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Kalua Pork — Low and Slow, the Way It Should Be

Rain all week. The kind of Alabama spring rain that is not gentle, sheets of it, warm and aggressive, the gutters outside my apartment running like small rivers. I like it actually. Inside with rain means inside is the right place to be. No friction in staying home.

I made smothered pork chops this week, my first solo attempt. Her recipe is on an index card that I photographed and then also wrote down separately because I am terrified of something happening to those cards. The recipe calls for browning the chops first in the cast iron, pulling them out, building the gravy with onions, garlic, a little flour, chicken broth, and cream, then putting the chops back in and finishing in the oven. Low and slow.

Mine were good. The gravy was perhaps slightly thin, I think I needed more flour in the roux, but the pork was tender and the whole apartment smelled like her house on a Sunday, which is a smell I have decided to actively try to reproduce on regular Saturdays so that I stop feeling strange eating alone. It mostly works.

Keisha texted me asking if I wanted to come over Sunday afternoon. Her mother was making curried goat and wanted more people at the table. I went. Her apartment is full of color, the walls are painted deep green in the living room, she has plants everywhere, real curtains with a pattern. I sat at Miss Beverly table and ate curried goat over rice and it was extraordinary. She watched me eat and seemed satisfied. You know how to eat, she said, which felt like a compliment about character, not just appetite.

I skipped the Sunday drive to Prattville since I was at Keisha, but I called in the evening. James answered first. He always sounds the same on the phone, warm, unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. Told him about the curried goat. He said now is not that something. He is one of those people.

After that week of rain and pork chops and Miss Beverly’s table, I kept thinking about what makes a kitchen smell like someone’s house on a Sunday. It’s the low and slow of it — the hours a piece of pork spends becoming something tender and worth sitting down for. This kalua pork is that same idea, stripped even simpler: salt, smoke, time. The kind of recipe you start in the morning and come home to, your apartment already telling you dinner is handled.

Kalua Pork

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 8 hours | Total Time: 8 hours 15 minutes | Servings: 10

Ingredients

  • 4 to 5 pounds bone-in pork shoulder (also called pork butt)
  • 2 tablespoons coarse sea salt or Hawaiian red salt
  • 1 1/2 tablespoons liquid smoke
  • 1 tablespoon brown sugar
  • Ti leaves or banana leaves for wrapping (optional)

Instructions

  1. Score and season the pork. Using a sharp knife, score the pork shoulder all over in a crosshatch pattern about 1/4 inch deep. Rub the liquid smoke evenly over the entire surface, working it into the cuts. Season generously with coarse salt and brown sugar, pressing it into the meat.
  2. Wrap the pork. If using ti or banana leaves, wrap the pork shoulder completely in the leaves and secure with kitchen twine. If not using leaves, place the pork directly into the slow cooker fat side up.
  3. Cook low and slow. Place the wrapped or seasoned pork in a slow cooker. Cover and cook on low for 8 hours, until the pork is fall-apart tender and shreds easily with a fork. Do not open the lid during cooking.
  4. Shred the pork. Remove the pork from the slow cooker and discard any leaves, bones, and large pieces of fat. Using two forks, shred the meat into pieces. Return the shredded pork to the cooking juices and toss to coat.
  5. Serve. Serve the kalua pork over steamed rice, in rolls, or alongside your favorite sides. It keeps beautifully — leftovers taste even better the next day.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 340 | Protein: 38g | Fat: 19g | Carbs: 1g | Fiber: 0g | Sodium: 980mg

Savannah Clarke
About the cook who shared this
Savannah Clarke
Week 55 of Savannah’s 30-year story · Prattville, Alabama
Savannah is twenty-seven, engaged, and a daycare worker in Prattville, Alabama, who grew up in foster care and never had a kitchen to call her own until she was nineteen. She taught herself to cook from YouTube videos and church cookbooks, and now she makes fried chicken that would make your grandmother jealous. She writes for the girls who grew up like her — without a family recipe box, without a mama in the kitchen, without anyone to show them how. She's showing them now.

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