Recipe: Pozole Rojo — with a dash of history
By Maya Sanchez-Kapoor
Ingredients:
14 lbs of pork shoulder (bone-in)
1 cup of peeled garlic
4 yellow onions
2 bags of Chile Guajillo Entero
2 bags of Chili Negro Entero
2 bags of Chili California Entero
2 bags of Chili New Mexico Entero
10 lbs of hominy (dehydrated corn)
20 quarts of water
10 Bay Leaves
Mexican Oregano (dried)
Salt
The people of the pueblo wake up to gallitos crowing loudly in the morning, along with the sounds of horseshoes hitting the rocky roads as they trot through the town. Clip clop. Clip clop. “Buenos días doña, que tengas un buen día,” the neighbors greet la vieja as she sweeps the sidewalk, pushing pebbles and debris towards the roads of the pueblo. She knows everyone in her pueblo — she basically raised the town. She has watched families come and go, and her wisdom is an extension of her generosity. At her house, everyone is welcome to come enjoy a home-cooked meal. The neighbors move through the town, beginning their morning with a walk to the cross that overlooks the pueblo they call home. The vendors on the street greet close friends, offering them a deal on the tortillas they freshly made, solo 200 pesos for two dozen.
The sun shines brightly, but the house made of cemented rocks remains cold. The curtains are pulled, finally allowing light to seep through the windows and illuminate the multicolored kitchen. Burnt-orange painted walls defy the darkness as they outline the blue backsplash designs on the wall along the stove. There are green plants along the windowsill and red chiles stand out on the wooden countertops. The rough, concrete floor is so cold beneath her feet that thick socks are not enough to stay warm. It's another early morning and we are getting ready to prepare a big meal for tonight. Pull out la olla alta because everyone must be fed.
Step 1: Boil the water (20 quarts) in la olla
Place la olla on the stove and pour 20 quarts of water inside. Light the gas stove. Watch the flame around the gas ring grow below the olla of water. Bring water to a boil. The water was collected this morning from the well, carrying memories of traveling through nearby rivers and streams. As the water is cleansed with the fire below, the bubbles grow angry. The steam from la olla is warming up the kitchen. The silver cast of la olla is hot enough to burn your hands, ten cuidado (take care).
Step 2: Remove the seeds from the chiles and roast them on a cast-iron pan (medium heat)
While the water boils, begin peeling and roasting the chiles. Start with the dark red guajillo chiles by cutting the pepper in half lengthwise. Run the knife across its leathery skin, exposing the small, yellow seeds inside. Before these peppers were dried, they were mirasol peppers from a bush with a sweet, tangy essence. Before these peppers were stolen, they were found in the Tehuacán Valley of Mexico with the name “huaxin.” The chile plants adapted to thrive in dry-desert climates where they were deprived of resources, yet they still preserved their flavor once shriveled and dried.
Next, repeat this step with the Chile Negro Entero, or chilhuacle. The old one. Its black shade and shriveled texture is almost unsettling– it looks like it grew in the dark with no water or light. This pepper is the oldest domesticated pepper in Mexico; our ancestors had barely named it after a thousand years of its domestication. The same chiles were used between communities to trade, until the vanquishers integrated them into their exported cuisines. Our ancestors believed the chihuacle was known to trigger spiritual sensations with its pungency. They believed it had curing properties that were passed down from early ancestors. Dividing the pepper by its black, wrinkled skin releases its earthy aroma into the humid air of the kitchen.
Local food venders set up their stand on a street in Villanueva, a small city located in Zacatecas, Mexico.
Now begin slicing the long, bright green Chiles New Mexico Enteros in half. Repeat this step with its angry-red sister, the Chiles de California Enteros. Divide. Divide. Divide. The flavors together pack a heat with an acidic taste, as notes of sweet, tangy, and hot flood the sauna-like air. Most people will not wonder where their chiles come from. Many people do not know that the Chiles New Mexico Enteros are different from the others. They were brought and bred in old Mexico by a vanquisher of land that was taken after U.S. warfare. In New Mexico’s desert climate, the rocky soil and high altitude makes the chiles rely on the region for their unique, mild flavors. Borders established in 1848, land lost by Mexico after the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo. Divide. Divide. Divide.
We place the chiles on the comal (griddle) and as they roast beside each other, we smell the zesty smoky flavors from the huaxin and chilhuacle. The smoke from their charred skin feels like a ritual. A dark grey fills the kitchen, but there is no fear of catching fire. There is a calm, cleansing presence, like a forcefield of protection against those who cannot handle the peppery aroma.
The air is suffocating, eyes begin to water, and throats feel a burning sensation that turns into deep coughs as the chiles roast on the comal. Once you have roasted all the chiles, place them in the olla with the bubbling, boiling water. This cleanses the chile peppers while softening the shells.
Step 3: Place the roasted chiles in the boiling water
As the roasted chiles boil, their remaining flavors transform the water into broth. Allow some of the seeds from the dried chiles to roam inside the pot and bounce with the bubbles. As the chiles soften, cut four onions in half and place them in la olla. These onions come from the hands of our people. These onions are grown, harvested, and exported from Mexico to around the world. Tons of millions worth of the layered, tear-inducing vegetables that bring a sharp, savory taste to the water. As they boil, the skin of the onions begins to unravel and separate, exposing each layer under their roots.
Step 4: Add the spices to la olla
Now introduce the cup of peeled garlic. With the head of garlic, separate the cloves from the bulb. Separate them one by one. Removing their connectedness to one another. With a sharp knife, place the weapon on top of the singled clove. Apply enough pressure until the clove crushes below the knife, until the skin becomes a thin layer of tissue. Separate and crush. When the vanquishers invaded our kitchens, they came with foreign ingredients such as garlic and rice from Asia, as well as various types of vegetables from other Spanish colonies. They taught us their methods– separate and crush. Repeat. Once all cloves are disconnected and peeled, sacrifice them to the angry, scorching water to join the rest of the peeled and altered ingredients.
Finally, add the bay leaves, or escapate. Native to Mexico, the herbs, (known as epazote in Spanish) are hand picked from a tree that dangles small, purple berries. The leaves are rough with a leathered texture, and typically harvested for their natural oils. Before the Spanish arrived, escapate was used for healing remedies with its earthy aroma and supernatural connections. Labeled as “wind medicine,” our practitioners of the pueblo still believe in ritual burnings with the leaves. They put the leaf to the flame of a candle, letting it catch fire while saying a prayer to the gods. The smells of the burning leaf cleanses the air and offers protection from danger. Perhaps they attempted this when the vanquishers came, and it failed. Perhaps that is why the escapate leaf is bitter.
Step 5: Blend the chiles and ingredients together until they form a thick, red paste
Aztec depiction of Centeotl, the maize deity central to agricultural life and abundance. Honored through festivals and farming rituals, Centeotl was believed to ensure a successful harvest. Without his blessing, crops were thought to fail.
The chiles should be done boiling after 10-15 minutes, or until they have softened. Until they look completely lifeless. Once soft, place them into a molcaxitl, a heavy, stone mixing bowl made from lava rock. Use a mallet, or texōlōtl, to smash all the chiles together. Make sure to add a cup of water. Keep smashing, channeling any emotions of resentment, mourning, or anger. The paste from the chiles should be a bright red, almost identical to blood. The scent is so potent that it summons tears, and memories of tragedy resurface like the tragedy of the Nahua people, who were executed, held hostage, and infected by Spanish vanquishers. Twenty-five million lives were reduced to 2.6 million in the span of only 50 years. In the pueblo of Cholula in 1519, unarmed civilians were slaughtered. Despite this, Moctezuma II offered peace and was met with hostility and death. The vanquishers seized Tenochtitlán. Land and property was looted. Private and sacred spaces were burned. Disease spread and wore down the empire. But the sun still rose and nourished our land. The roots stayed intact and the seeds continued to sprout with reclamation and perseverance.
Step 6: Add the paste to the pot of water, then prepare to add the pork
Now for the most crucial part of the dish! Add the meat! The pork shoulder may be a little rough, so make sure to massage into it, feeling its slippery, damp flesh. Observe the hues of pink and red, separated by wads of pork fat at the fingertips.
Cut the piece of meat up, carefully carving around its bone. Cube the pork shoulder meat — no need to season since it will soak up flavors from the now-seasoned water. Simply toss it into the olla. Take a moment to pay respect. And to consider that pork never existed in our cuisine before the vanquisher's arrival. As the swine seized our land, our people grew susceptible to diseases they carried.
History will tell you our people used to prepare this exact dish with human meat instead of pork. It would tell you that our people were cannibals, brutal to one another. That my people were barbaric, uncivilized, and needed to be redirected to follow a westernized lifestyle. To adopt a lifestyle that pillages, executes, and destroys with little regard to the society that existed before its arrival. The Europeans promised the words of their god, but instead brought famine and disease. They enforced a lifestyle that still justifies their acts of violence with lies about Aztec culture, continuing to sabotage an advanced society that had systems of order and a strong sense of community. They villainized a culture where sacrifice was solely an offering, a prayer, and a symbolic representation to the divine forces that protected us.
The vanquishers have tried to erase our ancestors’ words of wisdom. The words that call you to remember that everything that has ever been or ever will be is already here, surrounding you. Everything is alive with a spirit, and everything has been alive at one point. Do not trust the white faces who tell a false history. Remember these teachings were passed down, lessons that have survived generations of displacement, oppression, and devastation. And yet, our people have the deepest admiration and appreciation for the world we walk in. We know better than to abuse it.
Step 7: Add the hominy
As the meat cooks, growing tender and soaking up the surrounding savory flavors, prepare the last ingredient. Grab the hominy, dried maize kernels. Rinse it with water to rid it of any negative energy. We were told the god Centeotl bestowed a gift upon our people when he sank into the earth to bring forth vegetables for its inhabitants. Among these vegetables, he brought corn, or centli. His people thanked him by performing rituals, sometimes slicing their own skin where blood dripped in gratitude, and dangling corn seeds across their chests. After the vanquishers arrived, the blood from our chests was no longer self-inflicted or a token of appreciation, but rather a symbol of dominance and acts of aggression.
Step 8: Cook for 2 to 3 hours until the pork is completely tender (skim away excess fat that rises to the top), add salt
To conclude the recipe, sprinkle in some salt. We were told salt had healing properties. The white crystals are more than grains used for food preservation, but also the preservation of a deep connection between our people and the land. Salt brings purification, not the kind the Spaniards believed in, but the idea of protection against evil. Sprinkle in the salt with intentions of forbidding the dark parts of history to possess the spirit within.
Finally, enjoy!
Maya Sanchez-Kapoor is a graduating senior in the Honors Sociology practicum at UCSB.
When we sit at the table together in our old broken plastic chairs for a meal, there is a shared understanding. At the table, coming together is an opportunity to learn. When la vieja speaks, everyone is quiet, out of respect, and we listen intensely to her stories. At the table, we are connected. We may not have much, but we extend our generosity to our neighbors when we bring them a plate of food to enjoy. The hot broth from the pozole radiates warmth throughout the circle of people sharing a meal. This ritual of coming together, conversing and passing on stories, is similar to the way the ingredients dance with one another. We pay respect and remembrance to those who no longer sit at the table, and give thanks to the human experience. Laughs ring out around the table and cheers are made with raised cerverzas. Our bowls in front of us, are empty by the end of the night. There is leftover food. If you want more, help yourself. Eat until you are full. Garnish with cabbage, lime, and radish.