Chorizo de Oaxaca Casero

This is Oaxacan chorizo. Not the Toluca version, which is green and herbaceous. Not the supermarket tube, which is mostly paprika and filler. This is the deep-red chorizo of the Valles Centrales, the one you buy by the kilo in the Mercado 20 de Noviembre or the Central de Abastos in Oaxaca de Juarez, wrapped in butcher paper and still soft from the cure.

The color comes from guajillo and ancho, toasted on a comal until the kitchen smells like the chile aisle of any Oaxacan market at six in the morning. The body comes from coarsely ground pork shoulder with enough fat left on it to matter. And the soul comes from asiento, that dark, caramelized sediment left at the bottom of the pot when manteca is rendered. Asiento is to Oaxacan cooking what the fond is to a French pan sauce, except nobody in Oaxaca needed the French to teach them that. The senoras at the market sell it by the spoonful from clay jars. It tastes like pork memory.

My mother did not make Oaxacan chorizo. She was jalisciense. But I have a page in her notebook, written in someone else's handwriting, a woman from Etla she met at a church gathering in 1991. The recipe says: 'mas vinagre del que crees.' More vinegar than you think. She was right. The vinegar does three things: it cures the meat, it pulls the chile paste into every fiber, and it gives the chorizo that sharp bite that cuts through the fat when you fry it on a hot comal at breakfast. Saber cocinar es saber vivir.

This is a batch recipe. You make two and a half pounds at once, cure it overnight, and freeze what you don't cook in the morning. Recetas probadas y garantizadas.