Chile

This vegetarian take on a traditional Mexican red pozole—pozole being the name not only of a type of stew, often made with pork, but also of the large dried corn kernels (hominy) integral to the mixture—is rich and satisfying. The accompaniments are an essential and fun part of the dish, adding some fresh crunch to the toothsome bite of hominy, beans, and vegetables. It's the perfect meal to have waiting on the back of the stove for family and friends as they straggle in from near and far for a holiday weekend.

When stripped of their skin and bones, turkey thighs can look a bit, well, naked. But once they're slathered with a spice paste pungent with garlic, chili powder, and cumin, and then grilled, you'll think you're eating the most tender turkey steak ever, cooked well done, of course. And that, right there, is the beauty of turkey thighs: They can handle the heat, and even if the thermometer goes beyond the ideal of 170°F, the thigh meat will still be juicy and delicious.

This variation on the "little swamp" theme features sourdough bread and those ever-appealing Southwest seasonings: fresh chilies, cilantro, cumin, and corn.

Whether you're serving breakfast, brunch, lunch, or dinner, this flavor-packed shakshuka is welcome at the table anytime.

Drizzle this fragrant honey over your favorite cheese, or use it as a condiment on prosciutto panini.

Forget the salad. This colorful assortment of vegetables will stay fresh and snappy on the buffet all night long.

Chef Todd Aarons of Tierra Sur at Herzog Wine Cellars in Oxnard, California, shared this recipe as part of a Hanukkah cocktail party menu he created exclusively for Epicurious. Aarons insists this dish is even better the next day, so braise the meat the day before then quickly assemble the sliders before serving. The spicy pulled brisket also makes great tacos, served with corn tortillas and garnished with red onion and chopped fresh cilantro.

The acidity of the tomatillos beautifully balances the fat of the pork shoulder, so when serving the tacos there is no need for lime wedges. The onion and additional cilantro provide crunch and fragrance.

Chef Ricardo Muñoz Zurita invented this unusual vegetarian entrée in part to support the indigenous people of Oaxaca, who grow and harvest hibiscus (known in Spanish as flor de Jamaica). "The recipe is very traditional," he says. "We just replace the meat with flowers." The flavor of hibiscus defines this surprising dish; meaty, tangy, and utterly irresistible.

This traditional Thai-style soup is my personal favorite. I love coconuts, and this soup is all about the coco. I like to use different ages of coconut meat to get varied textures. A more mature nut makes a chunky soup, while a younger one makes a creamy soup. I also like to use a variety of hot peppers: jalapeño, serrano, and even the super-spicy Thai chile, just to get a wide range of spiciness. Some peppers are hot as you eat them, others after you eat them; my favorites are hot only when you stop eating them.

Thailand has been heavily influenced by Indian culture. India's religion, music, and especially their food have all become part of Thailand's heritage. Curries are often thought of as an Indian thing, but Thai versions of curry are just divine. Serve this dish with Tom Yum , if desired.

You only need 2 tablespoons of this paste for the Panang Vegetable Curry. Freeze tablespoonfuls of the remaining paste on a sheet pan, then store in a plastic freezer bag for up to 2 months. Use cubes to add deep flavor to soups, stews, and rice dishes.

Texas is proud of its peaches. They're soft, juicy, floral, and sweet, and the best I've ever tasted. During the season, when you travel through lush Hill Country Texas towns such as Fredericksburg, or Central Texas towns such as Fairfield, you won't be able to go a mile without seeing a roadside stand or pickup truck filled with baskets of this cherished summertime treat. We also have a peach tree at my grandma's North Texas farm, and every July it delivers a bounty of peaches that she'll put up for later in the year. Pickling fruit is a common method of fruit preservation in Texas. Yes, there's vinegar involved, as with other types of pickles. But you also add enough sugar and warm spices to give the fruit a balance of both acidity and sweetness. If you've never tried pickled fruit, you'll be pleasantly surprised. Pickled peaches are perhaps my favorite fruit to preserve, as I love how the peaches' sweet juice combines with the piquant brine. Of course, I've added a bit of heat to my peaches, which is decidedly not traditional, but I find that the habanero's flowery notes go very well with the peaches' floral tones. These go well with a bowl of ice cream, on top of your morning oatmeal, with a freshly baked biscuit, or yes, simply eaten straight out of the jar.

In most parts of Texas, enchiladas are rolled tortillas stuffed with a filling and covered in sauce. But often in West Texas (and also New Mexico) the filling and sauce are instead layered between flat tortillas. They look a bit different, but the end taste is the same, not to mention stacked enchiladas are a heck of a lot easier to make. Another feature of stacked enchiladas is the inclusion of a fried egg on top. I don't know how this tradition came about, but it's a brilliant addition. When the yolk mixes with the sauce, its creamy transformation takes the sauce from merely delicious to truly decadent. I was born and raised a rolled-enchilada girl, but I can appreciate a plate of stacked ones, especially those made with an ancho chile sauce. And if I squint, I can see in the stack the rugged terrain of West Texas, with the egg standing in for clouds and the sun. It's West Texas on a plate.

Francis Butler grew up on the family ranch and continues to preside over the dry, windy land. The lonesomeness of ranch life, she says, was offset by "group cooks" such as the annual Thanksgiving tamale making: "Wild turkey hunting has been a West Texas sport for as long as anybody remembers, and tamale-stuffed turkey may have been an early tip of the hat to the Mexican ranch hands who've been around for at least as long as the turkey. This recipe dates back to the early 1900s. I got it from a family whose grandmother was German but had been raised in Mexico. I make it most often in the cold months, but I've been known to put a tamale-stuffed turkey in the roasting pit in my time, as well. You can use commercial tamales, of course, but I like the two-day ritual of making tamales and then making the turkey. I always double or triple the tamales and freeze the extra. These days people use more barnyard turkey than they do wild. Before you go thinking that's a sorry thing, let me tell you this. You feed your chickens or turkey some chile peppers before you decide. That spicy sweet flavor gets into the meat and you know what they mean when they say it doesn't get any better." This stuffing is also delicious in chicken and squab. Serve with high-quality corn chips, salsa, and sour cream.

Highway 84 runs from Santa Fe to Colorado. About forty minutes north of Santa Fe, the highway cuts a paved path through Ohkay Owingeh, a Native American reservation, and the roadside becomes dense with fast-food outlets, outposts of national grocery chains, Walmart, and billboards for Ohkay Casino, Hutch and Norma Naranjo's sprawling midcentury home is set about fifty years back from the road, a shrine to the tug-of-war between new ways and traditional ones. In the backyward Mr. Naranjo built two hornos (behive-shaped adobe ovens). Inside the house, a handmade wreath of dried chiles hangs on one wall and a string of made-for-tourists ceramic peppers on another. A naïve painting of St. Francis hangs not far from a cluster of the dream catchers that the couple and their two grown children fashion from string, feathers, and yarn, just as their Pueblo ancestors did. "We go to church one Sunday and dance the traditional dances the next," said Mrs. Naranjo. A retired social worker, she gives cooking classes and does a little catering. But she spends most of her mornings working the two-acre minifarm where she grows vegetables from seeds that have been passed from one Pueblo generation to another for at least a thousand years. "The history of our people is in those seeds," she says. In the evenings, when her husband builds hornos on the terraces of hotels and McMansions, Mrs. Naranjo visits the elderly women in Ohkay Owingeh, who remember life and cooking when it was closer to the land, and collects their recipes and food stories. "Our history lives in our hands as well," she says. Mrs. Naranjo moves with the efficiency of a modern professional as she smooths cornmeal paste on damp cornhusks. Tiny white kernels from several ears of heirloom corn, and diced green chiles and squash, along with a thick, bloodred chile sauce and shredded fresh cheese, are lined up in small stainless-steel bowls at the head of her tamale assembly line. She notes that tamales were stuffed with rabbit, venison, pork—whatever people had. Vegetable tamales were a fine way to make use of the gardens' overflowing crops. She swathes the dough, sprinkles filling, folds, ties, and places the tamale bundles on a rack set over water in a big enameled pot. From time to time, she glances out the window to the backyard, where her husband is feeding small, dry sticks into this new four-by-four horno. Her smaller tamales are, she says, her only concession to modernity: "People love the little ones as snacks, and Hutch and I love them in these green chile stews we make in the horno."

Editor's note: Use this recipe to make Norma Naranjo's Tamales . Mrs. Naranjo says, "A lot of these traditional dishes are being modernized. You see chefs putting spices and things in their red chile. My grandmother only used salt. I only use salt. This sauce can also be used to make red meat chile or chile filling for tamales, or to give thickness and smoky fire to other soups and stews."