Tía Rosa's Mother's Day Brunch: The Recipe + the Trip
Mother's Day weekend in Coyoacán with Tía Rosa as hostess and head chef. The chilaquiles divorciados that made Brian cry. The cookbook in progress. The family table. Y la receta — la de verdad, sin atajos.
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Mira, every Mother's Day for the last six years we have flown to CDMX. Not for me — for Tía Rosa. She is sixty-four, she lives alone in Coyoacán since Tío Beto passed, and she is the woman who taught me how to make every single thing I know how to cook. The deal is simple: she hosts, she cooks, we show up, and on Sunday morning we sit at her enormous painted table and she serves us chilaquiles divorciados that — no manches — are the reason I am writing this post. Brian cried at the table last year. Brian. Cried. Into his huevos.
So this is two things: a trip recap for Mother's Day weekend in CDMX, and the recipe Tía Rosa finally — finally — let me write down. She has been editing cookbooks in Mexico City for thirty-one years and her own recipes have, until this year, lived only in her head. She is currently writing her first solo cookbook (working title: La Mesa de Rosa, target publisher: Tía Rosa won't say, ándale tía, suéltalo). This is a sneak peek, with her permission, in her exact words where possible. Aquí va.
The trip: Mother's Day in CDMX is its own holiday
Mexican Mother's Day is May 10th — fixed date, not a movable Sunday like the US version. This means our family does both, because we are extra: we celebrate the US Mother's Day on the second Sunday of May (with the kids, in Austin or CDMX depending on the year) AND we celebrate Mexican Mother's Day on May 10th (always with Tía Rosa and, when she can travel, Abuela). This year both fell within the same long weekend, so we flew Friday and stayed until Wednesday. Six days. Five brunches. I gained three pounds. No regrets, ni uno.
We stayed at our usual Roma Norte spot for two nights, then moved to Coyoacán for the last three so we could roll out of bed and walk to Tía Rosa's. Here's my Booking search for Coyoacán — the neighborhood is leafy, walkable, has the Casa Azul, the market, and the best café-de-olla in the city. Ándale.
The brunch table
Sunday, May 10, 9am — Tía Rosa starts at 6, by 9 the kitchen is "in its second act." The menu:
- Chilaquiles divorciados — verde y roja, crema y queso fresco al medio
- Huevos estrellados on top, runny yolks
- Frijoles refritos with epazote
- Pan dulce from La Vasconia (her bakery since 1973)
- Café de olla, champurrado for the kids
- Papaya with lime, because Sophie demanded it
Tía Rosa's chilaquiles divorciados — the actual recipe
Serves 6. Tía Rosa's notes are in italics.
Tortilla chips
20 day-old corn tortillas. Día anterior es perfecto — más fresco se hace sopa, más viejo se rompe. Cut into sixths. Fry in vegetable oil at medium-high until golden. Drain, salt lightly.
Salsa verde
1 lb tomatillos husked. 3 serranos. 1/2 white onion. 2 garlic cloves. Boil 8 minutes until tomatillos change color. Blend with a handful of cilantro and 1 tsp salt. Cilantro al final, no al hervir.
Salsa roja
5 Roma tomatoes. 2 dried guajillos (stems/seeds out). 1 dried árbol. 1/2 white onion. 2 garlic cloves. Toast the dried chiles 30 seconds in a dry pan — solo 30, si no se amarga — then soak 10 minutes in hot water. Boil tomatoes, onion, garlic with the soaked chiles. Blend with 1 tsp salt and a pinch of cumin.
Assembly
Heat both salsas separately. Just before serving, toss half the chips in verde and half in roja — cada una en su salsa, son divorciadas, ándale. Plate side by side. Top with two fried eggs, crema, queso fresco, onion, cilantro, lime.
Serve immediately.
Los chilaquiles no esperan a nadie.
The family-table moment
Halfway through, Tía Rosa stood and made a small speech — half-Spanish, half-English, the code-switch she's used with me since I was three. "Mijita, you are the daughter your mamá would have wanted me to keep close. Brian, you are the best Texan I'll admit to liking. Mateo y Sofía, ustedes son míos." Brian cried. Again. Sophie patted his arm: "está bien, papi." Matty pretended he wasn't moved by asking for more chilaquiles in a voice that cracked.
I will remember that minute when I am eighty.
The cookbook (with Pati Jinich as the patron saint)
Tía Rosa keeps two cookbooks on her workbench at all times — both Pati Jinich. She edits in Spanish for a publishing house I am not allowed to name yet, but she says Pati's voice is "the modern voice, the bridge voice, the one that makes my work easier." High praise from a woman who once told a famous chef his mole was "competente, no más."
If you want to cook from this tradition, start with Pati Jinich's Mexican Today — it's the weeknight, family-table version. Then graduate to Pati's Mexican Table, which is the deeper regional book. Tía Rosa says both are "hechas con respeto." From her, that's the highest compliment.
The afternoon: Coyoacán market
After brunch we walked to Mercado de Coyoacán. Tía Rosa bought chiles, the kids got esquites in plastic cups. Matty: a small carved iguana. Sophie: one dried hibiscus flower now taped to her Austin bedroom wall. "Mi flor de México." Cariño, sí.
For the food-tour-curious
If you want a structured way through Coyoacán with kids, a small-group food tour is the move. Book the Coyoacán market & food tour on Viator — morning slot, tell them you have kids.
The closing, cariños
My mamá passed when I was nineteen. Tía Rosa stepped in and has stepped in every day since. Mother's Day in her dining room is the closest thing I have to a complete family table. If you have a tía, a madrina, an abuela holding the line for your motherhood — fly to her. Sit at her table. Write down the recipe.
Tía Rosa, gracias por todo. Por aguantar a Brian y su chiste de Jalisco (lo mencionó, dos veces). Por cuidar a los míos como si fueran tuyos — porque, ya sabes, lo son. Feliz Día de las Madres, tía. 💛