
Chef Lupita
Enchiladas de Valladolid
Valladolid's enchiladas, corn tortillas bathed in a chile ancho and Mexican chocolate sauce, stuffed with smoked longaniza, crowned with a fried egg and a tangle of habanero-pickled red onion.
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Yucatán's pambazo, a pan de huevo split, toasted on the comal with lard, and packed with cochinita pibil and a tangle of habanero-pickled red onions. Not the Mexico City pambazo. This one is never dipped in chile.
This pambazo is from the Peninsula. From Mérida, from Valladolid, from the panaderias of Campeche where the bread is baked twice a day and the cochinita comes out of the pib at dawn. If you've eaten a Mexico City pambazo, the soft white roll soaked in guajillo sauce and griddled until red, set that image aside. That is a different sandwich from a different state. The Yucatecan pambazo shares only the name.
Here the bread is pan de huevo or pan francés, soft inside, lightly crusted, brushed with manteca de cerdo and toasted on a comal. The filling is cochinita pibil or lechón, slow-cooked in banana leaf with recado rojo and naranja agria until the meat surrenders. The crown is cebollas encurtidas, red onions pickled in sour orange until they turn the bright magenta that signals Yucatecan food on sight. A few slices of habanero on top for the people who know what habanero does. That is the sandwich.
The Peninsula has its own grammar. Recado, naranja agria, banano leaf, achiote, pib. None of these are interchangeable with the ingredients of central Mexico. A Yucatecan cook will tell you, politely but firmly, that her cuisine is not Mexican food with an accent. It is its own thing, shaped by the Maya, by trade with Cuba and New Orleans, by the henequen barons, by isolation from the rest of the country until the railroad came. My mother had no Yucatecan recipes in her notebook. I had to go find them. I spent two weeks in Mérida one summer staying with a family who ran a panucheria around the corner from the Mercado Lucas de Galvez, and the señora let me watch her make cochinita every other morning. The pambazo on her menu was this one. No chile sauce dip. No griddled exterior. Just good bread, good pork, good onions. Cada estado, su propia cocina.
The Yucatecan pambazo descends from the broader Mexican pambazo tradition, which itself takes its name from "pan basso" or "pan bajo," a second-grade colonial-era bread distinguished from the finer pan francés sold to Spanish households. Where the central Mexican pambazo evolved into a chile-dipped, griddled sandwich during the 19th century, the Yucatecan version retained the older format of a split roll filled with regional pork, reflecting the Peninsula's culinary isolation from central Mexico until the late 19th-century construction of rail lines connecting Mérida to Veracruz. Cochinita pibil itself is pre-Columbian in technique, the word "pib" meaning "buried" or "oven" in Yucatec Maya, referring to the underground pit where pork wrapped in banana leaves cooks over hot stones, a method documented in Maya communities centuries before Spanish pigs replaced the original venison or peccary.
Quantity
2 pounds
cut into 3-inch chunks
Quantity
3 ounces
Quantity
3/4 cup
or 1/2 cup orange juice mixed with 1/4 cup lime juice
Quantity
4
peeled
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
2 tablespoons
melted
Quantity
1 1/2 teaspoons
Quantity
2 large
passed over an open flame to soften
Quantity
1/2 cup
Quantity
1 medium
sliced into thin half-moons
Quantity
1/2 cup
or 1/4 cup lime juice plus 1/4 cup orange juice
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon
Quantity
1
stemmed and thinly sliced (seeds optional)
Quantity
6
from a Yucatecan or Mexican panaderia
Quantity
2 tablespoons
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| boneless pork shouldercut into 3-inch chunks | 2 pounds |
| recado rojo (achiote paste) | 3 ounces |
| naranja agria juice (sour orange)or 1/2 cup orange juice mixed with 1/4 cup lime juice | 3/4 cup |
| garlic clovespeeled | 4 |
| ground allspice | 1 teaspoon |
| ground cumin | 1/2 teaspoon |
| dried Yucatecan oregano | 1/2 teaspoon |
| manteca de cerdo (pork lard)melted | 2 tablespoons |
| kosher salt (for the pork) | 1 1/2 teaspoons |
| banana leavespassed over an open flame to soften | 2 large |
| water or chicken broth | 1/2 cup |
| red onionsliced into thin half-moons | 1 medium |
| naranja agria juice (for the onions)or 1/4 cup lime juice plus 1/4 cup orange juice | 1/2 cup |
| kosher salt (for the onions) | 1 teaspoon |
| dried Yucatecan oregano (for the onions) | 1/4 teaspoon |
| fresh chile habanerostemmed and thinly sliced (seeds optional) | 1 |
| pan de huevo or pan francés rollsfrom a Yucatecan or Mexican panaderia | 6 |
| manteca de cerdo (for the bread) | 2 tablespoons |
Break the recado rojo into a blender. Add the naranja agria juice, garlic, allspice, cumin, oregano, melted lard, and salt. Blend until completely smooth and the color of red brick. The marinade should be thick enough to coat a spoon and stain it orange. If your recado is hard and dry, blend a little longer. A good recado rojo from a Mérida market is soft and yields easily. If yours is crumbling, the brand is wrong.
Place the pork chunks in a deep bowl. Pour the recado marinade over the meat and rub it into every surface with your hands. The pork should look painted, every piece coated in deep red-orange. Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, ideally overnight. The naranja agria does double duty here: it tenderizes the meat and carries the spices into the muscle. Don't rush this. The marinade is half the dish.
Pass each banana leaf over an open gas flame for a few seconds per side, holding it by the edges. The leaf will turn from matte to glossy and become pliable. This is what happens in the pib pit when the leaves hit the hot stones. Line a heavy Dutch oven or cazuela with two layers of leaf, letting the ends drape generously over the sides. You will fold them over the meat to seal it in.
Pile the marinated pork into the leaf-lined pot. Scrape every bit of marinade from the bowl over the top. Pour in the water or broth. Fold the banana leaves over the meat to enclose it completely. Cover the pot with a tight lid. Cook in a 300°F oven for 3 1/2 to 4 hours, until the pork pulls apart with a fork. This is the home cook's pib. It is not the underground pit, but it is the honest substitute. The banana leaves hold the moisture, the achiote, and the citrus inside, and the meat braises in its own juices.
While the cochinita cooks, make the cebollas encurtidas. Bring a small pot of water to a boil. Drop the sliced red onion in for exactly 10 seconds, then drain immediately. This blanching takes the harsh bite off but keeps the crunch. Transfer the onions to a glass jar with the naranja agria juice, salt, oregano, and habanero slices. Press them down so the juice covers them. Cover and refrigerate for at least one hour. They will turn bright magenta as the acid works on the pigment. This is what gives a Yucatecan plate its color.
Pull the pot from the oven. Open the banana leaves carefully. The meat should be sitting in a pool of deep red-orange juice, glossy with rendered fat. Shred the pork directly in the pot using two forks, working it back into the cooking liquid. Don't drain it. The juices are the seasoning and they need to soak back into the meat. Taste for salt. The pork should be assertive, citrusy, faintly bitter from the achiote, and unmistakably perfumed by the leaf.
Heat a comal or heavy skillet over medium. Split each pan de huevo or pan francés horizontally. Brush the cut sides with the melted manteca de cerdo. Lay the rolls cut-side down on the comal and toast until the bread turns golden and the lard soaks into the crumb. This is the Yucatecan pambazo, not the Mexico City one. We do not dip this bread in chile sauce. The bread is toasted on the comal with lard and that is the treatment it gets. Así se hace y punto.
Pile a generous mound of cochinita on the bottom half of each toasted roll. Spoon some of the juices over the meat so the bread soaks. Top with a heavy tangle of pickled red onions, the magenta against the orange-stained pork. Add a few slices of habanero on top for the cooks who want the heat at the front of the bite. Close the sandwich and press down lightly. Eat immediately, while the bread is still warm and the juices haven't run all the way through. The Peninsula has its own grammar, and this is the sentence.
1 serving (about 415g)
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