Lately I’ve been wanting something from my childhood. Not a specific memory, not even a person—just a feeling. That quiet, grounding kind of comfort that settles in your chest and makes you feel like things might be okay, at least for a moment.
So I cooked.
I made chicken tinga and chicken mole. It was my first time ever making tinga, which feels funny to say out loud because chicken mole is something I make all the time. I don’t follow a strict recipe anymore I just know when it smells right, when it tastes right. Tinga felt new, but familiar enough that I trusted myself with it.
While I was cooking, I kept thinking about this moment from years ago when I was living in Vegas. My ex and an old friend asked me to make something “traditionally Mexican,” and I remember freezing. I didn’t know how to answer that then, and I still don’t now. I don’t know where the line is between traditional and Americanized, because the food I grew up with didn’t come with labels—it was just what we ate.
I remember being at my grandmother’s house, eating frijoles with a tortilla on the side. The tortilla had mayo on it. That was normal. That was home. No one explained it, no one questioned it—it just existed, the same way families do.
I think that’s why cooking feels so grounding for me now. I’m not trying to recreate something perfectly or prove that I belong to any specific category. I’m just trying to make something that feels familiar. Something that reminds me I come from somewhere, even if my memories are layered and a little blurry around the edges.
Making a dish I’d never made before alongside one I know by heart felt right. Like standing with one foot in the past and one foot in the present. Like honoring where I’ve been while still letting myself try something new. The food didn’t need to be perfect. It just needed to be warm, filling, and real.
When I was looking up chicken tinga recipes, I discovered that even Paula Deen has one. I briefly considered making it. I did not. Instead, like always, I called my mom. She gave me a very loose, very vibes-based explanation of how she’d make it, and I did my best to turn that into something resembling a coherent recipe. Which honestly feels more true to how I learned to cook anyway.
Ingredients
Chicken
- 3 lbs chicken thighs or leg quarters
(bone-in, skin-on for flavor or boneless/skinless for ease) - salt
- black pepper
- vegetable oil
Sauce Base
- 1 large onion, sliced or chopped
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 large (28 oz) can diced tomatoes
(or 2 smaller 14.5 oz cans) - 7.5 oz can chipotle peppers in adobo
- dried oregano (or 1 tsp fresh)
- ground cumin (optional but nice)
- 1 cup chicken broth
Instructions
1. Brown the Chicken
Heat oil in a large skillet or Dutch oven over medium-high heat.
Season chicken with salt and pepper. Brown well on one side (or both sides if boneless).
You’re not cooking it through—just building flavor. Remove chicken and set aside.
2. Build the Sauce
Add about 3 tbsp oil to the same pan.
Add onion and cook, scraping up browned bits, until soft and lightly golden.
Add garlic and cook 1–2 minutes until fragrant.
Stir in:
- Tomatoes (with juices)
- Chipotle peppers or chipotle powder
- Oregano
- Cumin
- Chicken broth
Bring to a simmer and cook 15–20 minutes, letting everything soften and come together.
3. Blend (Optional but Recommended)
Remove sauce from heat. Let cool slightly, then blend until smooth
(or leave chunky if you want a more rustic texture).
Taste and adjust salt.
4. Cook Until Tender
Place chicken in a large baking dish or return it to the pot.
Pour sauce over chicken.
- Oven method: Bake uncovered at 350°F for 45 minutes
- Stovetop method: Simmer covered on low for 45–60 minutes
Chicken should be very tender and easy to shred.
5. Shred + Finish
Remove chicken, shred with forks, discard skin/bones if needed.
Return shredded chicken to the sauce and stir to combine.
Simmer 5–10 more minutes so everything gets cozy.
