When I was growing up in Chihuahua, Mexico, family Sundays revolved around one thing: carne asadas, or backyard barbecues. We’d spend hours outside, grilling meat and veggies, playing games and simply enjoying each other’s company. For us, these carne asadas weren’t just meals—they were a cornerstone of our family life.
To this day, these carne asadas are what pull my family together. My siblings and their families still gather at my parents’ house almost every Sunday, and sometimes on Saturdays, too. Sure, things look different now than they did 20 years ago. The kids who once played soccer barefoot in the yard are now grown, watching as their own kids splash around in the pool. And the grill has been replaced at least once. But the heart of it all? That hasn’t changed a bit: celebrating family around our favorite foods and creating memories that will last a lifetime. This summer, sharing it with my own kid confirmed it. If there’s one thing I miss most about my hometown, it’s this tradition.
The menu hasn’t changed much over the years. It’s almost always grilled meat, served with salsa, guacamole and warm tortillas along with my mom’s tostadas de nopales and her frijoles charros. If you’ve never had frijoles charros—also known as Mexican cowboy beans—you might be expecting the typical refried beans served next to tacos at your local taqueria. But these are something else entirely. Think of them more like a hearty stew or a brothy soup—comforting, deeply flavorful and built to nourish.
Frijoles charros are thought to have originated during colonial times in northern Mexico. Back then, cowboys (or charros) spent long days working under the sun with limited access to food. They needed something filling, nourishing and accessible—something that could simmer all day and still taste like home. These beans fit the bill perfectly: nutrient-dense, made with pantry staples and loaded with soul.
As their popularity spread throughout the country, each region gave the dish its own spin. Some recipes call for black beans, others for pinto beans. The most common version includes chorizo, sausage and chiles, but my mom’s version is simpler. Just chorizo and bacon—but still tons of flavor.
What makes her beans special starts with the way she cooks them. She uses a slow cooker, letting pinto beans simmer on Low for eight hours with just onion and garlic. The result? Beans so tender they practically melt in your mouth, with a broth that’s rich and savory on its own. From there, she crisps up bacon and chorizo, softens tomato and onion and stirs it all together with fresh cilantro and salt.
Frijoles charros are technically a side dish, not the star of the show—but try telling that to anyone who’s had a taste. While they pair beautifully with grilled meat—steak, pork, chicken, you name it—these beans can absolutely steal the spotlight.
Just ask my father-in-law. He hates onions. And not in the casual “I’ll just pick them off” way. No, he’s the kind of person who’d rather skip the entire dish if there’s even a hint of onion involved. Last year, when both sets of parents came to visit after our baby was born, my mom brought along a big container of her famous frijoles charros. She said it was to “feed our souls”—and of course, she was right.
My father-in-law took one spoonful and couldn’t stop raving. He went back for seconds. He even asked for the recipe. Then we told him: they had onions. Lots of them. He paused, blinked and just said, “Well … I didn’t even notice.”
That’s the thing about my mom’s frijoles charros. They’re more than just a recipe. They’re a legacy—a reminder of those backyard gatherings I grew up with, of the way food brings us together across generations and of how the simplest dishes often carry the most love.
Photos: Jason Donnelly, Food: Sammy Mila, Props: Breanna Ghazali.
