Birria

The great celebration stew of Jalisco: goat or beef marinated in a deep adobo of dried chillies, Mexican oregano, cumin, and spices, then braised for hours until meltingly tender, served in its rich consommé with onion, coriander, lime, and warm tortillas

Origin: Jalisco, Mexico

From the journey of Oregano.

Birria is the great festive stew of the western Mexican state of Jalisco, the food of weddings, baptisms, and holidays, and lately, in its taco form, a global sensation. Its soul is the adobo: a paste of dried chillies (guajillo, ancho, and the fiery chile de árbol) blended with garlic, cumin, cloves, cinnamon, and a generous measure of Mexican oregano, in which the meat (traditionally goat, often now beef) is marinated and then braised for hours until it falls apart. Mexican oregano (Lippia graveolens) is essential and unmistakable here: its deep, citrus-resin pungency is built precisely for this kind of long-simmered chile sauce, where the softer Mediterranean herb would be lost. The meat is served in its own rich, red consommé, or shredded into tortillas griddled in the fat to make the now-famous quesabirria, with the consommé alongside for dipping.

Ingredients

Meat

  • 1.5 kg beef chuck or short rib (or goat shoulder), in large pieces

Adobo

  • 4 dried guajillo chillies, stemmed and deseeded
  • 3 dried ancho chillies, stemmed and deseeded
  • 2 dried chiles de árbol (adjust for heat)
  • 1 tbsp Mexican oregano
  • 1 tsp cumin seeds
  • 4 whole cloves
  • 1 stick cinnamon (5cm)
  • 5 cloves garlic
  • 1 onion, quartered
  • 3 tbsp cider or white vinegar

Braise

  • 2 bay leaves
  • 1.2 litres beef stock or water
  • 2 tsp salt, plus more to taste

To serve

  • 1 white onion, finely chopped, with coriander and lime wedges, to serve

Method

  1. Toast the dried chillies in a dry pan for 30 to 60 seconds until fragrant (do not burn them), then soak them in hot water for 20 minutes until soft.
  2. Toast the cumin, cloves, and cinnamon briefly, then blend with the drained soaked chillies, the Mexican oregano, garlic, quartered onion, vinegar, and a cup of the soaking water to a smooth adobo paste.
  3. Rub the adobo all over the meat and marinate for at least 2 hours, or overnight.
  4. Put the meat and all its adobo into a heavy pot with the bay leaves, stock, and salt. Bring to a simmer, cover, and braise gently (on the hob or in a 160°C/140°C fan oven) for about 3 hours, until the meat is falling apart.
  5. Lift out the meat and shred it, discarding any bones and the bay leaves. Skim some of the bright red fat from the top of the consommé (reserve it for frying tacos). Taste the consommé and adjust the salt.
  6. Serve the shredded meat in bowls with the consommé ladled over, topped with chopped onion, coriander, and a squeeze of lime, with warm tortillas alongside; or make quesabirria by filling tortillas with meat and cheese, griddling in the reserved fat, and serving the consommé for dipping.

Notes

Goat (birria de chivo) is the original meat in Jalisco; beef (birria de res) is now equally common and easier to find. The blend of guajillo and ancho gives colour and depth; the chiles de árbol bring the heat, so adjust to taste. Mexican oregano (Lippia graveolens) is genuinely different from Mediterranean oregano and is the authentic, defining herb; it is worth buying for this and for all your Mexican cooking.

The Gastrographer

The Gastrographer

Mapping Culinary History

To explore — select an ingredient below.

Journey Point Map Key

Ingredient originTrade or transit route
Became a culinary stapleColonial / trade control
c. 1945 CE
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12 of 12 stops
1945 CE
5000 BCE1520 CE1760 CE1945 CE
Oregano

Oregano

Origanum vulgare · Lippia graveolens

HerbsLamiaceae (true oregano, the mint family) and Verbenaceae (Mexican oregano)

🌍Origin

Mediterranean (Greece) and Mesoamerica (Mexico) — Gathered wild since deep antiquity in the mountains of the Mediterranean (Origanum vulgare); with an independent New World oregano (Lippia graveolens) used in Mesoamerica since pre-Columbian times

🌱Domestication

Oregano, more than almost any other herb, is a flavour before it is a plant. The word names not one species but a whole category of aromatic herbs, perhaps sixty of them across several genera and even separate botanical families, that share the warm, peppery, faintly bitter pungency of the compound carvacrol. Two of them matter most in the kitchen, and they are not even close relatives. True oregano is Origanum vulgare, a perennial of the mint family, Lamiaceae, native across the Mediterranean and western Eurasia; its most pungent and prized form, the Greek oregano Origanum vulgare subsp. hirtum, is the herb of the Greek and Italian table. Mexican oregano is Lippia graveolens, a shrub of the wholly unrelated verbena family, Verbenaceae, native to Mexico, Central America, and the southern fringe of the United States, with a bolder, more citrus-and-resin flavour all its own. They taste enough alike that both are called oregano, and they belong to two different worlds. In the Old World, oregano is the wild herb of the sunbaked Mediterranean hillside, gathered from the limestone mountains where it grows in dense, grey-green, sweetly resinous mats. Its very name declares this home: from the Greek, by the usual reading, oros and ganos, the joy of the mountain. It is closely bound to its gentler sibling marjoram (Origanum majorana), the sweet, mild oregano of cooler cultivation, and to the Turkish pot oregano (Origanum onites) and the Levantine wild oregano or bible hyssop (Origanum syriacum), the latter the herb of za'atar. Unusually amongst herbs, oregano gains rather than loses by drying: the slow loss of water concentrates its carvacrol and rounds its harsher notes, so that dried oregano is not a poor substitute for fresh but very often the preferred form, the only one of the great culinary herbs of which this is routinely said. In the New World, an entirely separate plant came to bear the same name. When the Spanish reached Mexico they found the indigenous peoples seasoning their food with the pungent leaves of Lippia graveolens and, recognising the familiar flavour, called it oregano too. It had already been used in Mesoamerica for thousands of years, and it remains the true oregano of the Mexican kitchen, distinct enough from the Mediterranean herb that a cook who knows both will never confuse them: where Greek oregano is sharp and herbal, Mexican oregano is deeper, more floral, with notes of citrus and a faint liquorice warmth that stand up to chilli, lime, and long-simmered chile sauces as the Mediterranean herb cannot.

Global Voyage

Oregano's story runs along two separate lines that meet only in the modern kitchen. The Old World line begins in ancient Greece, where oregano was already the joy of the mountain: a herb of weddings and of funerals, woven into the bridal crown as a promise of happiness and planted on graves so that the dead might rest in peace, sacred to Aphrodite, and prescribed by Hippocrates and Dioscorides as a medicine. Rome took the herb, the name (origanum), and the lore, seasoned with it in the recipes of Apicius, and carried it across the empire. Through the Mediterranean it became one of the defining flavours of the southern European table: the rigani that scents the Greek salad, the grilled meats, and the oil-braised vegetables of Greece; the origano that, above all in the south of Italy, is the inseparable partner of the tomato and the very breath of the pizza; and the kekik of Turkey, where oregano grows so abundantly on the Aegean hills that the country became, and remains, the largest exporter of dried oregano in the world. The New World line begins far away and long before, with the wild Lippia graveolens of the Mexican and Central American uplands, gathered and dried by the Maya and the Aztecs and woven into the cooking of Mesoamerica thousands of years before any European arrived. It is the oregano of the pozole and the menudo, the salsa and the frijoles, the birria and the mole, the herb whose deep, citrus-resin pungency is built for chilli and lime; and it spread north with the cuisine of the borderlands into the Tex-Mex and New Mexican kitchens, where it seasons the bowl of red and the red-chile pork. The two lines met, and oregano made its greatest leap, in the middle of the twentieth century. Until then the Mediterranean herb was all but unknown in the United States and northern Europe. Then the soldiers of the Second World War, stationed in Italy and Sicily, came home with a craving for the food they had eaten there, and above all for pizza; American oregano sales rose by more than five thousand per cent between 1948 and 1956, and the herb earned the nickname by which a generation knew it, 'the pizza herb'. Italian emigration carried the same taste to the River Plate, where oregano became central to the cooking of Argentina and Uruguay: the chimichurri spooned over grilled beef, the oregano-and-chilli crust of grilled provolone, and the great Italian-Argentine tradition of pizza. From a wild herb of the Greek mountains and a separate wild herb of the Mexican sierra, oregano became, in a single modern lifetime, one of the most widely used flavours on earth.

🍽Modern Culinary Role

Oregano is one of the most heavily used culinary herbs in the world, and the defining herb of two of its most popular foods: the pizza and the Greek salad. In its Mediterranean heartland it is indispensable to Greek cooking (the salad, the souvlaki, the lemon-and-oregano roast), to the southern Italian kitchen and its tomato sauces, pizzas, and grills, and to Turkish cooking, where it crowns the kebab and the grill. Turkey, Greece, and Mexico are amongst the largest producers, and Turkey dominates the global export trade in the dried herb. It is one of the very few herbs that the world prefers dried, its flavour deepening and concentrating as it dries, which has made it the great storable, shippable, year-round herb of the spice shelf. Mexican oregano (Lippia graveolens) holds its own separate and unshakeable place. It is the herb of the Mexican and Central American kitchen and of the Tex-Mex and New Mexican cooking of the borderlands, the finishing scatter on a bowl of pozole or menudo, the backbone of a chile adobo, the seasoning of beans and salsas, distinct enough from the Mediterranean herb that serious cooks keep both jars on the shelf and never substitute one for the other. Beyond the kitchen, oregano keeps its old medicinal life: oil of oregano, rich in carvacrol and thymol, is a popular antimicrobial and dietary supplement, and the herb remains a folk remedy for coughs and digestive complaints across the Mediterranean. But it is as a flavour that oregano now belongs to the whole world, carried out of two distant mountain ranges to become, by way of the pizzeria and the taqueria, one of the universal tastes of modern cooking.

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