Chicken Tinga — The Kitchen Smelled Like the Ancestors Coming Home

The fall competition circuit starts next month and I'm debating whether to enter. The BBQ sponsorship from SmokeHaus is still active — they sent another box of rubs and pellets last week — and the Instagram following has grown to about 800 people, which is not a lot but is 800 more than I had a year ago. The question isn't whether I can compete. The question is whether I want to take another Saturday away from the family to stand in a parking lot and obsess over brisket.

Jessica, characteristically, said: "Enter. Win. Build the resume." She's thinking about the restaurant again. She's always thinking about the restaurant. She doesn't say it every time — she's too smart for that — but the infrastructure is building. The competitions, the social media, the food blog article, the sponsorship. She's connecting dots I can't see yet because I'm too close to the picture.

I'll enter the Arizona Smoke Showdown in October. Brisket and ribs. The full program. If I'm going to compete, I'm going all in.

Diablo de los Muertos prep has started early this year. Sofia asked if she could help build the ofrenda, and I said yes — she's old enough now to understand what it means, or at least to begin understanding. We talked about Alejandro, my grandfather, who she never met. About Carmen, my grandmother. About Tía Laura. About the idea that the dead come back to visit when we remember them, when we cook their food, when we say their names.

She listened with the seriousness she brings to everything important. Then she asked, "When you die, Daddy, what food should I make for you?" The question landed like a punch. Not because it was morbid — five-year-olds don't understand morbidity, they understand logic — but because it was the most direct confrontation with my own mortality I've ever experienced, delivered by a child in a soccer ball backpack standing in the kitchen.

I said, "Brisket, mija. Put brisket on the ofrenda." She nodded. "The fourteen-hour kind?" "The fourteen-hour kind." She wrote it down on a Post-it note and stuck it to the fridge. It's still there. I'm not taking it down. It's the most important Post-it note in the house.

Made pozole this week — the red kind, Elena's recipe. Fall pozole. The smell of dried chiles rehydrating, of pork simmering, of hominy blooming in the broth. The kitchen smelled like October approaching. The kitchen smelled like the ancestors coming home.

The pozole came out of the week naturally — Sofia’s question still on my mind, the Post-it note still on the fridge — and when I went back to Elena’s recipe box I found myself reaching past the pozole card for her Chicken Tinga, which she used to make in the same pot, in the same October light, with the same dried chiles soaking in hot water on the counter. It’s a different dish but it carries the same smell, the same feeling: smoke and chile and something ancient. This is the recipe I’m sharing here, because it’s the one that made the kitchen feel, for a few hours, like the people we were building the ofrenda for had never really left.

Chicken Tinga

Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 30 min | Total Time: 45 min | Servings: 6

Ingredients

• 2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken thighs
• 1 can (28 oz) crushed fire-roasted tomatoes
• 3–4 chipotle chiles in adobo sauce, plus 2 tsp adobo sauce
• 1 medium white onion, half sliced thin, half quartered (for poaching)
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 cup chicken broth
• 1 tsp dried Mexican oregano
• 1/2 tsp ground cumin
• 1/2 tsp smoked paprika
• 1 tsp kosher salt, plus more to taste
• 2 tbsp neutral oil (avocado or vegetable)
• 2 bay leaves
• Fresh cilantro, sliced radish, and warm tortillas for serving

Instructions

1. Poach the chicken. Place chicken thighs in a medium pot with the quartered onion half, bay leaves, 1/2 tsp salt, and enough water to cover by 2 inches. Bring to a gentle boil, then reduce heat and simmer uncovered for 18–20 minutes until cooked through. Transfer chicken to a plate; reserve 1/2 cup poaching liquid. Discard aromatics. When cool enough to handle, shred chicken with two forks into rough, uneven pieces.
2. Build the sauce. In a blender, combine the crushed tomatoes, chipotle chiles, adobo sauce, garlic, oregano, cumin, smoked paprika, remaining 1/2 tsp salt, and the reserved poaching liquid. Blend until smooth. Taste — if you want more heat, add another chile.
3. Sauté the onion. Heat oil in a wide, heavy skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat. Add the sliced onion and cook, stirring occasionally, for 6–8 minutes until softened and beginning to caramelize at the edges.
4. Simmer the tinga. Pour the blended sauce into the skillet with the onions. It will spit — stand back. Stir to combine and cook over medium heat for 5 minutes, letting the sauce deepen and darken. Add the chicken broth and bring to a low boil.
5. Add the chicken. Fold the shredded chicken into the sauce. Reduce heat to medium-low and simmer uncovered for 10–12 minutes, stirring occasionally, until the sauce clings to the chicken and the edges of the skillet begin to char slightly. Adjust salt as needed.
6. Serve. Pile onto warm corn tortillas and top with fresh cilantro, sliced radish, a squeeze of lime, and a little crumbled cotija if you have it. Serve with Mexican rice and refried beans for a full spread.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 295 | Protein: 34g | Fat: 11g | Carbs: 14g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 670mg