Chili Verde — Rosa’s September 15 Recipe, Made for the Both of Them Now

September 15. Rosa's second death anniversary. Mexican Independence Day. I know the drill now — the grief, the baking, the candles, the silence after the noise. But this year has an addition: Alejandro. This September 15 I grieve both parents, and the both-ness is not twice the grief but a different grief entirely, a grief that is complete in a way last year's wasn't, because last year I was still a daughter — Alejandro was alive and I was someone's child — and this year I am no one's child, and the no-one's-ness is the loneliest room I have ever stood in.

I went to Mass. I lit four candles: Rosa, Alejandro, Javier, and one for all the Delgados I don't know the names of — the grandparents, the great-grandparents, the people who came before Rosa and before Anapra and before the border existed, the people who were Mexican before Mexico had a name. The fourth candle is for the unknown. The unknown deserves a flame too.

Sofia made the bakery ofrenda for the third year. This year she added Alejandro's photograph — the one I had of him, younger, standing in front of the house he built, sleeves rolled up, hands on his hips, looking like a man who has built something and is proud and will never say so. She put his photograph next to Rosa's and between them she placed a cup of coffee (Rosa's, black with sugar) and a bottle of Jarritos (Alejandro's, mandarin flavor, the only sweet thing he ever allowed himself). The ofrenda is growing. The altar of the dead is getting crowded. This is what happens when you lose people — the altar gets crowded and the table gets empty and you stand between them, the living curator of the dead, trying to balance the two.

I made chile colorado. Rosa's recipe. The annual September 15 tradition. The dried chiles, soaked and blended, the pork braised until it yields, the sauce dark and deep and rich with the particular flavor of memory. I made it and served it and the family ate it and Luis Jr. was not there — he was at Fort Sill, in the last week of basic training, eating whatever the Army calls dinner — and his empty chair at the table was the newest absence, the freshest wound, the youngest ghost at the table that is getting emptier and the ofrenda that is getting fuller.

I called Carmen after dinner. I said: "Both of them are gone." She said: "I know." I said: "And Luis Jr. is gone." She said: "He'll be back." I said: "I know. But the house—" She said: "The house is changing." She's right. The house is changing. Four children instead of five. Two parents instead of four. The house is getting quieter, getting smaller, getting closer to the day when it will be just me and Luis and the conchas at 4 AM and the recipe notebook on the counter and the silence that is not silence but the sound of a life that held five children and two parents and three deaths and a bakery and lost some and kept the rest and called it enough.

Rosa’s recipe is the anchor — the one thing that does not change when everything else is changing. I cannot give you her exact chile colorado, because some things belong to the dead and to the family and not to the page, but I can give you what I made alongside it this year: a chili verde that uses the same patience, the same dried and roasted chiles, the same long braise that turns tough pork into something that yields. It is not Rosa’s recipe. It is the recipe that kept my hands busy while I thought about her, and about Alejandro, and about the chair where Luis Jr. didn’t sit. When the grief is complete and the altar is crowded, you cook — and you let the slow heat do what it can.

Chili Verde

Prep Time: 30 min | Cook Time: 1 hr 45 min | Total Time: 2 hr 15 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 3 lbs pork shoulder, trimmed and cut into 1 1/2-inch cubes
• 1 1/2 tsp kosher salt, divided
• 1 tsp black pepper
• 2 tbsp vegetable oil
• 1 large white onion, diced
• 6 garlic cloves, minced
• 1 tsp ground cumin
• 1 tsp dried oregano (Mexican oregano preferred)
• 6 Hatch or Anaheim green chiles, roasted, peeled, seeded, and chopped (about 1 1/2 cups)
• 2 poblano peppers, roasted, peeled, seeded, and chopped
• 2 jalapeños, seeded and minced (leave seeds for more heat)
• 1 lb tomatillos, husked, rinsed, and quartered
• 3 cups low-sodium chicken broth
• 1 tbsp fresh lime juice
• 1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped, for serving
• Warm flour or corn tortillas, for serving

Instructions

1. Season and sear the pork. Pat pork cubes dry with paper towels. Season all over with 1 tsp salt and the black pepper. Heat oil in a large Dutch oven or heavy pot over medium-high heat. Working in batches to avoid crowding, sear pork on all sides until deeply browned, 3 to 4 minutes per side. Transfer seared pork to a plate and set aside.
2. Build the base. Reduce heat to medium. Add the diced onion to the same pot and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add the garlic, cumin, and oregano and cook 1 minute more, until fragrant.
3. Add chiles and tomatillos. Stir in the roasted green chiles, poblanos, jalapeños, and tomatillos. Cook, stirring occasionally, for 5 minutes until tomatillos begin to break down.
4. Braise low and slow. Return the seared pork and any accumulated juices to the pot. Pour in the chicken broth and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to low, cover partially, and simmer for 1 hour 30 minutes, stirring occasionally, until pork is very tender and breaks apart easily with a spoon. Skim excess fat from the surface as needed.
5. Finish and adjust. Stir in lime juice and remaining 1/2 tsp salt. Taste and adjust seasoning. If the sauce is thinner than you like, simmer uncovered for an additional 10 to 15 minutes to reduce.
6. Serve. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh cilantro. Serve with warm tortillas for scooping.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 340 | Protein: 36g | Fat: 17g | Carbs: 11g | Fiber: 3g | Sodium: 480mg