
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 tranca de lechón tostado: a full pan francés baguette stuffed with achiote-roasted suckling pig, dipped in its own juices, and crisped on a flat-top until the crust cracks under your fingers.
This is from Campeche. Not Mérida, not Cancún, not 'the Yucatán Peninsula' as one undifferentiated stretch of coast. Campeche. The tranca lives in the panaderias and mercados of the capital, especially around the Mercado Pedro Sáinz de Baranda, where the cooks pull lechón from the pib in the morning and stuff it into a pan francés the length of your forearm.
Campeche shares a peninsula with Yucatán and Quintana Roo, but the cuisine is its own. The seafood pulls from the Gulf, not the Caribbean. The pan francés tradition is stronger here than anywhere else in the Republic, a remnant of the port city's old commercial ties. And the tranca is what Campechanos eat when they want lechón without the formality of sitting down to a plate. A whole baguette, split, filled, dipped in the cooking juices, and pressed onto a flat-top until the crust cracks. The bread is half the dish. A torta roll will not do. A French baguette will not do. Pan francés campechano, or nothing.
The meat is lechón cured in recado rojo, that brick-red paste of achiote, allspice, clove, and Yucatecan oregano that defines the cuisine of the entire Peninsula. The sour orange, naranja agria, is non-negotiable. It is sharper than lime, more bitter than orange, and there is no substitute that gets you all the way there. If you cannot find it, mix orange, grapefruit, and lime. You will be making a respectful approximation. The real thing comes from a tree in a Campechano backyard.
My mother never made tranca. She was from Jalisco. But I have a page in my notebook from a woman named Doña Felicia who sold them at a corner stand near the malecón in San Francisco de Campeche, and she taught me the rule that matters most: the juices and the bread make the tranca. The lechón is the filling. The grill is what turns it into the dish. La cocina no es decoración, es trabajo.
The tranca campechana descends from the pib tradition, a pre-Columbian Mayan technique of roasting meat in a pit lined with hot stones and banana leaves, the same method that produces cochinita pibil in neighboring Yucatán. Pan francés arrived in Campeche through the city's role as a colonial Gulf port with steady trade contact with Veracruz, New Orleans, and Havana between the 17th and 19th centuries, and the local baking tradition adapted the European wheat loaf into the long, crisp-shelled, tender-crumbed roll that became the regional standard. The practice of dipping a filled sandwich into its own cooking liquid before grilling, recognizable to anyone who has eaten a torta ahogada in Jalisco or a Cuban media noche pressed on a plancha, took its Campechano form sometime in the mid-20th century, when market vendors began toasting trancas to order on the flat-tops of the Mercado Pedro Sáinz de Baranda.
Quantity
4 pounds
Quantity
3 tablespoons
Quantity
1 cup
or 2/3 cup orange juice plus 1/3 cup white grapefruit juice and 2 tablespoons lime juice
Quantity
8
peeled
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1/4 cup, plus more for the grill
Quantity
2
passed over an open flame to soften
Quantity
1
sliced thick
Quantity
1 cup
Quantity
6
about 10 to 12 inches each, full length, crusty on the outside, tender inside
Quantity
2 large
sliced into thin half-moons
Quantity
1 cup
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
1 teaspoon
Quantity
4
thinly sliced
Quantity
for serving
Quantity
for serving
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| boneless suckling pig shoulder or whole bone-in lechón leg, skin on | 4 pounds |
| recado rojo (achiote paste) | 3 tablespoons |
| fresh naranja agria juiceor 2/3 cup orange juice plus 1/3 cup white grapefruit juice and 2 tablespoons lime juice | 1 cup |
| garlic clovespeeled | 8 |
| black peppercorns | 1 tablespoon |
| dried Mexican oregano (oregano yucateco preferred) | 1 teaspoon |
| ground allspice | 1 teaspoon |
| kosher salt | 2 tablespoons |
| manteca de cerdo (pork lard) | 1/4 cup, plus more for the grill |
| large fresh banana leavespassed over an open flame to soften | 2 |
| large white onionsliced thick | 1 |
| chicken stock or water | 1 cup |
| pan francés baguettesabout 10 to 12 inches each, full length, crusty on the outside, tender inside | 6 |
| red onionssliced into thin half-moons | 2 large |
| fresh 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 habanero (optional)thinly sliced | 4 |
| lime wedges (optional) | for serving |
| salsa de chile habanero tatemado (optional) | for serving |
In a molcajete or blender, mash the garlic, peppercorns, oregano, allspice, and salt into a rough paste. Add the recado rojo and the cup of naranja agria juice. Blend until smooth. Stir in the melted manteca. The marinade should be the color of brick dust and smell sharp from the sour orange. If your recado rojo came in a hard block, dissolve it in the juice first. Lumps will not break down later.
Score the skin of the pork in a shallow crosshatch, just through the fat, never into the meat. Rub the recado marinade into every surface, working it into the cuts in the skin and any crevices. Cover and refrigerate at least 6 hours, preferably overnight. The achiote needs time to color the meat all the way through. No me vengas con atajos. Two hours is not enough.
Pass the banana leaves over an open gas flame for a few seconds per side. They will turn glossy and pliable. This is the step that separates a Yucatecan cook from a tourist. Raw banana leaf tears and tastes vegetal. Lay the leaves in a deep roasting pan or Dutch oven in a cross pattern, shiny side up. Scatter the sliced white onion across the leaves. Lay the marinated pork on top, skin side up. Pour any leftover marinade and the chicken stock around the meat. Fold the leaves up over the top, tucking the edges under to seal.
Heat the oven to 300F. Cover the pan tightly with a lid or two layers of heavy foil. Roast for 3 to 3 and a half hours. The lechón is done when the meat pulls apart with a fork and the skin underneath the leaves is deep red and tender. In Campeche, this would be cooked in a pib, a buried earth oven. Your oven is a compromise. A respectable one. Cada estado, su propia cocina.
Open the banana leaves and fold them back. Raise the oven to 475F and roast uncovered for 15 to 20 more minutes, until the skin blisters and the edges of the meat darken. Watch it. The line between crisp and burned is short. Pull the pan out. Tilt it so the juices pool at one end. Those juices are the soul of the tranca. Do not throw a single spoonful away.
While the meat rests, slice the red onions thin and place them in a heatproof bowl. Pour boiling water over them, count to twenty, drain. Return them to the bowl and add the cup of naranja agria juice, the salt, and the oregano. Push them down so they are submerged. They will turn bright pink in about 15 minutes. These are not optional. A tranca without cebolla morada is a tranca missing half its identity.
Pull the pork apart with two forks while it is still warm. Tear the crisped skin into bite-sized pieces and fold it back through the meat. Pour the strained pan juices back over the shredded lechón. The meat should be wet, glossy, and stained red from the achiote. Taste for salt. Sour orange is unforgiving on seasoning.
Split each pan francés lengthwise without cutting all the way through. The full baguette stays in one piece. This is a tranca, not a torta. The whole length of the bread matters. Pile the shredded lechón generously down the center. Top with pickled red onions and a few slices of habanero. Close the bread.
Heat a flat-top grill, plancha, or wide cast iron skillet over medium-high heat. Add a generous spoonful of manteca. Working one tranca at a time, dip the closed sandwich quickly into the reserved pan juices, just the outside, both sides, like dipping pan into a guajolota or a torta ahogada. Lay it on the hot grill. Press down with a heavy pan or a spatula. Toast for 2 to 3 minutes per side. The outside should crack when you press it. The juices caramelize against the bread and the crust turns deep mahogany. This is what makes it a tranca tostada.
Cut each tranca in half on a sharp diagonal. Serve on a Campeche talavera plate with extra pickled onions, more sliced habanero, lime wedges, and a small bowl of salsa de chile habanero tatemado. Eat with both hands. The lechón will fall. The juices will run down your wrists. That is the dish doing what it is supposed to do. Así se hace y punto.
1 serving (about 420g)
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