of kanuchi to Dad on Saturday. He used to make it himself, back when his lungs worked and he could stand at the counter long enough. He tasted it and nodded. "More water next time," he said. "You got it too thick." This from a man who needs help walking to the bathroom. He can barely breathe but he can still critique my kanuchi, and honestly, I wouldn't have it any other way. That's Dad — the man can't climb stairs but he'll tell you your smoke ring isn't deep enough and he'll be right.

Sunday we went to Mom's for dinner, the whole family minus Caleb, who's staying with a friend in Pryor and not returning calls. Mom made posole — the big pot with hominy and pork and red chiles, the Mexican side of our family table. She made it the way Abuela Rosa taught her, and I watched her move around that kitchen, sixty years old and still faster with a knife than anyone I know, and I thought about how food is the thread that holds this family together. Cherokee food from Dad's side, Mexican food from Mom's, and in the middle, this kitchen in Turley where all of it meets.

Kai ate posole with his hands, which horrified Mom and delighted everyone else. Luna watched from Hannah's arms with those dark serious eyes. The house smelled like chiles and hominy and the coffee Mom always has going. Dad sat in his chair with his oxygen and ate a small bowl slowly. Nobody talked about Caleb. Everybody thought about Caleb. We ate together and that was enough, because in this family, eating together has always been enough, even when nothing else is.

Mom’s posole is something I could never replicate exactly — it lives in her hands, in Abuela Rosa’s memory, in sixty years of that kitchen in Turley. But when Sunday evening ended and I drove home with the smell of red chiles still in my jacket, I wanted to hold onto something of it. This taco soup isn’t posole, and I won’t pretend it is, but it carries the same spirit — the big pot, the warm broth, the hominy — and on a night when Kai needed dinner and Hannah needed five more minutes, it was exactly the right thing to make.

The Best Taco Soup

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 30 minutes | Total Time: 40 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 1 lb ground beef (or ground turkey)
• 1 medium yellow onion, diced
• 3 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 packet (1 oz) taco seasoning
• 1 packet (1 oz) ranch dressing mix
• 1 can (15 oz) hominy, drained
• 1 can (15 oz) black beans, drained and rinsed
• 1 can (15 oz) pinto beans, drained and rinsed
• 1 can (15 oz) diced tomatoes with green chiles
• 1 can (15 oz) fire-roasted crushed tomatoes
• 2 cups beef broth
• Salt and black pepper, to taste
• Optional toppings: shredded cheddar, sour cream, sliced jalapenos, cilantro, tortilla strips

Instructions

1. Brown the meat. In a large heavy pot or Dutch oven over medium-high heat, cook the ground beef, breaking it apart, until no longer pink, about 6–8 minutes. Drain excess fat.
2. Soften the aromatics. Add the diced onion to the pot and cook with the meat until softened, about 3 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook 1 minute more.
3. Season. Sprinkle in the taco seasoning and ranch mix, stirring to coat the meat and onion evenly.
4. Build the soup. Add the hominy, black beans, pinto beans, diced tomatoes with chiles, crushed tomatoes, and beef broth. Stir everything together.
5. Simmer. Bring the soup to a boil, then reduce heat to medium-low and simmer uncovered for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally, until slightly thickened and flavors meld. Taste and adjust salt and pepper.
6. Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with shredded cheese, sour cream, jalapenos, cilantro, and tortilla strips as desired. Serve with warm cornbread or flour tortillas on the side.

Slow Cooker Method

1. Brown meat and onion on the stovetop as above, then transfer to a slow cooker.
2. Add all remaining ingredients, stir, and cook on LOW for 6–8 hours or HIGH for 3–4 hours.
3. Stir before serving and add toppings.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 310 | Protein: 22g | Fat: 10g | Carbs: 32g | Fiber: 8g | Sodium: 890mg