Quick-Simmered Huitlacoche & Sweet Corn Chicken Skillet
Listen, when I am craving the deep, earthy magic of home but it is a Tuesday night in Brooklyn and I have laundry folding itself in the corner, we do not suffer for dinner. That is when I lean on a jar of huitlacoche. Back in Oaxaca, my abuela treated corn smut like the gold it is, rich and mushroomy and savory beyond belief. Here, I pair it with frozen sweet corn and juicy chicken thighs for a skillet that feels like a Sunday mole but happens in twenty minutes. Bodega Mode: if you cannot find canned huitlacoche, use a good roasted mushroom blend, but trust me, hunt down the corn truffle if you can. We sear the chicken, build a quick, velvety sauce, melt a mountain of quesillo over the top, and finish it with a sharp squeeze of lime. Taste it—then decide. It is earthy, sweet, tangy, and entirely doable before someone asks for a snack.
Featured Recipe
Quick-Simmered Huitlacoche & Sweet Corn Chicken Skillet
Tender bite-sized chicken thighs quick-simmered in a savory, velvety huitlacoche and sweet corn sauce, topped with gooey melted quesillo and a hit of fresh lime. It is deeply earthy Oaxacan comfort made weeknight-fast with humble pantry and bodega staples.
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Timeline
Ingredients
- 1.5 lbs boneless skinless chicken thighs(cut into 1-inch bite-sized pieces)
- 1 tsp kosher salt(divided, plus more to taste)
- 0.5 tsp freshly cracked black pepper
- 2 tbsp olive oil(divided)
- 1 medium yellow onion(finely diced)
- 3 cloves garlic(minced)
- 1 serrano pepper(finely minced (stem and half the seeds discarded for medium heat))
- 1 can canned huitlacoche(7 to 8 oz can, undrained)
- 1.5 cups sweet corn kernels(fresh off the cob or frozen thawed)
- 0.5 tsp dried Mexican oregano(crushed between palms)
- 0.25 tsp ground cumin
- 0.5 cup low-sodium chicken broth
- 1 sprig fresh epazote(or 2 tbsp chopped fresh cilantro)
- 4 oz quesillo(shredded into strings (Bodega Mode: low-moisture whole milk mozzarella))
- 3 fresh radishes(thinly sliced into rounds for crunch)
- 0.25 cup fresh cilantro(roughly chopped)
- 2 limes(1 juiced for finishing, 1 cut into wedges for serving)
- 8 corn tortillas(warmed on the comal for serving)
Instructions
- 1
Toss 1.5 lbs boneless skinless chicken thighs with 0.75 tsp kosher salt and 0.5 tsp freshly cracked black pepper in a medium bowl so every piece is seasoned. Set a heavy 12-inch skillet over medium-high heat with 1 tbsp olive oil.
3 min
Tip: Chicken thighs stay juicy even during a fast sear. Don't crowd the pieces too tightly or they'll steam instead of brown.
- 2
Add the chicken to the hot skillet in a single layer and sear without moving for 3 minutes until lightly golden on the edges, then flip and cook 1 more minute. Transfer to a clean plate (it will finish cooking in the sauce later; we're not suffering for dinner with rubbery overcooked chicken).
4 min
Tip: It doesn't need to be cooked through yet—that quick simmer at the end will do the heavy lifting.
- 3
Lower the heat to medium. Add remaining 1 tbsp olive oil to the rendered drippings, then toss in 1 medium yellow onion, 3 cloves garlic, and 1 serrano pepper. Sauté for 3 minutes until the onion is soft and fragrant, scraping up any browned bits stuck to the pan.
3 min
Tip: If the pan looks dry or garlic threatens to burn, splash in a spoonful of water or broth right away.
- 4
Pour in 1 can huitlacoche with its juices, 1.5 cups sweet corn kernels, 0.5 tsp dried Mexican oregano, 0.25 tsp ground cumin, remaining 0.25 tsp kosher salt, and 0.5 cup low-sodium chicken broth. Add 1 sprig fresh epazote and bring to a lively bubble, stirring to meld that inky, savory corn truffle into a glossy sauce.
3 min
Tip: Don't be intimidated by the dark color of huitlacoche—it turns deeply velvety and brings a woodsy, truffly sweetness that pairs miraculously with sweet corn.
- 5
Nestle the seared chicken and any resting juices back into the bubbling skillet. Lower heat to medium-low, cover with a lid or foil, and let it quick-simmer gently for 6 minutes until the chicken reaches 165°F and has soaked up that earthy sauce.
6 min
Tip: Mom math cue: while this simmers, warm your tortillas on a comal or dry pan and slice the radishes.
- 6
Remove lid, discard the epazote sprig, and squeeze in the juice of 1 lime (from 2 limes). Taste it—then decide if it needs another pinch of salt. Scatter 4 oz quesillo evenly over the top, turn off the heat, and cover for 2 minutes to let the cheese turn molten and stretchy.
2 min
Tip: The cheese melts purely from residual skillet heat—no broiler required in a cramped apartment kitchen.
- 7
Uncover and hit the skillet with your bright finish: scatter 3 fresh radishes and 0.25 cup fresh cilantro right over the melted cheese. Serve family-style right from the pan with 8 corn tortillas and remaining wedges from 2 limes for squeezing.
2 min
Tip: That icy snap of raw radish and fresh lime cuts the luscious funk of huitlacoche and cheese perfectly.
Chef's Notes
Huitlacoche (sometimes called corn smut or Mexican truffle) is an ancient Mexican delicacy with a woodsy, umami-rich sweetness. Look for it canned in the Latin aisle or frozen at your local carnicería. Bodega Mode: if quesillo is hard to track down on a weeknight, low-moisture whole milk mozzarella or Monterey Jack shreds melt with that exact same gooey joy. Epazote is the classic herb partner to huitlacoche, but a couple tablespoons of fresh cilantro will step up with zero complaints.
María “Mari” Santiago
Oaxacan comfort, Brooklyn shortcuts, weeknight bright.
María “Mari” Santiago was born in Oaxaca, where her earliest kitchen memories are measured in scent: chiles toasting on a comal, cinnamon and chocolate blooming in mole, and the warm, nutty snap of a tlayuda folded in half for the walk home. She learned by watching—first her tías, then her abuela—picking up the small, practical rules that never made it into written recipes: how to tell when the garlic is *just* right, how to rescue a too-spicy salsa, and why you always taste the broth before you add the salt. Now in Brooklyn, Mari cooks the food she grew up on while raising two little kids and juggling real-life time limits. Her style is “real flavor, real life”: traditional Oaxacan and everyday Mexican dishes—moles, caldos, frijoles, enfrijoladas, salsas, and crispy tlayudas—made weeknight-friendly with smart shortcuts, brighter salsas, and more vegetables without losing the soul of the dish. She’s not precious about rules, she’s big on swaps, and she’s on a mission to prove that you can cook deeply flavorful Mexican food with what you can actually find at a normal grocery store (and still get dinner on the table before a meltdown). Mari’s recipes read like a friend texting you from the produce aisle: clear, funny, and unpretentious, with a side of abuela wisdom. If there’s a hard-to-find ingredient, she gives you a realistic alternative, tells you what will change (and what won’t), and keeps the focus where it belongs—on food that tastes like home, even when home is a small Brooklyn kitchen.