While some historians believe that menudo’s origins are in central Mexico, others trace its beginnings to the north. Consequently, in regions across the country, the dish’s preparation can vary. While menudo rojo, with its red broth, is the more common variety, menudo blanco, with its pale broth, is popular in the coastal states of Sinaloa, Sonora, Nayarit and Jalisco. Because of its long preparation time, menudo is often served only on weekends; sometimes, it might not even grace a restaurant’s menu at all, with an understanding among regulars that it’s simply a part of the week’s denouement.
It’s a meal to be lingered over; and likewise, in the midst of cooking, it’s hardly a dish to be rushed.
But across locales, the dish is underlined by the presence of community; it’s a chance to come together in support of deliciousness, whether with blood family, found family or the other assortments of people we hold dear. And when I asked Mely Martínez, the author of “The Mexican Home Kitchen” — whose blog, Mexico in My Kitchen, celebrates and chronicles the variousness of Mexican cuisine — about what menudo means to her, she described in an email the human ties responsible for bringing the dish together. “Menudo soup means Sunday-morning family gatherings, since this is a dish that many families enjoy during the weekends for brunch.” She was introduced to the dish as a young age, she said, adding, “I remember my mother placing a large pot filled with water and tripe (cut into bite-size pieces) to slowly cook overnight over a gentle simmering heat.” She added, “I would go at 6 a.m. and sneak a piece.”
My own first bowls of menudo came by way of Louisiana. In New Orleans, just off North Carrollton Avenue, I’d nurse a bowl alongside tortillas at Taqueria Guerrero, while a graying television blasted soccer reruns overhead and a stereo whispered ’90s hits from the restaurant’s opposite end. The dish became a salve for long weeks, and I watched as that lifeline was shared among a wide cast. On Sunday mornings, the tables stood crowded with Mexican mothers and their daughters after church, queer folks convening after Saturday nights spent cartwheeling through the Quarter’s outer limits and a group of Black women writers arranging their laptops around their bowls, poring over drafts while squeezing limes over their broth.
Cooking menudo is a trust exercise in itself; Martínez’s recipe is a delicious one, both inviting and accessible at every stage. It’s a meal to be lingered over; and likewise, in the midst of cooking, it’s hardly a dish to be rushed. The simplicity of the ingredients is amplified by their freshness. Speaking on its preparation, Martínez notes, “Buy the tripe from a place where you can trust that it is well cleaned. When it comes to cutting the tripe into squares, keep in mind that it will shrink in size when it’s cooked.” The dish’s aromatics will permeate the kitchen the closer it inches to completion. “Add cow’s feet or marrow bones to the pot to enhance the flavor and texture of the broth,” she says.
