If you’re lucky enough to be in Mexico in late summer and early fall, you’ll probably catch chiles en nogada on menus everywhere. Literally “peppers in walnut sauce,” this seasonal showstopper hails from Puebla and first appeared in the 19th century as a tribute to Mexico’s independence from Spain.

Part recipe, part prayer, legend has it that Augustinian nuns in Atlixco scrambled to honor Agustín de Iturbide, the caudillo* turned emperor, when he passed through Puebla after sealing the deal on independence in Veracruz. They improvised a dish that, like waved the flag on the plate: green poblano peppers, white walnut sauce, and ruby-red pomegranate seeds.

Bite into one and it’s part warrior, part angel. The poblano is stuffed with a mix of meats and fruits (apples, pears, peaches, maybe even plantains) that somehow works. Then it’s finished with that silky walnut sauce and jeweled with pomegranate seeds, which only show up in Mexican markets through mid-September. Blink, and you’ll miss it.

And like any dish worth fighting over, chiles en nogada comes with its own rivalry: capeados (egg-battered and fried) vs. sin capear (left in their natural roasted state). Purists will die on their hill for one or the other, but both versions will knock you sideways.

This dish is part indigenous, part Spanish, and entirely Mexican: a culinary snapshot of a nation built on contrasts, complexity, and sheer poetry.

If you see it, order it.

You are welcome.