My dad made two things when I was growing up: Saturday morning pancakes and salsa. Both were foods of adaptation. He is a Tapatio, a native of Guadalajara, Jalisco, who immigrated to the U.
S. at the age of 21. He taught himself how to make the classic American breakfast for his American-born children.
We covered our from-scratch pancakes with syrup and downed them like they were our birthright. As for the salsa, Dad’s has no specific reference to Guadalajara. It’s simply the kind of salsa he could make using the ingredients available in the suburban grocery stores of Denver, Colorado, where we lived.
As a kid I didn’t even know there was a name for it: salsa fresca, or fresh salsa, made with fresh ingredients rather than from dried chiles, which are used for most salsas. I knew it only as “Dad’s salsa.” And just as he taught me how to ride a bicycle and hit a baseball (well, sort of), he taught me how to make it.
It’s simply chopped onion, diced jalapeños, a handful of cilantro, and a can of whole tomatoes. (No garlic. Never garlic.
I don’t know why.) Throw it all into the blender and pulse until it’s well-mixed, but still a little chunky. These days I’ll seed and devein the jalapenos for a milder heat.
My dad always liked his spicy enough to bring tears to your eyes, which is another reason why we called it Dad’s salsa: It was often too hot for the rest of us. But this version is a salsa for all of us. It’s incredibly easy to make in a way I maybe t.