Asparagus Stuffed Pork Tenderloin

Nochebuena 2023. Second retirement-era Christmas. Fifteen people at the table. The extended family. Linda and Dan again, Jenny's parents, who now come to Nochebuena by standing invitation. David flew up Wednesday. Ana drove up from Bridgeport. The grandchildren were fed first at 6 PM at a kids' table I had set up in the living room. The adults ate at 10 PM. Pernil at midnight.

The menu: pernil (nine pounds), pavochón (repeat of Thanksgiving, smaller, four pounds, because some people still wanted turkey), arroz con gandules, tostones, ensalada de coditos, pasteles (a full dozen, untied with ceremony at the beginning of the meal), habichuelas guisadas, arroz con dulce, tembleque, pumpkin flan, coquito (three kinds this year — traditional, chocolate, and a new coffee-infused one I had experimented with in October).

At midnight I carved the pernil. Same ritual as last year. David next to me, Lucas on the step stool now watching with his mouth open, Eduardo with the serving platter. I carved. The skin cracked. The meat fell off the bone in the way it is supposed to fall off the bone. The kitchen smelled like thirty-four years of Nochebuenas in this house and forty-three years of Nochebuenas in Luz María's apartment and sixty-six years of Nochebuenas in the concrete block house in Bayamón and a hundred years of Nochebuenas in the house of my great-grandmother I never met and whose name I do not know but who was also a cook and who is also in the chain.

Mami made it through the whole evening. She ate well. She danced with Eduardo for forty seconds during a Héctor Lavoe song that came on the speaker — she has not danced in three years — and Eduardo held her like she was a piece of delicate glass and moved her in a slow half-step, forty seconds of the happiest dancing I have ever seen, and then she sat down, and she said, "That was enough, Eduardo. Thank you." Eduardo kissed her hand. The room watched. The room was quiet. The room knew.

At 1 AM I drove Mami home. She was tired but content. She said from the passenger seat, "Carmen, that was the best one." I said, "Best what, Mami?" She said, "The best Nochebuena." I said, "Mami, we have had a lot of good ones." She said, "Yes. This one. Best." She closed her eyes. I drove slowly. I helped her inside. Carmen the aide was there — she had agreed to cover the late shift as a favor — and she had turned down Mami's bed and had a glass of water on the nightstand. Mami said, "Goodnight, Carmen." I said, "Goodnight, Mami." I kissed her forehead. I drove home. The notebook has twenty-nine recipes. Six more for the volume one close. The chain is unbroken. The sofrito holds. Wepa.

The pernil is the anchor — it always has been — but the lesson of that Nochebuena, of Mami dancing forty seconds with Eduardo and calling it the best one, is that the ritual of the roast matters as much as the cut itself. When I make this asparagus stuffed pork tenderloin for smaller gatherings, the ones where there are only six of us instead of fifteen, I think about the way David stood beside me at the carving board and the way the skin cracked, and I try to bring that same intention to the knife. The pork is the ceremony. The stuffing is the love you tuck inside it.

Prep Time: 20 minutes | Cook Time: 25 minutes | Total Time: 45 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

1 pork tenderloin (about 1 1/4 lbs), trimmed
12 thin asparagus spears, woody ends snapped off
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 teaspoon smoked paprika
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste
1/4 teaspoon black pepper
1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (optional)
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
Kitchen twine, for tying

Instructions

Preheat the oven. Heat oven to 425°F. Line a rimmed baking sheet with foil and set a wire rack on top if you have one.
Butterfly the tenderloin. Place the tenderloin on a cutting board. Using a sharp knife, slice lengthwise down the center, cutting about 3/4 of the way through — do not cut all the way through. Open it like a book and, if needed, use a meat mallet or heavy pan to gently pound it to an even 1/2-inch thickness.
Season and spread. In a small bowl, combine the minced garlic, smoked paprika, oregano, salt, pepper, and red pepper flakes if using. Brush the inside surface of the butterflied tenderloin with Dijon mustard, then rub with the garlic-spice mixture.
Stuff with asparagus. Lay the asparagus spears lengthwise across the inside of the tenderloin, tips pointing toward one end, in a single tight layer. If the spears are long, trim them to fit so they’ll be fully enclosed.
Roll and tie. Starting at one long edge, roll the tenderloin firmly around the asparagus. Tie with kitchen twine at 1 1/2-inch intervals to hold the shape. Rub the exterior all over with the remaining 1 tablespoon olive oil and season lightly with salt and pepper.
Roast. Place the roll seam-side down on the prepared rack or baking sheet. Roast at 425°F for 22–26 minutes, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part reads 145°F.
Rest and slice. Transfer to a cutting board and let rest, loosely tented with foil, for 5 minutes. Remove the twine, then slice crosswise into 1-inch medallions. Each slice will reveal a ring of bright asparagus at the center.

Nutrition (per serving)

Asparagus Stuffed Pork Tenderloin — The Pork That Carries the Chain