It’s lunchtime at Frontera Grill in Chicago’s River North neighborhood. Mexican art covers every conceivable wall space. The look is kinetic. And so are the colors. Fire-breathing lizard sculptures here, Day of the Dead skeletons there, and Frida Kahlo–inspired paintings everywhere.

This is the house that Rick built. As in chef Rick Bayless, the onetime anthropological linguistics student who has built a career exploring the regional cookery of Mexico and interpreting it for Anglo diners.

Frontera Grill is running at full tilt, as businessmen elbow to the bar in search of tacos stuffed with porcini and morel mushrooms and garnished with, among other things, pleasantly stinky huitlacoche. (If you don’t know the stuff — also known as corn smut — it’s a kind of fungus that grows on corn. Sophisticated eaters, well versed in Mexican regional cookery, compare its fl avor to the beauty and pungency of black truffles.)

Also on offer are enchiladas de mole poblano, made with homemade tortillas rolled around free-range chicken, smothered with a chocolate-chile mole sauce. And tacos al carbon, with roasted pepper rajas and guacamole. But the goat huaraches are what really call to me. And they call loudly.

I had eaten goat before. At Jamaican restaurants that specialize in jerked goat. And at barbecue festivals in western Texas, where goat is the meat that, after a parboil and a mesquite smoke, emerges from the pits as succulent as pig, as tender as chicken, and just a tad wild and raunchy.

But goat suffers from a bad rap among mainstream eaters — except for goat cheese, which has in the past two decades gone from boutique exclusive to grocery-store ubiquitous. Mention goat meat, however, and most folks bleat out a protest. Something about goats being scavengers. Something about goats eating tin cans. All of which is patently untrue.

As America diversifies to accommodate immigrants from all over the world, goat meat — often referred to these days by the more formal and appetizing term “chevon” — will go mainstream. And some white-tablecloth chefs are already leading the way.

At Komi in Washington, D.C., Johnny Monis is serving milk-roasted goat ragù atop a nest of homemade pasta. And in what may be the ultimate indicator, Iron Chef America recently staged a “Battle Goat” competition, in which Bobby Flay and challenger José Andrés prepared goat tartare and other chevon dishes to prove their culinary dominion.

But I’m getting carried away. And I’m neglecting those huaraches, which, by the way, as served by Bayless, are oblong cornmeal planks topped with a tangle of roasted goat, a thatch of cilantro, and a crumble of cheese. They’re delicious, too. Especially the goat itself, which tastes like lamb, only sweeter. Or maybe like chicken, only funkier.

Inspired by the huaraches, and taking into account the sizable Mexican-born population in Chicago, I spend a day ping-ponging about the Pilsen neighborhood, seeking goat in all its guises. I eat goat tacos with salsa verde. And goat soups. And blue plates of roast goat with rice and beans.

All are great examples of the possibilities of goat, but they pale in comparison to those huaraches. Or, I should say, nothing comes close to them until I take a seat at Birrieria Zaragoza on Pulaski, where Jonathan, son of owner Juan Zaragoza, serves me a steamed and roasted hunk of goat braised in ancho mole with a bright tomato soup on the side. Seated at this family-owned diner, I clean my plate and my bowl, try (and fail) to cadge a recipe, and bleat for more.

Bayless’s Birria
I couldn’t quite get a handle on the techniques employed at Birrieria Zaragoza. Luckily, Rick Bayless has a recipe in his cookbook Authentic Mexican: Regional Cooking from the Heart of Mexico. Please note that if you really can’t go for goat (or if you can’t fi nd it) lamb is a defensible substitute.

5 lbs. hindquarter of young goat (or 3 lbs. lamb shoulder)
12 guajillo chiles, dried, stemmed, and seeded
6 cloves garlic
3 tbs. cider vinegar
1/4 tsp. ground cumin
3/4 tsp. ground pepper
1 tsp. salt, plus more to taste
2 tsps. sugar
1 large tomato, peeled and cored
1 tsp. Mexican oregano
1 onion, diced
3 tbs. cilantro leaves, chopped
2 limes, quartered

Trim most of fat from meat. If using goat hindquarter, cut into two pieces with cleaver, severing joint at top of leg. Place heavy skillet over medium heat. Tear chiles into pieces and toast a few at a time, pressing them against hot surface with metal spatula until they crackle and blister (about 5 minutes per side). Place chiles in bowl, pour boiling water over them, and cover with plate to keep submerged. Soak 30 minutes.

Roast garlic in same skillet until paper blackens and cloves are soft inside (2–3 minutes). Cool and peel. Drain chiles and puree in blender or food processor with garlic and vinegar. Add cumin, pepper, salt, and 3/4 cup water and puree until smooth. Press through sieve.

Remove 1/2 cup of puree and stir in sugar; set aside for glazing. Spread remaining chile paste over meat. Cover and refrigerate 4 hours or overnight.

Set roasting rack in deep, wide pot at least 1 inch above bottom of pot. Add 3 cups water. Lay marinated meat on rack, spreading any extra marinade on top. Cover pot with tight-sealing lid. Bake at 325° for 3 hours.

Carefully remove meat from rack. Spoon fat from surface of broth. Measure broth into saucepan, adding water, if necessary, to make 1 quart. Puree tomato with oregano, add to broth, and simmer over medium-low heat 20 minutes. Season with salt to taste.

Shortly before serving, remove bones, gristle, and excess fat from meat, keeping pieces of meat as large as possible. Set meat on baking sheet, brush lightly with reserved chile paste, and bake at 350° for 10 minutes.

Present on large platter and pass warm broth separately. Or slice meat across grain and serve in broth-filled soup plates. Pass onion, cilantro, and limes.

Birrieria Zaragoza
4852 S. Pulaski Rd. Chicago, IL 60632

Watch Zaragoza’s birria recipe being prepared.

Click here for the demonstration video

John T. Edge, director of the Southern Foodways Alliance at the University of Mississippi, has been nominated for four James Beard Awards.