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Several years ago, I had the privilege of visiting an Anishinaabe elder named Lucy in Southwest Detroit. During this visit, she showcased the corn she cultivated on a small plot of land. Among the ears was one adorned with unusual grey-purple growths. Lucy expressed her uncertainty about what they were. I was thrilled to explain that these growths were actually huitlacoche, a coveted fungus that develops on immature corn, and that I had a deep fondness for it.
My initial encounter with huitlacoche occurred in my childhood while visiting Mexico. This unique delicacy carries a profound earthy flavor profile, reminiscent of an intriguing fusion of mushrooms and truffles, with a subtle hint of corn sweetness trailing behind. Its umami richness delivers a savory complexity that enriches each mouthful, making it feel both familiar and exotic—evoking ancient traditions while remaining fresh and innovative. Depending on the cooking method, a slight smokiness can also emerge, deepening its flavor. Whether incorporated into quesadillas or tamales, huitlacoche offers an unmistakable taste—a true testament to the beauty of nature’s bounty.
Lucy among her plot in Southwest Detroit.
I eagerly told Lucy that I would take the huitlacoche home to surprise my mom, which filled her with excitement: “Mija! Huitlacoche!” she exclaimed joyfully.
In my childhood, the kitchen served as my mother’s sanctuary, where she combined her love for music with cooking. She often transformed the ingredients available in Detroit into traditional Mexican dishes, adapting recipes from her roots while shopping for supplies at stores like Kroger and Meijer. While places like Algo Especial in Southwest Detroit provided some essential produce, it was often not of the same caliber as what she had known back home. In those days, sourcing huitlacoche was a challenge because few people in our community cultivated corn, and Mexican markets did not typically carry it. It was only after my aunt and uncle began their corn cultivation that my mom could treat us to this special ingredient.
Since that time, Lucy has made it a point to call me whenever she finds huitlacoche, allowing me to bring it home. This connection with my Native sisters through the sharing of knowledge and traditions enriches our heritage, reminding me of the pre-colonial era when open trade routes existed, and resources were exchanged freely. It’s heartwarming to engage in this practice today, honoring our past while striving for a more connected future that respects the resources vital to our cultures.
Huitlacoche cut from the cob is washed before it’s sautéed and simmered in a pan alongside tomatoes, onions, and cheese.
Recently, my youngest sister and I found ourselves in our mother’s cozy kitchen, attempting to recreate huitlacoche quesadillas without her guidance. We carefully cut the huitlacoche from the cob, washed it, and then sautéed it in conjunction with tomatoes, onions, and cheese. A lively debate ensued over the correct ratio of water to Maseca for our handmade tortillas. Ultimately, we succeeded in creating a delicious topping of huitlacoche and green salsa.
This sense of duty and connection to our heritage was deeply embedded in my upbringing around my mother’s table. Coming from a family without generational wealth in a conventional sense, we received a rich inheritance of stories, recipes, herbal remedies, and prayers—both significant and essential to preserve. This labor of love continues to resonate through generations.
Source
www.eater.com