The day my dad walked out of the hospital after being brought back to life after spending two weeks in the ICU was a day I’ll never forget.
My dad is from Guadalajara, Jalisco. He grew up in the streets and became an orphan at 11-years-old. He lived in abandoned cars and at some point, he bunked it with Marco Antonio Solis himself aka “El Buki,” (but that’s another recipe!) and hitchhiked his way from Guadalajara to Tijuana. Then to Mexicali where he built a life for himself working at the Mexican border for aduana, Mexico’s customs division. He eventually met my mom in what I call his “world tour” when he made a pit stop in in Puerto Vallarta during his no-destination-way-of-life.
My mom was working at her family’s marisquería (seafood restaurant) along with her ten sisters. They were all beautiful, with high cheekbones and big, thick black hair. But my dad’s eye was always on my mom, he says.
I don’t know how or when exactly my costeña mom learned to make Guadalajara’s signature dish, but carne en su jugo is the dish that my dad always dreams about on Sundays.
It’s also the dish that he asked for when he walked out of the hospital on that miraculous day.
Carne en su jugo translates to “beef in its own juices,” and to me, it tastes somewhere between pho and a plate of carne asada tacos. It’s a brothy stew of finely chopped steak and tender beans in an intensely savory beef stock fortified with Worcestershire, soy sauce, onions, garlic, and tomatillos. If you’re ever in Guadalajara, Karne Garibaldi is a restaurant solely dedicated to making and serving this dish. It is also known for breaking the Guinness World Record for serving it in 13.5 seconds after ordering! It’s an impressive choreography that involves hosts, servers, managers, and cooks talking to each other via headsets to have your order ready the moment you sit down at your table. They serve it with the most incredible refried beans deliciously whipped with lard and fresh corn kernels; it is more of a savory frosting than refried beans. Tortillas that are lightly oiled, toasted, and then steamed are also served, of course. Along with thicc guacamole and caramelized whole spring onions.
When I eat this dish, I need nothing more.
I’ve taken lots of liberties with this recipe because that’s how my dad lived his life and I’m absolutely the black sheep in the family. One of those freedoms is buying shabu-shabu beef to get the thinnest cut of beef imaginable. In Jalisco, the butcher will custom slice a piece of beef specifically for this dish to ensure it is razor thin, which is key to this dish. I have yet to find anything that gets me closer to the razor thinness of mortadella, but I found the perfect alternative in the shabu-shabu section of my Asian market. If I can’t make a special trip for shabu-shabu, I buy boneless short ribs. I put the meat on a plate and stick in the freezer for 15 to 20 minutes. It firms up just enough to allow me to thinly slice it with my sharpest knife.
The average Tapatío (what you call someone born and raised in Guadalajara) might not approve, but I also go more tart than beefy (shocking, I know!) by adding a healthy dose of tomatillos to the broth. It adds a layer of delicious tartness that’s so, so good against the richness of the beef.
Did I mention there is crispy bacon in carne en su jugo?
I don’t believe in heaven, but this dish is heavenly.
This recipe’s mixtape reminds me of my college years in Guadalajara
xoxo