Kazia Jankowski - big world | small kitchen

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Black Bean and Chorizo Tortas

All the years I lived in Spanish speaking countries, I never had a Latin lover. But now that I live in the United States, the men in my life come hand-in-hand with Mexican food. Or at least that’s been the case this year.

It all started at the beginning of spring with a writer from New York City. We’d met years ago at a workshop in Ohio. He’d spent a summer in Argentina, and during the workshop, I wrote a short, lyrical story about tacos al carbon, grilled beef tacos. The story stuck so that when the NYC writer showed up in Denver for a conference this year, we fell into easy conversation about tacos, tortillas, and bike rides to get them. So animated were we that after the conference, we continued talking. Via countless emails. A trip to New York City. And promises of a summer together in Denver. But then one day, the NYC writer called, as he was making a Mexican potato salad (poblanos and russets) and announced that he’d ditched his Denver plans–and it was time to do the same with me. I cleared my throat, said okay, and wondered how long it would take to undo the knot in my stomach.

The answer: Not long. Shortly thereafter I went to the National Restaurant Association show in Chicago. I went for work, by myself, but I set up dinner with a friend of friends. He was a chef; the top chef, as fate would have it, of the world’s fastest growing Mexican restaurant chain. The night that I met Chef, as we’ll call him, he’d just returned from opening his restaurant’s first location abroad. He was full of stories about foreigners, colored peppers, and opening day. The stories were winding and random, and to my surprise they didn’t end that night. Instead, they turned into emails about trips to Italy, calls about Thomas Keller, and more dinners.

At one of those dinners, I happened to ask Chef his age. I knew he was older than me. I thought maybe 15 years. But the answer was 23 years. To that, I spilled my wine on his couch. He took it well; the sofa was black, but we never quite recovered. After my initial shock, I pushed forward with questions that rarely get asked in the beginning of a relationship. What about kids? What about his daughter? Finally, by the time, I started proposing the ideas most people start a relationship with (let’s make dinner together), he was overwhelmed and ready to board a plane for a summer of business travel.

That’s how I found myself making tortas, the quintessential Mexican street sandwiches, alone last weekend. I had no more men to love—but I had plenty of Mexican recipes, time to make them, and friends to eat them. So Saturday morning, I headed to Rancho Liborio, Denver’s Hispanic version of Costco. Then, I dropped into the panaderia for crusty bolillos, Mexican hoagies. And by midday, I was marinating red onions in vinegar and blending fire roasted tomatoes with smoky chipotles.

Tortas are everyday Mexican sandwiches—and it felt good to get my hands dirty with ordinary matters: smearing beans over bread and mashing avocados. While the traditional torta layers some combination of meat, avocado, tomato, onions, cheese, and sauce, mine were slightly fancier. I wedged black beans seasoned with meaty chorizo, tangy goat cheese, mashed avocado, crispy romaine lettuce, earthy chipotle sauce, sweet-and-tangy marinated red onions, and spicy pickled jalapenos in a bolillo. Then, I pulled out the Saran Wrap and packed them away for friends. As I did so, it occurred to me, maybe next time, I needed a man a bit more like this Mexican food. Solidly traditional, with just a twist of something new.

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