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This comforting ‘cheese soup’ is a classic dish served with tortillas and adored by Texans. But how to get the texture and flavour spot on?
I well remember the first time I encountered the Tex-Mex phenomenon known as queso, which is not to be confused with Mexican queso, which just means “cheese”, as opposed to queso fundido, or melted cheese of an altogether different sort. It arrived in a bowl made out of fried tortillas that was filled with orange cheese that was melted, yet not quite liquid: “Kinda like a cheese soup,” the helpful waitress said on seeing my puzzlement.
Apparently I’m not alone. Austin native Melanie Haupt reports finding “people from northern California to West Virginia … pleasantly flummoxed by the magical concoction now considered ‘classic’ queso among those who went straight from baby food to Tex-Mex”. Fellow Texan Rhoda Boone tells Bon Appetit magazine that in the Lone Star state, “We try to have as many occasions as possible to eat queso … sometimes it’s just, like, Sunday lunch”. It might not be replacing the roast over here in the UK any time soon but, like its Alpine cousin fondue, it’s great fiesta food for all occasions.
Alison Roman espouses the widely shared opinion that “this is one of those rare instances (see also: cheeseburger) where the preferred cheese is good, old-fashioned, highly processed American cheese”. That’s because American cheese (by which I mean cheese blended with other ingredients designed to alter its flavour and texture) includes emulsifiers designed to help it melt smoothly, rather than splitting on contact with heat. Velveeta, which is strictly speaking not a cheese but a “pasteurised prepared cheese product”, is the most popular choice down in Texas. Lisa Fain, who also writes under the name Homesick Texan, calls it and a can of Ro*Tel brand tomatoes “the quick path to queso happiness”.
Keen as I was to renew my acquaintance with “authentic” queso before trying to recreate it, it seems there’s not a big market for Velveeta or any American cheese in the UK; even my usual source of American imports, Panzers in St John’s Wood, comes up short. “No, not even monterey jack,” the man behind the counter tells me in a tone that suggests I’m not the first person to ask. I do find that particular cheese, which is demanded by Joshua Bousel’s recipe in Serious Eats, in an ordinary British supermarket, but have to make do with the evasively named “cheesy slices” (60% cheese) to replace the American cheese in Fain, Yvette Zuniga Jemison and San Antonio’s legendary Mi Tierra restaurant’s recipes.
Mi Tierra and Bousel both also use cheddar, the latter calling for a sharp variety and the former for extra-sharp cheese. In the context of US cheese sharp means cheese aged for six to 12 months, which corresponds to British medium cheddar, while extra sharp is 12-24 months, which could be either mature or extra-mature over here. Cheese loses moisture as it ages, becoming more pungent but less amenable to heat than younger, milder varieties. You can overcome this reluctance with the help of sodium citrate, which J Kenji López-Alt describes as “an extremely common emulsifying salt that is used to keep the cheese creamy as it melts. It’s thanks to this little molecule that American cheese won’t break, instead staying glossy and gooey, no matter how much you seem to heat it and cool it down”. Easily available online, it will turn almost any cheese into the kind of “processed cheese” that melts obligingly into sauce. I try it out of curiosity, and can report that it does indeed work like magic, but it isn’t something that you’ll find on the high street and, of course, will not be suitable if you’re trying to avoid ultra-processed foods.
Personally, however, I prefer the mild milkiness of a less temperamental younger cheddar to the powerfully cheesy flavour of Bousel’s version. Popular as it is with my American tester, we agree it’s too intense to eat in any quantity (perhaps that’s the idea?). “Ultimately,” as Haupt explains, “you’re not looking for big flavour in a queso, just a nice balance of the creamy cheese, a bit of heat from the chiles [sic], and the salt and crunch of sturdy tortilla chips,” which explains why another tester, a devotee of melted cheese in any form, prefers the blander, richer Mi Tierra recipe (so much so, in fact, that she finishes the bowl).
Nor will I be using cheesy slices. Sorry, Texas, I’ve tried, but I’m just not keen on the gloopy consistency of processed cheese, or indeed its flavour (which is salty, fatty, not especially cheesy). I also find during testing that it congeals and solidifies more quickly off the heat, which isn’t ideal for a party scenario.
On the hunt for substitutes for the mild, high-moisture hard cheeses such as the colby that are often suggested as processed cheese alternatives in American recipes, I try edam (23% fat), young gouda and port salut (both 27%), as well as mild cheddar (34%) in various ratios. Oddly enough, these three behave quite differently: the edam melts into excitingly elastic strings, while the other two remain looser and more saucy. I take two things from this experiment: first, the importance of keeping the heat very, very low for a smooth result, and second, that almost any young hard cheese will work, if you treat it right. For me, the texture of the edam and the flavour of the mild cheddar prove the perfect combination. Note that ready-grated cheese, which is usually coated in some sort of gritty starch to prevent it from clumping, doesn’t work well here.
I’m going to caveat this paragraph by pointing out the non-bleeding obvious: it’s always going to be a tough gig to recreate a dish that is almost 90% dairy with plant-based alternatives. Nevertheless, the indomitable López-Alt gives it a good go for Serious Eats, saying he’s looking for a sauce “that hits all of the same notes as traditional nacho cheese sauce – tangy, a little spicy, and salty – with the same textural qualities – rich, mouth-coatingly gooey, creamy, and fatty … with a flavor [sic] that is downright delicious in its own right. A flavor that doesn’t leave you thinking: ‘this is pretty good … for vegan cheese’.”
This is fortunate, because, tasty as his mixture of cashew nuts and almond milk (protein), waxy potato (for that all-important pull) and solid vegetable fat (for richness) is, it isn’t fooling any of my testers on the cheese front. It is nice, though: savoury, nuttily creamy and roundly spicy, rather than overtly hot. Definitely one to consider if you’d like something plant-based to fulfil the same role as queso without aping it overtly, especially with tomatoes, beans, avocado and the like stirred in. (Though I haven’t tried this, I think it would be even nicer seasoned with a spoonful of cheesy nutritional yeast, not least because, without it, as one commentator notes a little unkindly, it has a faint whiff of korma sauce.)
Even processed cheese requires extra liquid to loosen it to a consistency one can scoop up with a tortilla chip, and there are many possibilities to achieve this. Fain’s chicken broth gives her version (which is based on one from Matt Martinez of Matt’s El Rancho in Austin) a more savoury note than the milk in Zuniga Jemison’s recipe from My South Texas Kitchen. Bousel uses evaporated milk, which is, according to López-Alt, “a highly concentrated source of milk protein micelles – bundles of proteins that can act as powerful emulsifying agents”. It also, in the UK, anyway, contains carragheen, a thickener, and sodium phosphate, another stabiliser common in processed cheese, which helps prevent the cheese splitting, especially in combination with cornflour. This, Sho Spaeth explains elsewhere on Serious Eats, provides starch molecules to “absorb water and expand, not only thickening the liquid phase of the sauce, but also physically preventing the proteins from binding into long, tangled strands and the fats from separating out and pooling”.
The easiest and most effective method I try that doesn’t involve processed cheese, however, comes from Fain – a woman who has written an entire book on Queso. Her second recipe for “a more natural chile con queso” starts with a standard bechamel, made with butter, plain flour and milk, before incorporating more cheese than would be usual even in a mornay. Smooth and thick, the only tricky bit is having the patience to keep everything cool enough for success.
Yet the allure of the creamily rich Mi Tierra version, as published in Saveur magazine, which uses two parts grated cheddar to one part Velveeta and one part heavy cream, is undeniable. Swapping the milk for evaporated milk, and Fain’s soured cream for double, along with the edam in place of the monterey jack, gives a fuller, more elastic consistency that nods towards processed cheese without actually containing any.
It’s important to keep the heat low to minimise the danger of the mixture splitting. A bain-marie or double boiler is often suggested, but I find this difficult to control heat-wise and prefer to use a small saucepan (to maximise the depth of sauce) on a low flame with a basic heat diffuser ring. (Online wisdom suggests using a microwave or a slow cooker, but as I have room for neither in my kitchen, I’d recommend doing further research before trying either.)
If you do happen to have a slow cooker, this is an ideal vessel for serving from, as is a fondue set, hot plate or even something I see described as a candle warmer, which seems to be designed to heat up candles without the need to actually light them, should you doubt the onward march of progress.
Everyone uses onion in their queso, though Mi Tierra adds it raw to the top as a garnish, while all the other recipes saute it to sweet softness before adding garlic, and, in the case of Fain and Bousel, fresh jalapeño chilli, too. I love the grassy heat of these, but they can be hard to find in the UK, where chillies are usually sold with no further qualification, so it’s safer to rely, as Zuniga Jemison does, on the pickled jalapeños that can be found in larger supermarkets or online, though, in the absence of fresh chilli, I’ve sneaked in a bell pepper instead.
Zuniga Jemison, Jaim and Mi Tierra also add tomatoes, which give both colour and a fruity sweetness – you could stir in some tomato salsa instead, as Bousel does, if you have a decent one to hand, but I find some UK offerings taste strongly of parsley or oregano, which is not the vibe you’re after here. I prefer Bousel and Fain’s coriander, though I’d stir it in at the end, because it’s most pungent when it’s fresh.
Bousel also includes chilli powder, Mexican oregano and the cumin that pops up in Fain’s recipe, too, though many recipes save the dry spices for the beef chilli they serve underneath the queso (Bousel, by contrast, mixes his beef into the sauce instead). Naturally, all are delicious, and quite different from the dish known as chilli con carne in the UK, but I think it’s a pity to labour over both queso and chilli, only then to allow one to overpower the other. If you want to beef this up, far better to serve a chilli on the side and let people combine them as they wish. I suggest a bean version.
Prep 15 min
Cook 10 min
Serves 6-8
90g edam or monterey jack (not ready-grated)
90g mild or medium cheddar (not ready-grated)
2 tbsp butter
½ onion, peeled and finely diced
¼ red or green pepper, finely diced (optional)
2 garlic cloves, peeled and crushed
2 tbsp chopped pickled or fresh jalapeño chillies
½ tsp ground cumin
¼ tsp chilli powder, or paprika
2 plum tomatoes, drained if tinned, diced
2 tbsp flour
250ml evaporated milk, or fresh milk at a pinch
50ml double cream
1 small bunch fresh coriander, chopped
Hot sauce, to taste
2 tbsp cooked black or pinto beans, to garnish (optional)
Tortilla chips, or similar, to serve
Start by grating the cheese, or, if it’s pre-sliced, chop it into small pieces. If you’re planning to serve up straight away, fill a serving bowl with hot water (to keep the cheese mix really liquid, use a heatproof one that you can safely set over a pan of hot water, or prepare a fondue maker or similar).
Put half the butter in a small deep saucepan on a medium-low heat, then add the onion and pepper, if using, and fry until softened.
Stir in the garlic, chillies, spices and tomatoes, and fry for a minute or so, stirring until the garlic smells cooked. Scoop out the vegetables into a bowl.
Put the remaining butter in the pan and set it over a very low heat – I use a heat diffuser on the smallest hob ring. Once melted, stir in the flour and cook for a minute or so, until it smells biscuity.
Gradually pour in the milk, evaporated or otherwise, whisking it to incorporate as you go, then heat, still whisking, until the sauce thickens to the consistency of thick double cream.
Gradually add the cheese, a small handful at a time, whisking or beating it in so it’s all melted before adding the next lot. Do not rush this, or turn up the heat, or the mix will go grainy.
Once you have a smooth cheese sauce, stir in the cream, followed by the onion mixture and the chopped coriander, keeping back a little of the latter to garnish.
Taste and season with salt, hot sauce or more chilli pepper as necessary – if the mix is too thick, whisk in some of the jalapeño pickle liquid or a little more cream to loosen.
If serving immediately, decant the cheese mix into your serving dish (emptied of its water and dried first, if necessary), then garnish with beans, if using, and the reserved coriander. Serve with tortilla chips and other dipping items of your choice (raw broccoli works especially well). If you’re planning on having it later, reheat in a heatproof bowl set over a pan of simmering water, stirring regularly.
Chilli con queso: beloved taste of home, ultra-processed abomination, or both simultaneously? Is it Velveeta or nothing for you, and if not, what’s your favourite substitute? And where serves the best, in the Lone Star state or elsewhere?
How to make the perfect chilli con queso – recipe | Felicity Cloake's How to make the perfect …
