
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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Campeche's full-length pan francés piled with banana-leaf cochinita, the bread soaking in the achiote-stained juices, pickled red onion and habanero served on the side for the table to build its own bites.
This is from Campeche. Not Mérida. Yucatán has its tortas of cochinita, sold by the dozen at corner panucherias and eaten standing up. Campeche has the tranca, and the tranca is a different animal: a full pan francés the length of a baguette, piled the entire way with cochinita, the soft crumb deliberately soaking in the achiote juices until the bottom of the bread is stained red and dripping. You eat it with two hands. You eat it slowly. You finish it because to leave half a tranca on the plate is to insult the cook.
The cochinita itself belongs to the whole Peninsula. Recado rojo for the color, naranja agria for the tenderizing acid, banana leaf for the steam and the grassy perfume it gives the pork. The Maya cooked this in a pib, a pit dug in the earth, lined with stones, heated with wood coals, and sealed with banana leaves and dirt for hours. We do not all have a backyard and a shovel. The oven, sealed tight with a heavy lid and a generous wrap of banana leaves, gets you close. Not identical. Close. La manteca es el sabor and the pork belly is what makes the difference between cochinita and dry shredded pork in red sauce.
The Peninsula has its own grammar and the tranca speaks it fluently. Recado, not just spice paste. Naranja agria, not lime juice with a wish. Habanero on the side, never blended into the meat, because the heat is the diner's decision, not the cook's. Pickled red onion that turns magenta from the sour orange, not pink from white vinegar. If your panucheria's cochinita looks orange and tastes flat, that cook used food coloring and Sazón. No me vengas con atajos. The recado does the work or the dish does not get made.
My mother never made cochinita. She was from Jalisco and she knew her limits. The first time I ate a tranca was at a small fonda near the malecón in Campeche in my second year of the 32-state project. The cocinera served it on a talavera blue-and-white plate with the onions piled high and a saucer of habanero on the side. She watched me take the first bite and waited for the question every visitor asks. I asked it: how long in the pib? She said, with no expression, all night. Saber cocinar es saber vivir.
Cochinita pibil descends directly from the pre-Columbian Maya practice of pit-cooking, the pib, which the Maya used to cook venison, peccary, and turkey long before the Spanish arrived with pigs in the 16th century. The achiote that gives the dish its signature red color comes from the seeds of the Bixa orellana tree, native to the Yucatán Peninsula and used by the Maya for both food and body paint for at least two thousand years; naranja agria is a Spanish introduction that replaced pre-Columbian acidic fruits like sour pitaya. The tranca itself emerged in 20th-century Campeche as a working-class lunch sold at market stalls and torterías, distinct from Mérida's smaller torta de cochinita and named for its sheer size; 'tranca' in Mexican Spanish suggests something that braces or blocks, a fitting word for a sandwich the length of your forearm.
Quantity
4 pounds
cut into large chunks
Quantity
1 pound
cut into large pieces
Quantity
1 brick (3.5 ounces)
Quantity
1 cup
or substitute 2/3 cup orange juice with 1/3 cup lime juice and 2 tablespoons grapefruit juice
Quantity
8
peeled
Quantity
1 tablespoon
toasted on a comal
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
4
Quantity
2
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1/4 cup
melted
Quantity
1 large package
passed over an open flame until pliable and shiny
Quantity
6 whole
or 6 short baguettes
Quantity
2 large
sliced into thin half-moons
Quantity
1 cup
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
6
sliced, or left whole on the side
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| bone-in pork shouldercut into large chunks | 4 pounds |
| pork belly with skincut into large pieces | 1 pound |
| recado rojo (achiote paste) | 1 brick (3.5 ounces) |
| naranja agria juiceor substitute 2/3 cup orange juice with 1/3 cup lime juice and 2 tablespoons grapefruit juice | 1 cup |
| garlic clovespeeled | 8 |
| dried Mexican oreganotoasted on a comal | 1 tablespoon |
| whole black peppercorns | 1 teaspoon |
| whole cumin seed | 1 teaspoon |
| whole allspice berries (pimienta gorda) | 4 |
| whole cloves | 2 |
| kosher salt | 1 tablespoon |
| manteca de cerdo (pork lard)melted | 1/4 cup |
| banana leavespassed over an open flame until pliable and shiny | 1 large package |
| pan francés (Mexican French rolls, 10 to 12 inches each)or 6 short baguettes | 6 whole |
| red onionssliced into thin half-moons | 2 large |
| naranja agria juice for the pickled onions | 1 cup |
| kosher salt for the pickled onions | 1 teaspoon |
| dried Mexican oregano for the pickled onions | 1 teaspoon |
| fresh chile habanerosliced, or left whole on the side | 6 |
| lime halves (optional) | for serving |
Toast the peppercorns, cumin, allspice, and cloves on a dry comal over medium heat for about a minute, until they smell like the spice stall at the Mercado Pedro Sáinz de Baranda. Grind them in a molcajete or spice grinder to a fine powder. Break the brick of recado rojo into a blender. Add the toasted spices, the garlic, the oregano, the salt, and the naranja agria juice. Blend until smooth and the color of red clay. This is the marinade. The achiote does the staining, the sour orange does the tenderizing, the spices do the work the achiote alone cannot.
Place the pork shoulder and pork belly in a large nonreactive bowl. Pour the marinade over the meat and rub it into every surface with your hands. The meat will turn the color of brick. Cover and refrigerate for at least 8 hours, ideally overnight. The pork belly is not negotiable. It provides the fat that bastes the shoulder as it cooks. Lean cochinita is sad cochinita.
Bring a small pot of water to a boil. Drop the sliced red onions in for 10 seconds, then drain immediately. Transfer to a glass jar. Add the naranja agria juice, salt, and oregano. Stir, cover, and let sit at room temperature for at least 2 hours, then refrigerate. The blanching takes the raw bite off without cooking them. The naranja agria turns them magenta. This is the only acceptable color for cochinita onions. Pink from regular vinegar is wrong.
Pass each banana leaf over an open gas flame for a few seconds on each side, until it turns from matte to glossy and pliable. The heat releases the natural oils and keeps the leaves from cracking when you fold them. If you have an electric stove, hold them briefly over a hot dry comal. Cut the thick central rib out and tear the leaves into pieces large enough to wrap the meat. The banana leaf is not garnish. It is the flavor of the pib.
Line a heavy Dutch oven or a deep roasting pan with overlapping banana leaves, letting them hang over the sides. Pour in the marinated pork with all of its marinade. Drizzle the melted lard over the top. Fold the overhanging leaves over the meat to seal it. Cover the pot tightly with a lid or a sheet of foil pressed down hard. Cook at 300°F for 3 1/2 to 4 hours, until the meat is falling apart and the juices at the bottom are a deep red-orange. This is your oven version of the pib, the underground pit oven the Maya have been using for centuries. It will not taste exactly the same. It will taste close enough.
Pull the pot from the oven and let it rest for 15 minutes. Open the leaves. Lift the meat onto a cutting board and shred it with two forks, discarding any large pieces of bone or skin you do not want. Return the shredded meat to the cooking juices in the pot. Stir well. The meat should be wet, glossy, and brick-red. If it looks dry, you did not use enough belly. Add another spoonful of melted lard. The juices are the soul of the dish. Do not throw them out.
Slice each pan francés lengthwise, leaving a hinge along one side. Pull out a little of the soft interior crumb to make room. Pile the cochinita generously down the length of the bread, spooning extra juices over the meat so the bottom of the bread soaks up the achiote-stained fat. That soaked bread is the entire point of a tranca. This is not a delicate sandwich. This is a meal that takes both hands and a napkin tucked into your shirt.
Set each tranca on a plate. Pile the pickled red onions on the side. Add the sliced habanero on a separate small dish so each person can build to their own tolerance. Lime halves go on the table. The diner builds each bite: a pinch of onion, a slice of habanero if they dare, a squeeze of lime, then the bread. Cada estado, su propia cocina, and the tranca belongs to Campeche.
1 serving (about 400g)
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