Comal (pronounced koh ‑MAHL)

A comal is a smooth, flat griddle used across Mexico, Central America and parts of South America for cooking tortillas and arepas, toasting spices and nuts, and searing meats. Traditional comales are usually made from clay (barro), used since pre‑Hispanic times; modern cooks often prefer carbon‑steel comales, which heat quickly and evenly (similar to carbon‑steel French omelette pans). Cast‑iron models exist but are less common. Shapes vary: round comales sit on a single burner, while elongated ones span two or more burners. In indigenous communities, comales are passed down through generations because a well‑tempered comal cooks more evenly and quickly. The word comes from the Nahuatl comalli, and archaeological evidence of comales dates back to around 700 BCE.

Rick’s note: My everyday comales are carbon‑steel—about 14 inches across. I picked them up in the mercado in Mazatlán, and I love how fast they heat, which is ideal for fresh tortillas in seconds. I also have several large comales that span four burners on my 36‑inch stove plus a couple of cast‑iron and clay ones. Cast iron and barro hold heat beautifully but take longer to preheat; carbon‑steel heats almost instantly, so I can char tortillas, blister chiles and toast spices without waiting. Real estate matters, too: my big steel comal holds three large flour tortillas or several corn tortillas at once, keeping the food (and me!) happy and hot.

Molcajete (pronounced mohl‑kah‑HEH‑teh)

A molcajete is the traditional Mexican mortar, paired with a pestle called a tejolote. Authentic molcajetes are hand‑carved from vesicular basalt, a porous volcanic rock formed when gases escape from cooling lava. This rock’s vesicular texture makes it ideal for grinding chiles, spices and herbs because it grips ingredients while releasing their oils. The tool dates back to pre‑Hispanic Mesoamerican cultures and has remained a staple for preparing salsas and guacamole. While basalt molcajetes are the most widespread, artisans in Yucatán also carve molcajetes from a locally quarried white, chalk‑like stone; this lighter‑colored rock yields a smoother exterior but retains a rough grinding surface. Modern imitations made of cement should be avoided; genuine volcanic or stone molcajetes give food a unique mineral flavor and stand up to decades of use.

Use & Care

Curing: Before its first use, a basalt molcajete must be cured by grinding coarse salt or raw rice to smooth the interior and remove loose grit. Repeat until the ground rice or salt remains white.
Cleaning: Rinse with water and a stiff brush (no soap) and allow to air dry.
Variants: Molcajetes are made from whatever material is locally abundant. In regions with plentiful volcanic rock, they’re carved from vesicular basalt. Where clay is abundant, craftspeople form clay molcajetes with grooved interiors; these work well for grinding but require a delicate touch. In forested areas, artisans carve wooden molcajetes with sharp interior ridges that function like a traditional mortar; they’re sturdy yet need gentler pressure than stone. In the Yucatán, some molcajetes are carved from a white, chalk‑like stone. Each type is used for grinding (not just serving); technique and pressure should vary with the material.

Rick’s note: I adore molcajetes and own around ten of them. My most treasured one was a gift from my grandfather when I was 19. He handed it to me with a bag of rice… I spent an afternoon curing it by grinding the rice until smooth and have used it ever since. I also have less‑common versions made from Yucatecan white stone, clay and wood. Each material has its own feel—clay and wood require a lighter touch, while basalt can take vigorous grinding.

Nixtamalización (pronounced neesh ‑tah‑mah‑li‑SA‑sion)

Nixtamalización is the ancient Mesoamerican process of soaking and cooking maize kernels in an alkaline solution (traditionally limewater), then washing and hulling them. This chemical transformation breaks down hemicellulose and loosens the hulls, making the corn easier to grind, more digestible and vastly more nutritious. By unlocking niacin and amino acids like tryptophan, the process prevented pellagra and other deficiency diseases, and it made it possible to form masa—the dough used for tortillas, tamales and countless other staples. The significance of nixtamalization cannot be overstated; as the Mexican saying goes, “Sin maíz, no hay país” (“Without corn, there is no country”). Without this method, maize would have remained difficult to digest and nutritionally poor, and the energy needed to build civilizations such as the Maya and Aztec empires might never have materialized.

Historical Significance

Origins: Evidence of nixtamalization dates back to 1200‑1500 BC in Mesoamerica.
Impact: The process allowed societies to rely on maize as a staple crop by making its nutrients bioavailable and its dough workable. This nutritional leap underpinned the growth of complex cultures, cities and monumental architecture across what is now Mexico.

Rick’s note: “Sin maíz, no hay país” isn’t just a slogan—it’s a reminder that nixtamalization literally fueled Mesoamerican civilizations. Today, fewer home cooks in urban areas nixtamalize their own corn, but many farmers, ranchers, mercados and restaurants still do. I’m lucky to live two blocks from a tortillería that nixtamalizes its corn in-house; I often buy their fresh tortillas and masa to make tamales, huaraches, gorditas or to thicken a guiso or mole. When I need a shelf‑stable option, I look for masa harina (nixtamalized corn flour) rather than generic cornmeal. Brands like Maseca are fine in a pinch, but they use highly processed, engineered corn and lack the depth of flavor I crave. Companies like Masienda, which mill heirloom Mexican corn into masa harina, offer beautiful gold, red, blue and yellow varieties that taste incredible and are much easier to work with than nixtamalizing corn at home (which requires a proper grinder).

Adobo (Mexican style)

Adobo refers to a family of sauces and marinades made by blending dried chiles with vinegar or citrus juice, garlic, onions, cumin, oregano and other spices. In Mexico, adobo is a thick, red chile‑based sauce used as a condiment or to marinate meats and seafood. Variations may include chipotle or ancho chiles; the resulting paste adds smoky, spicy depth and is famous for dishes like chipotles en adobo.

Rick’s note: A good adobo base is a cook’s secret weapon. I always make a large batch—enough to fill several half‑cup or one‑cup containers—and freeze it. Having frozen adobo on hand means I can quickly marinate pork, chicken, beef, fish or vegetables; whisk it into a glaze for barbecuing or roasting; or stir a spoonful into a guiso, stew or tamal filling for an instant hit of smoky‑spicy flavor. It’s one of the easiest ways to add depth and character to a dish without starting from scratch every time.

Pipián (Sauce)

Pipián refers to a family of Mexican sauces that, like moles, combine chiles, aromatics, spices and a thickening agent, but are distinguished by their seed‑ and nut‑forward character. Traditional versions use toasted pumpkin seeds (pepitas) to thicken and enrich the sauce, though cooks also employ sesame seeds, peanuts, almonds, sunflower seeds or other nuts and seeds depending on what’s available. The base can vary widely: some pipianes start with tomatillos and green chiles; others with puréed squash, sweet potatoes, pumpkin, masa, tomatoes or other vegetables. Because of this diversity, pipianes can be green, red, orange or earthy brown.

A typical pipián includes chiles for heat and complexity, while the seeds and nuts lend body, nuttiness and subtle umami. These sauces are less chile‑dominant than many moles and incredibly versatile: they can be served over roasted poultry, pork, vegetables or fish; used as an enchilada sauce; or spooned over beans and rice. Toasting the seeds and nuts before blending amplifies their flavor and fragrance.

Rick’s note: Pipianes are one of my favorite sauce families. Toasting seeds and nuts until fragrant, then blending them into a cooked salsa or guiso, creates layers of nuttiness and umami. You don’t need special ingredients—use whatever nuts or seeds you have. In my recipes, I give measurements by weight so you can substitute freely: if a recipe calls for 50 g of pepitas, you can swap in 50 g of almonds, cashews, peanuts or sesame seeds. The result is always deeply flavorful and wonderfully adaptable.

Comal (pronounced koh ‑MAHL)