Caldo de Res, aka "Beef Soup," aka "Soup of Champions," aka "The Soup of Love"

After Mercedes and I returned from our honeymoon, we were wrecked.  We had the time of our lives, but driving and a lot of running around, with little time for relaxation, did us in.  Mercedes, bless her heart, felt awful.  She requested soup for dinner, and I obliged.


Ordinarily, I don't get excited about soup night.  Most soups don't provide enough sustenance to leave you satisfied.  You'll just get up later and microwave some nachos or something, which is something I don't recommend.  


In fact, I can take or leave soup.  If it's served as a first course, I'll certainly eat it without complaint, but if it's not, I'm not going to raise a big stink about it.  I'm that much closer to steak, that's how I feel about it.  


When I was growing up in Port Lavaca, Texas, the restaurant I frequented most was El Patio.  As I was leaning into my second enchilada, I would see this old guy at a nearby table eating caldo de res.  On the one hand, I'm destroying this plate of enchiladas so who wants a bowl of soup?  If I wanted a bowl of soup, I would have gone to my grandma's for lunch.  


On the other, this soup had a slab of steak in it, and it looked like the guy was really enjoying it.  He never lifted his head - his mouth stayed poised just above the bowl.  He had a spoon in one hand and a tortilla in the other.  It's arguable that I've never seen someone eat with such focus.  It must be noted that caldo, as it's commonly known, is said to be one of those fabled hangover cures.  Judging by this fella, shit must work.  Why the heck not?  He's got a whole day ahead of him.  Eat a bowl of soup to clear the senses, then lay into another twelve pack.  Seems alright to me.  Salut, old fella!  


That was over half a lifetime ago and now I want to try soup with a slab of steak in it, and I want tortillas and rice with it and so does Mercedes.  I set to work on it Wednesday afternoon.


Like most Tex-Mex dishes, caldo's origins are humble.  It was meant to be easy to make and filling enough so the men could work long days under the unforgiving South Texas sun.  Also, Tex-Mex ranks among one of the more resourceful cuisines.  Upon arrival from Mexico, immigrants had to make do with what was on hand to create reasonable facsimiles of the dishes they enjoyed in Mexico.  For example, their efforts to recreate mole resulted in chili.  


This resourcefulness, combined with impeccable technique (I can't imagine making tortillas without my trusty food processor) and care, yielded a regional cuisine that is as thrilling as it is satisfying.  For me, eating Tex-Mex is an occasion for joy every single time.  The fooderati's consistent besmirching of this cuisine is damn near criminal, if you ask me, and, of course, born of snobbery.  Happily, there are folks such as Robb Walsh who treat it with the reverence it so richly deserves.  If you're anything like me, drop everything and hie it down to El Real, where Tex-Mex receives its due respect.  


Back to the soup.  Like I said, caldo is, typically, a relatively simple preparation. To grossly oversimplify, take a slab of beef, chop up a bunch of vegetables, put it all in a big pot, cover with water, and wait.  A couple of hours of so later and you're in for good eating.  


I took few liberties with the recipe itself.  I reserved my culinary poesy for presentation. Instead of chopping the vegetables into big chunks, I julienned them.  I just like the way julienned vegetables look.  They make soups pretty.  I said it.  Julienned vegetables make soup pretty.  Of course, I couldn't julienne the corn.  Doesn't mean I didn't consider it.  


After letting the steak simmer along with beef broth and tomatoes to let the meat reach a newborn could eat it tenderness, it was time to add the vegetables.  It became evident to me almost immediately that our pot was not going to nearly accommodate everything.  I solved this crisis by simply dragging out another pot.  I was afraid that there was going to be one inferior pot of soup and one kick-ass pot.  I tried to apportion everything equally to avoid this.  I'm getting a bit ahead of myself, but as it turns out, the pot I assumed would yield the inferior soup turned out to be the oh-so slightly more kick-ass pot.  We have gallons of soup left.  We need to buy a bigger pot.  


This soup is not complete without corn tortillas.  Not flour tortillas, and not the package of 1000 corn tortillas that seem like a steal until you want a tortilla later and find them all torn up in the back of your fridge.  No sir, this meal called for homemade corn tortillas.  I've made a few batches now, and I'm spoiled.  


Believe me, you don't have to be a genius to make them.  Having a food processor helps tremendously, but someone more patient than I am can probably mix masa and water in a bowl until proper consistency is achieved.  


After kneading the dough, you roll them out.  Actually, I don't roll them out.  I've tried, and they always wind up looking like some Salvador Dali nightmare creature.  A tortilla press would be helpful, but until we get one, I found some excellent advice on Amazon while doing some window shopping.  In lieu of a press, you can press a ball of dough between two heavy pans.  Take a freezer bag and cut down the sides so that you have one long thick piece of plastic.  Take a heavy pan and and turn it upside down.  Put the plastic on the pan, and then place a ball of dough on one side.  Place the other side of the plastic over the dough ball, and then, with the other pan, press down hard.  You'll likely have to do this several times.  After you've formed the tortilla (you'll be amazed at how round they are!  Heck, I was), peel it off the plastic.  This is probably the most difficult part of the process but after a bit of practice, it becomes almost effortless.  All that's left is to put your tortillas on a hot griddle/in a hot skillet/on a comal and fry them until they look like tortillas.  


Should I just make an instructional video?  Until then, feast your eyes, food lovers:

This was no ordinary bowl of soup.  We ate caldo for two nights, and both nights we ate like Masters of the Universe.  After one bowl (I dumped rice in mine) and tortillas, we were full as ticks.  I've eaten lots of good meals, meals better than this one, but this one will be one embedded into memory.  One thing's for certain:  this is the most soul-satisfying meal I've had had in recent memory.  Undeniably, an atmosphere of good cheer and cooler temperatures heightened the sensation.  Still, and this is the highest praise I can give, I can't imagine having eaten anything else at that time.   


Soup.  YOU figure it out!


Oh yeah, I also had one of these bad boys:

They're cheap at your neighborhood Fiesta grocer.  Nothing else would've done.