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Puebla's colonial lentil stew, simmered with charred tomate, tocino, and warm spice, then crowned with fried plátano macho and charred pineapple. Sweet-savory, baroque, the kitchen of the central highlands on a single spoon.
This is from Puebla. Not the generic central Mexico that gets called 'el centro' on cooking blogs, Puebla specifically, the city of conventos and talavera and the most baroque kitchen in the country.
Lentejas poblanas is a colonial dish in its bones. The lentil came from Spain. The clove and the cinnamon came through the Manila galleon trade that landed in Acapulco and traveled overland through Puebla on its way to Veracruz and Europe. The tomato and the chile ancho were already here, waiting. The plátano macho arrived from West Africa through the same colonial currents, and the nuns of Puebla, the same nuns who get credit for half the great dishes of the region, figured out that frying it in lard and folding it into the stew gave you something nobody else in Mexico was eating. This is what people mean when they say poblana cooking is baroque. It does not refuse contradictions. It puts them in the same pot.
The sweet-savory thing trips people up. You read the recipe and think it sounds strange. Lentils with pineapple and fried plantain? Yes. That is the dish. The fruit is fried separately so it caramelizes and keeps its shape; you fold it in at the end so it does not turn to mush. The tocino renders the fat that fries the salsa. The salsa is built on charred tomato and toasted chile ancho with clove and cinnamon. Every step has a reason. Remove a step and you have made something else.
My mother did not cook lentejas poblanas. She was from Jalisco and lentils were not her tradition. I learned this dish from a señora named Doña Carmen who sold comida corrida out of her front room in San Pedro Cholula. She let me sit at her stove for an entire week one summer when I was twenty-eight. She told me the secret was the vinegar at the end, just enough to wake the sweet up. She was right. Saber cocinar es saber vivir.
Lentejas poblanas belongs to the colonial mestizo cuisine that took shape in Puebla between the 16th and 18th centuries, when the city served as the inland hinge of the Manila galleon trade route from Acapulco to Veracruz. The dish reflects the convergence of three culinary worlds: the Mediterranean legume tradition brought by Spanish settlers and the monastic orders, the Asian spice trade that flooded Puebla's pantries with cloves, cinnamon, and black pepper, and the African banana cultivars that arrived through the same colonial slave economy and were adopted into indigenous and criolla cooking alike. The convents of Puebla, particularly Santa Rosa, Santa Mónica, and Santa Clara, codified the practice of pairing fried plátano macho with savory stews and meats, a technique that spread from religious kitchens into the home cooking of the city and surrounding pueblos by the 19th century.
Quantity
1 pound
picked over and rinsed
Quantity
8 cups
Quantity
1 medium
halved (one half left whole, the other finely chopped)
Quantity
1
halved crosswise, plus 3 cloves finely chopped
Quantity
2
Quantity
1 sprig
Quantity
6 ounces
cut into 1/4-inch lardons
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
1 1/2 pounds
cored
Quantity
1
stemmed and seeded
Quantity
1 stick, about 2 inches
Quantity
2
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon
Quantity
2 large
peeled and cut into 1/2-inch diagonal slices
Quantity
1/2
peeled, cored, and cut into 1/2-inch wedges
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
to taste
Quantity
for serving
warmed
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| brown lentils (lentejas castellanas)picked over and rinsed | 1 pound |
| cold water | 8 cups |
| white onionhalved (one half left whole, the other finely chopped) | 1 medium |
| head of garlichalved crosswise, plus 3 cloves finely chopped | 1 |
| bay leaves | 2 |
| fresh thyme | 1 sprig |
| tocino (slab bacon) or pork bellycut into 1/4-inch lardons | 6 ounces |
| manteca de cerdo (pork lard) | 3 tablespoons |
| ripe Roma tomatoes (jitomate)cored | 1 1/2 pounds |
| dried chile anchostemmed and seeded | 1 |
| Mexican cinnamon stick (canela de Ceilán) | 1 stick, about 2 inches |
| whole cloves | 2 |
| freshly ground black pepper | 1/4 teaspoon |
| very ripe plátano macho (skin mostly black)peeled and cut into 1/2-inch diagonal slices | 2 large |
| fresh pineapple (piña)peeled, cored, and cut into 1/2-inch wedges | 1/2 |
| cider vinegar or pineapple vinegar | 2 tablespoons |
| piloncillo, grated (or dark brown sugar) | 1 tablespoon |
| kosher salt | to taste |
| hand-pressed corn tortillas (optional)warmed | for serving |
| lime halves (optional) | for serving |
Place the rinsed lentils in a heavy pot with the cold water, the whole onion half, the halved head of garlic, the bay leaves, and the thyme. Bring to a gentle simmer over medium heat. Skim the gray foam that rises in the first ten minutes. Cook uncovered at a lazy bubble for 25 to 30 minutes, until the lentils are tender but still hold their shape. Do not salt them yet. Salt early makes the skins tough.
While the lentils cook, set a heavy cazuela or Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the tocino lardons with one tablespoon of the lard to help them start. Cook for eight to ten minutes, stirring now and then, until the fat renders out and the lardons turn deep gold at the edges. Lift the lardons out with a slotted spoon and set them aside. Leave the rendered fat in the pot. That fat is the foundation of the sauce.
Heat a dry comal over medium-high. Lay the whole tomatoes on the comal and turn them every few minutes until the skins blister and blacken in patches, about 10 minutes. They should be soft and weeping juice. Toast the chile ancho on the same comal for 20 seconds per side, just until it puffs and smells like the inside of a chile vendor's stall. Burned chile is bitter chile, so watch it closely. Drop the toasted ancho into a small bowl of hot tap water and let it soften for 15 minutes.
Transfer the charred tomatoes, skins and all, to a blender. Add the soaked chile ancho, the chopped garlic, the cinnamon stick broken in half, the cloves, and the black pepper. Blend on high until completely smooth. The puree should be a deep brick red, fragrant with sweet spice. This is the colonial signature of Puebla, where the Spanish trade in clove and cinnamon married into the indigenous tomato and chile.
Return the cazuela with the rendered tocino fat to medium-high heat. Add the chopped onion and cook for three minutes until translucent. Pour the tomato puree in all at once. It will sputter. Step back. Cook for 10 to 12 minutes, stirring often, until the salsa darkens, thickens, and the fat begins to separate at the edges. La manteca es el sabor. Skip this step and the stew will taste raw.
In a wide skillet, heat the remaining two tablespoons of lard over medium-high. When it shimmers, add the plátano macho slices in a single layer. Fry for two to three minutes per side until the slices are dark gold and the sugars caramelize into a crust. Lift them out and drain on a plate. In the same fat, fry the pineapple wedges for one minute per side, just until the edges char and the juices release. The fruit must be cooked separately, never simmered with the lentils, or they will dissolve into mush.
Lift the lentils with a slotted spoon and add them to the cazuela with the fried salsa, along with about three cups of their cooking liquid. Discard the whole onion, garlic head, bay leaves, and thyme. Stir in the reserved tocino lardons, the vinegar, and the piloncillo. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook uncovered for 15 minutes so the flavors marry. Now taste for salt and add it. The stew should taste deep and slightly sweet, with the chile and clove humming in the background.
Five minutes before serving, gently fold in the fried plátano macho and the charred piña. Warm them through without stirring hard, or the plátano will fall apart. Pull the cinnamon stick if you can find it. Ladle into clay cuencos and serve with warm corn tortillas and lime halves at the table. Así se hace y punto.
1 serving (about 400g)
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