Make homemade pork chorizo
My first task was to put the chiles on to steam. Dad had me add a couple of cups of apple cider vinegar to the steamer pot before filling it with a mix of guajillo and ancho chiles. Their distinctive, warm, spicy scent began to stir childhood memories within minutes, enveloping me in warmth and comfort. I lifted the lid off the steamer, their rich deep-red color inviting me to photograph them.
Dad was at the kitchen chopping only cook something special if he block, continuing to feed the were in the mood for something pork butt chunks through the specific only he made.” meat grinder of his KitchenAid I found out my paternal grandfather’s stand mixer. I should have been specialty was blood sausage, paying closer attention to what he and it’s one my father never was doing, but the chiles had me got the opportunity to learn. I have transfixed. no recollection of my grandfather
Finally, I pulled myself away in the kitchen other than flashes of from the stove as the last bits of us at the kitchen table, him entertaining meat came through the grinder, me, drinking his cerveza, and I had seconds to photograph complete with lime and salted it before this step was over, and we hand, while Nana cooked. were on to the next. Luckily, I have many memories
I took Dad’s homemade chorizo of my dad in the kitchen, chopping, for granted growing up. I standing over the stove with remember the first time I ordered the ginormous handmade wooden it at a restaurant. It was an overly paddle that he would use to stir greasy affair, suffering from an the massive stockpot of slowly aggressive amount of chile that simmering carnitas and chicharrones. deadened the taste buds to any There were countless other ingredients in the dish. I Christmas tamaladas (tamalmaking have taken my chances and ordered sessions), with each of us it a few more times at various girls assigned a task. And sometimes, locations, but always, there is in the wee hours of the disappointment in the experience. morning, when he’d just gotten Dad’s homemade chorizo completely home from work and was in the spoiled me. mood for breakfast, Dad would
It took years for me to get the wake us and surprise us with nerve up to ask Dad to teach me his from-scratch almond pancakes to recipe. Finally, in the summer of share with him.
2013, I asked him if he would teach it Fond memories. Lots of them. to me so I could blog it. I wasn’t sure And they continue to accumulate how he’d feel about my sharing his when I get a call or text from Dad, recipe with the world. Much to my casually mentioning that he has surprise — and delight — he agreed, ribs on the barbecue or pork slowroasting without hesitation. for pulled pork sandwiches,
Something extraordinary just in case I wanted to happens when you share the stop by for dinner. kitchen with someone who is What a question! Of course, I proud to hand down a family recipe can stop by for dinner! for the next generation to enjoy. I think the passion I saw emanating Even with my nearly 20-minute from him when he was in delay (Dad hates tardiness) due to the kitchen, cooking or serving us a mix-up in ingredients (I forgot something he just finished making, one and bought the wrong kind of or describing a recipe — plus another) and my interrupting so I the time spent helping Mom prepare could snap a photo or ask a question, the family meal — is why I Dad remained cheerful learned to love to cook as much as throughout the cooking lesson. I do. The satisfaction they got Aside from learning a treasured from preparing meals for the family recipe, my favorite part of family is familiar to me. I feel it spending the morning with Dad every time I prepare meals for was learning a few things about family and friends. him that I didn’t know before. And sometimes, when I’m in
“Is this Nana’s recipe you’re the kitchen cooking and tasting, teaching me?” I asked. I’m back in my parents’ kitchen. In “No, your Tata’s.” my mind, I can see a younger version “Really?” of Dad reaching for a spoon, “Yes. I never asked your Nana tasting something he’s making, for recipes and never paid attention eyes closing for just a second, head when she was cooking. I took shaking slightly as he says: her cooking for granted.” I got the “Damn! That’s good!” feeling from the suddenly solemn timbre of his voice that he regretted not paying more attention to his mother’s cooking. It made me all the more glad that I asked him to show me this recipe.
“Did Tata cook a lot, as you do?”
“No, not really. Your Tata would