• mojo cuban pork

    One Sunday morning back when we were still going to church and shaking hands and hugging and handing out bulletins and sharing hymnals and sitting shoulder to shoulder, can you even imagine!?, a friend approached me during coffee hour to tell me that the week before when he’d volunteered to sleep at the homeless shelter, he’d eaten my granola for breakfast. (When our family had made a supper for the shelter, I’d also taken granola and muffins for the next morning’s breakfast.) Turns out, my friend told me, the homeless weren’t huge fans of granola — some of them even appeared not to know what granola was — but he did. He ate it and loved it and now he wondered if I might share the recipe?

    “Well, sure,” I said. “It’s super simple, just oats and oil, brown sugar and— Actually,” I interrupted myself, “the recipe’s on my blog.”

    “You have recipes on your blog?”

    I laughed. “Heh-heh,” I barked. “Heh-heh-heh.” He looked at me, puzzled. I laughed harder. “Heh-heh-heh-heh.” I sounded crazy — maniacal, even — but I couldn’t stop. Did I have recipes on my blog? “HEH-HEH-HEH.”

    “I’m sorry,” I sputtered. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t laugh. It’s just, well—” I struggled to tamp down my mirth. “Listen. Go to my blog. At the top of the page, you’ll see a bunch of headers. Click on the one that says ‘recipe index’ and scroll. Then you’ll understand why I’m laughing.”

    At an Ultimate game (remember those??) a week later or so later, my friend approached me again. “I went to your blog,” he said. “Now I know why you laughed at me when I asked if your blog had recipes!”

    A couple times now, he’s emailed to report on his cooking endeavors. “The apple pie, my gracious … how delicious. Peach cobbler is in the oven now and banana bread will be going in next since the oven is hot already.” And, “A few things I’ve been making: Hashbrowns … awesome! French bread … many, many times, I don’t think I’ll buy bread again, maybe ever. Brown sugar granola … the best. Oatmeal pancakes with a grated apple…wow!”

    His messages make me laugh out loud. This — hearing how this little blog has helped broaden someone’s cooking repertoire — is about the best compliment ever, I think. It warms me right up, down to the tips of my frigid little quarantined toes.

    So anyway. Yes, I have recipes on my blog, and now here’s a new one: Mojo Cuban Pork.

    This recipe is inspired by The Chef TV Show, the one I’ve been slowly absorbing, just two or three episodes a week, like a carefully monitored IV drip line, to stretch out the pleasure.

    If you saw the movie Chef, then you know that this pork is what the whole food truck revolved around, and in Chef The TV Show, they touch on this recipe a number of times. Always, the pork looks fabulous. And when it’s used in cubanos? Swoooooon! Last week, I decided enough was enough. I had to make it for myself.

    It took a bit of planning. I had to buy a couple special ingredients: the pork, of course, and soft French bread from the deli section, an orange, and thinly sliced ham off-the-bone. But most of the ingredients I already had on hand.

    I was a little nervous. Me and large cuts of meat don’t always fare so well. Half the time it turns out great and the other half it’s beyond horrid. And the worst part is, I never know which way it’s going to go. It’s unnerving.

    But this meat turned out fantastic. In fact, the pork itself was so incredibly tender that, when I tasted it, I 1) swooned, and 2) snatched up a piece and ran screaming to the barn where my husband was working, causing him to come rushing out to see what the matter was. He ate the meat, nodded, and said, “It’s good,” because he’s understated like that (and probably because he was irked at my screaming). My triumph knew no bounds.

    (But then a little later, when I was thinly slicing the roast for the cubanos, I thought the inside seemed a little too chewy. Was it underdone? I wasn’t sure — meat confuses me; we’ve already established this — so after a bit of hemming and hawing, I plopped the remaining half of the roast in a Dutch oven and slipped it back in the oven for another hour or two, at which point it was much more tender, yesssss.)

    Mojo Cuban Pork
    Adapted from Recipetineats.

    The marinade for the pork was so yummy it almost could’ve been a drink.

    After making this recipe, I discovered an actual write-up of the recipe by none other than John Favreau himself: In his recipe, as in The Chef TV Show, the pork is marinaded in a mixture of spiced rum, orange juice, lime juice, mint, cilantro, and then it’s brushed with a second marinade (similar to the one I made) right before baking. Next time, I might try the two-marinade approach — a marinade with spiced rum? YES PLEASE — but even with just one, it turned out great.

    the meat: 
    1 5-pound bone-in pork butt

    the marinade: 
    ¾ cup each olive oil and orange juice
    ½ cup fresh lime juice
    6 garlic cloves, rough chopped
    ½ cup fresh mint leaves, loosely packed
    1 cup fresh cilantro, loosely packed
    zest of one orange
    2 teaspoons each cumin and salt
    1 teaspoon black pepper

    Put all the ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth. Place the pork butt in a plastic bag. Add the marinade and smoosh around to coat. Close the bag, place in a sided baking pan (just in case it leaks), and chill in the fridge for 12-24 hours.

    Remove the meat from the bag and place on a rack that’s atop a sided baking sheet; put the marinade in a small saucepan. Salt and pepper the top of the roast. Loosely tent the roast with foil and bake at 325 degrees for 3-4 hours (the meat is supposed to reach 170 degrees, but mine never did). Every hour or so, brush the meat all over with the marinade.

    When it’s nearly done, remove the foil, increase the heat to 375 or 400 degrees and bake another 30 minutes, to brown the top. Remove from the oven and tent with foil for 30 minutes before slicing thinly. (If the meat doesn’t feel tender enough, transfer it to a Dutch oven, add a couple scoops of marinade, place the lid on top, and bake for another hour or two.)

    Add the roast drippings to the extra marinade in the kettle. Heat through.

    Serve the roast hot, sliced or shredded, as desired. If sliced, serve with cilantro-lime rice, and pass the marinade.

    If making cubanos and tacos, read on…

    Cubanos
    In the movie, they spread on the mustard thick. I thought it had to be overkill, so I was much more conservative, using a little mayonnaise to dilute the mustard. In retrospect, all the mustard was totally called for — at table, I added in a whole bunch — and the mayo wasn’t necessary.

    Butter is key. Do not — I repeat: do not — be afraid of the butter.

    Mojo pork, thinly sliced
    Deli ham, thinly sliced
    Swiss cheese, thinly sliced
    Dill pickles, thinly sliced
    Soft baguettes, cut in fourths and then cut in half horizontally
    Yellow mustard
    Mayonnaise, optional (you don’t need it!)
    Lots of soft butter, room temperature

    Heat a large griddle. Liberally butter the insides of the cut baguettes. Grill them, cut-side down, until golden brown. Transfer the bread to a tray.

    Grill the mojo pork, flipping once, until both sides are lightly browned. Do this over higher heat — you don’t want to overcook (and dry out) the meat. Transfer the meat to a plate.

    Quickly grill the ham, flipping once, until heated through. Transfer to a plate.

    Spread one side of the baguette with lots of mustard. Add a layer of mojo pork, several pieces of ham bunched up like dirty tissues, a layer of Swiss cheese, a row of pickles. Put the other piece of baguette on top. Liberally butter the top of the sandwich.

    To grill, place the sandwich, butter side down, on a griddle set over medium-low heat. Butter the bottoms. (Another option is to just heavily butter the skillet each time you flip the sandwich.)

    Set another skillet on top of the sandwiches and press down gently. (I preheated my presser skillet, but you don’t need to.) Grill the sandwiches, flipping and pressing, until the outside is toasted and the cheese is melted.

    And with the shredded pork and saucy marinade, make…


    Mojo Pork Tacos 

    Leftover mojo pork, shredded and drowned in sauce
    Cabbage slaw, with radishes, green onions, carrots, etc, and lightly pickled
    Fresh lime wedges
    Feta, optional
    Salsa, sour cream, hot sauce
    Fresh corn tortillas

    Make some fresh tortillas, throw together the slaw, and heat up the leftover meat.

    Buen provecho!

    This same time, years previous: transition, besties, back to normal, coffee crumb cake, a Monday list, the quotidian (4.30.12), shredded wheat bread, rhubarb jam.

  • the coronavirus diaries: week eight

    As I type, my older daughter is in the middle of a video call with our doctor.

    Yesterday the dogs got in a fight and when she tried to break it up, Charlotte bit her in the leg, breaking skin in two places and bruising her. (And then, the fight over, my daughter was so mad she bit Coco in the ear, ha.)

    Today I decided we should probably let the doctor know, just in case it gets infected and she needs antibiotics. So she downloaded the doctor’s office chat-app, or whatever it is, on her phone (which gives her access to all her medical records, too) and is now talking with the doc and showing him her leg.

    Healthcare from the comfort of the living room couch: no driving, no waiting room, no paperwork, no nothing? I feel like I just time traveled thirty years into the future.

    ***

    The “novel” coronavirus doesn’t feel so new anymore. It feels wearisome. Day after day, it’s more of the same. Numbers rise. Prez doles out our daily dose of crazy. People react. Desperation increases. The economy plummets.

    And those of us fortunate enough to have houses stay inside them and type on our computers and watch movies and bake cakes and try to feel grateful. Still, it’s distressing. All that suffering is right there — so close we can almost touch it — and yet here we are, banished to our comfortable bubbles and not allowed out.

    But the thing is, there’s always been this divide. There’s always been unspeakable suffering and vast inequalities. Just, before we were able to venture forth to mingle and help as we could, as we saw fit, as it suited us.

    Now, forced to sit on our hands and watch, we see our folly: We’ve patched together our world into an acceptable-to-us reality, covering up the ugly with our bandaids of health care laws and public education and equal rights legislation, allowing ourselves to be lulled into believing (hoping?) that those things might actually fix the economic disparity, racism, and greed. 

    Unfortunately for us — or maybe fortunately — the superpower of pandemics is that they are Bandaid Rippers. They tear off our carefully-placed cultural bandages exposing the painful truth beneath: our wounds aren’t healed. Rather, bone-deep and angry red, they’ve been festering all along. What a mess.

    And what an opportunity.

    From Arundhati Roy: This pandemic “is a portal, a gateway between one world and the next. We can choose to walk through it, dragging the carcasses of our prejudice and hatred, our avarice, our data banks and dead ideas, our dead rivers and smoky skies behind us. Or we can walk through lightly, with little luggage, ready to imagine another world. And ready to fight for it.”

    Wouldn’t that be novel.

    *** 

    I’ve never tried a negroni but now I want to:

     

    Also, I’m thinking Big Night would make a good family night movie, yes? After all, we already love timpano

    ***

    Recently I read in a news article something to the effect that, “Even to cooking guru so-and-so, cooking can sometimes feel like a chore.”

    Well, duh, I thought. What does everyone think millions of (mostly) women have been doing all these years in the kitchen? What does everyone think those restaurant employees are doing behind those swinging doors?

    Working, it’s called. That’s what cooks do — NEWSFLASH — they work. Yes, sometimes cooking is a creative outlet, but much of the time it’s just straight-up drudge, tedious and ordinary and boring and exhausting, even for people who enjoy it.

    And this is okay.

    The good news is, once cooking becomes routine — a necessary inconvenience that one must do to, you know, stay alive — it gets easier.

    And then, watch out. Because once boring tasks become easy, creativity just might happen.

    Bon appetit!

    *** 

    And finally, my parents got a puppy.

    They named him Buster. He’s four months old and likes to play fetch, and he’s super cuddly.

    And now my kids want to live with my parents.


    This same time, years previous: the quotidian (4.29.19), graduated!, full disclosure, thank you for holding us, the quotidian (4. 27. 15), the quotidian (4.28.14), church of the Sunday sofa, mousy mayhem, baked beans.

  • the quotidian (4.27.20)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace

    Salted.
    Washed.
    Sliced.

    Harvested.

    Prepped.

    Served.

    (Enough with the single word captions.)
    Fat cakes.

    Angel food by my daughter; rhubarb-strawberry compote (and whipped cream) by me. 

    Facetiming.

    Standing desk, hacked.

    Church.

    While we were listening.

    You can run but you can’t hide!

    Key drop, best out of three: when they both want to drive.

    Study break.

    A bunch of radiliciousness.

    Topknot.

    A new radiator.

    Rise up!

    This same time, years previous: that fuzzy space, the quotidian (4.24.17), an ordinary break, life can turn on a dime, taking off, Sally Fallon’s pancakes, mango banana helados, cauliflower potato soup, drama trauma.