Cherry-Stuffed Pork Loin

Thanksgiving. We were home in Denver this year — I could not get to Las Cruces, with the state final eight days away and a bye week ahead of me but a film schedule that did not give. Mamá and Papá called Wednesday. Mamá said, "M'ijo, do not feel bad about not coming." I said, "I feel bad about not coming." She said, "I said do not feel bad. I am the one who decides whether you are allowed to feel bad." I said, "Yes, ma'am." She said, "Make a turkey. Eat with your family. Win on Saturday. We will see you for Christmas." I said, "Yes, ma'am." She said, "Mijo. The corn bread for the stuffing — you are using my recipe, yes?" I said, "Yes, Mamá." She said, "Bueno." We hung up.

I made the turkey. Twelve-pound bird, brined for twenty-four hours in salt, brown sugar, a little chile, garlic, and orange peel. Roasted at three-fifty for three hours, basted twice. Gravy made from the pan drippings, with a roux base, and a little roasted green chile stirred in at the end because we are who we are. The stuffing was Mamá's green chile cornbread stuffing — corn bread crumbled, sautéed onion and celery and garlic, chopped roasted green chile, chicken broth, two eggs, a teaspoon of cumin, and a heavy hand of black pepper, baked in a 9x13 covered for thirty minutes and uncovered for fifteen until the top got crackly. The stuffing is the dish that everyone in the family fights over. There is never enough. Lisa always says, "Make more next year." I always make the same amount. The argument is part of the meal.

The five of us at the table — me, Lisa, Diego, Sofia, Marco, Elena — and Hayley, who came over for dinner, and Lisa's sister Carrie and Tom and their two kids. Twelve at the table. Lisa's dad came up from Colorado Springs — Tom drove down to get him, brought him up Wednesday night, took him home Friday morning. The house was full. The smells were full. The football was on TV in the den.

Before we ate, we did the family gratitude round, which is a thing Lisa's mother started thirty years ago and which Lisa has continued since her mother died, where each person at the table says one thing they are grateful for. The twins went first. Marco said, "I am grateful for football." Elena rolled her eyes. Elena said, "I am grateful for my new sneakers, my friends at school, and Sofia for letting me read her old books." Sofia smiled. Sofia said, "I am grateful for my brother, who has had a great year. And for my parents. And for my coach." Diego said, "I am grateful for the team. For my parents. For my sisters and my brother. For Hayley." Hayley said, "I am grateful for the Medina family, who have welcomed me, and for my own family. And for Diego." Lisa's dad said, "I am grateful for my daughters, and for being above ground." (He meant alive. We laughed.) Carrie and Tom said the standard things — kids, jobs, family. Lisa said, "I am grateful for Carlos, who is having the year of his life. I am grateful for our four kids who are all becoming people I am proud to know. I am grateful for my sister and my dad. I am grateful that we are all together at this table." I said, "I am grateful for everyone in this room. I am grateful for my parents, who could not be here. I am grateful for my brother Ruben, who is at a different table. I am grateful for the team, which has earned the chance to play one more game. I am grateful that we get to do this, this exact thing, this exact day, in this exact house." We took a moment of silence for Ruben. The twins looked solemn. Lisa held my hand. We ate.

Diego ate more than I have ever seen him eat. He had three plates. The twins had two each. Sofia had one big plate, slowly, and seconds on stuffing. Hayley had two plates and a slice of pie. Carrie and Tom's kids had three plates each. Lisa's dad had one full plate and a slice of pie and a glass of milk and went to sit in the den at six. He fell asleep in front of the football game by seven. Tom drove him home Friday morning. He hugged Lisa for a long time at the door. He said, "Lisa. I am thinking about it. The move. I am thinking about it." Lisa said, "Dad. Take your time. We are right here." He nodded. He got in the car. They drove south on I-25.

Saturday I went to film. Sunday I went to film. Diego came home Sunday night from his last day off and said, "Dad, six days." I said, "Six days." He said, "Are we ready." I said, "We are ready." He said, "Are you nervous." I said, "I am awake." He said, "Yeah. Me too. Awake." He went up to his room. He closed the door. The house was quiet. The dog tags were on the chain. The chain was around my neck. The road bends. Feed your people. The game is won at the table.

The cornbread stuffing is Mamá’s and always will be — that one I cannot hand over to you, because it belongs to her and to the phone call and to the twelve people crammed around our table in Denver who fought over the last scoop. But the idea underneath it — that something good tucked inside something else makes the whole meal feel like a gift — that I can give you. This cherry-stuffed pork loin carries the same logic: a little sweetness folded into the center, roasted until everything pulls together, served to the people who showed up. That’s the whole recipe. That’s always been the whole recipe.

Prep Time: 25 minutes | Cook Time: 1 hour 15 minutes | Total Time: 1 hour 40 minutes | Servings: 8

Ingredients

1 center-cut boneless pork loin roast (about 3 lbs)
1 cup dried tart cherries
1/2 cup dry red wine or low-sodium chicken broth
1/3 cup plain dry breadcrumbs
2 tablespoons fresh flat-leaf parsley, chopped
1 tablespoon olive oil, plus more for searing
2 cloves garlic, minced
1/2 teaspoon dried thyme
1/2 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more for seasoning
1/4 teaspoon black pepper, plus more for seasoning
1/4 teaspoon ground allspice
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1/2 cup cherry preserves or jam
1 tablespoon balsamic vinegar
Kitchen twine for tying

Instructions

Make the stuffing. Combine dried cherries and red wine in a small saucepan over medium heat. Bring to a simmer, cook 3–4 minutes until cherries are plump and most of the liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat and let cool slightly. Stir in breadcrumbs, parsley, garlic, thyme, allspice, olive oil, salt, and pepper until the mixture holds together loosely.
Butterfly the pork. Preheat oven to 350°F. Place the pork loin fat-side down on a cutting board. Using a sharp knife, make a lengthwise cut down the center of the roast, cutting about two-thirds of the way through. Open the roast like a book. Make a second cut along each thick side so the meat opens flat and is roughly even in thickness throughout.
Fill and roll. Spread the cherry stuffing evenly over the interior of the butterflied pork, leaving a 1/2-inch border on all sides. Roll the pork firmly from one long side to enclose the filling. Tie with kitchen twine at 1-inch intervals to hold its shape.
Sear the roast. Heat a thin film of olive oil in a large oven-safe skillet over medium-high heat. Season the outside of the roast generously with salt and pepper. Sear on all sides, turning every 2 minutes, until golden brown all over, about 8 minutes total.
Glaze and roast. Whisk together Dijon mustard, cherry preserves, and balsamic vinegar in a small bowl. Brush half the glaze over the seared roast. Transfer the skillet to the preheated oven and roast for 55–65 minutes, brushing with remaining glaze halfway through, until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the center registers 145°F.
Rest and slice. Transfer the roast to a cutting board, tent loosely with foil, and rest for 10 minutes. Remove twine. Slice into 3/4-inch rounds and arrange on a platter. Spoon any pan juices over the top before serving.

Nutrition (per serving)

Cherry-Stuffed Pork Loin — The Table We Set When We Cannot Go Home