Barbacoa Tacos

The pit-roasting technique is pre-Hispanic and Mesoamerican, but the lamb that defines classic barbacoa is colonial: sheep arrived with the Spanish in the 16th century, and barbacoa de borrego is an indigenous earth-oven method applied to a European animal. The word itself entered Spanish from the Taíno language of the Caribbean and is the direct ancestor of the English barbecue. Within Hidalgo, the town of Actopan is widely called the cradle of the dish. As a taco it is the weekend street institution of the central highlands and Mexico City; northern Mexico instead favors barbacoa de cabeza, the whole cow's head, and the beef versions common at city stands reflect that as much as cost. The taco is not a separate invention but the everyday way the pit dish is sold and eaten.

Moist, faintly smoky strands of meat, soft enough to shred under a fork yet still distinct — never paste — carrying a vegetal, lightly sweet note from the maguey leaf it steamed in. On the tortilla it is dressed simply: raw onion, cilantro, a smoky salsa borracha or a green one, lime. The other half of the ritual is the consomé, a deep, fat-glossed broth of the drippings cooked with chickpeas and rice, sipped between bites or spooned over the taco. Best at 8 a.m., elbow to elbow at a folding table.

This is steaming, not dry roasting. The sealed pit traps the moisture the meat and leaves give off, holding a humid heat over many hours that breaks the connective tissue down into gelatin, which is why pit meat shreds so cleanly. The maguey leaves are first toasted over flame until pliable so they wrap without tearing; as they heat they release moisture and aromatic compounds that lend the meat an earthy sweetness. The clever part is the catch-pot set beneath: every drop of rendered fat and juice falls into a broth of chickpeas, rice and chile, so the meat above and the consomé below cook from the same drippings, nothing lost. For the taco the cooled meat is simply chopped and warmed to order.