Mofongo — Comfort Food for a Woman Counting Down Days

The baby has a due date: May 15th. One month. Four weeks. Twenty-eight days. I know the exact number because I have a countdown on the kitchen wall that Eduardo says is unnecessary and which I say is essential because essential and unnecessary are the same thing when it comes to grandchildren. I also have a bag packed — MY bag, not Jenny bag — with a change of clothes, my good apron, a container of sofrito, and a phone charger, because when the call comes I am going to the hospital and I am going to be there when my grandchild arrives and I am going to have sofrito with me because you never know when you will need sofrito. This is a fact, not a joke.

Miguel Jr. is nervous. First-time father nervous, the kind where you read every parenting book and still feel unprepared, the kind where you call your mother at 10 PM and say, Mami, am I ready? I said, Miguelito, no. You are not ready. Nobody is ready. Your father was not ready. I was not ready. But the baby does not wait for ready. The baby comes when the baby comes and you figure it out with the baby on your chest and the fear in your throat and the love filling every space the fear leaves behind. He said, Were you scared? I said, Terrified. He said, But it was okay? I said, It was better than okay. It was the best thing. Every single time. All four of you. The best thing.

Mami has been knitting. KNITTING. Luz Maria Ortiz, who has not knitted in twenty years, found yarn in a drawer of the apartment and started making a baby blanket. Her hands shake. The stitches are uneven. Some rows are tight and some are loose and the blanket will look like it was made by a woman whose hands remember how to knit but whose fingers have forgotten the details. It will be the most beautiful blanket in the world. It will be the bisabuela blanket, made by a great-grandmother with shaking hands and a heart that has not shaken once in eighty-one years. I watched her knit and I did not say anything about the stitches because some things are beyond critique. Some things are beyond correction. Some things are perfect in their imperfection, the way Abuela Consuelo first sofrito was perfect even though she burned it, because the love was in the effort, not the result.

Made mofongo tonight. Garlic, plantains, chicharron, pork broth. Comfort food for a woman counting down days. The mofongo was excellent. David would have approved. He would also have deconstructed it, which is why I am glad he is in Brooklyn and I am in Hartford and the mofongo is in one piece, the way God and Abuela Consuelo intended.

With twenty-eight days left on that kitchen countdown and my heart already so full it aches, I needed something I could shape with my hands — something solid and warm and unapologetically whole. So I made the mofongo. Garlic, plantains, chicharrón, pork broth, a pilón that has seen three generations of Ortiz women lean into it with everything they had. David would have tried to deconstruct it, but tonight it stayed in one piece, the way it was meant to be, the way Abuela Consuelo would have wanted — and here is how you make it.

Mofongo

Prep Time: 15 minutes | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 35 minutes | Servings: 4

Ingredients

• 4 green plantains, peeled and cut into 1-inch rounds
• Vegetable oil, for frying (about 3 cups)
• 6 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 tablespoons olive oil
• 4 ounces chicharrón (fried pork rinds), crushed into small pieces
• 1/2 teaspoon salt, plus more to taste
• 1/4 teaspoon black pepper
• 2 tablespoons unsalted butter
• 1 cup warm pork broth, plus extra for serving

Instructions

1. Soak the plantains. Place the plantain rounds in a bowl of salted water and let them soak for 15 minutes. Drain and pat dry thoroughly with paper towels.
2. Fry the plantains. Heat vegetable oil in a deep skillet or Dutch oven to 350°F. Fry the plantain rounds in batches for 7 to 8 minutes, until golden on the outside but still slightly soft inside. Transfer to a paper towel-lined plate.
3. Make the garlic oil. In a small skillet, heat the olive oil over medium-low heat. Add the minced garlic and cook for 1 to 2 minutes, stirring constantly, until fragrant and just barely golden. Remove from heat immediately — do not let it brown.
4. Crush the chicharrón. If your chicharrón pieces are large, place them in a bag and crush with a rolling pin until you have rough, pea-sized crumbles.
5. Mash the mofongo. Working in batches, place a handful of fried plantains, a spoonful of garlic oil, a portion of crushed chicharrón, a piece of butter, and a splash of warm pork broth into a pilón (wooden mortar and pestle) or a large, sturdy bowl. Pound and mash until the mixture comes together into a thick, chunky mass. It should hold its shape but not be smooth — you want texture.
6. Shape and serve. Pack the mofongo firmly into a small bowl or cup, then invert onto a plate to form a dome. Repeat with remaining ingredients to make 4 servings. Ladle warm pork broth around the base of each dome and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 480 | Protein: 12g | Fat: 22g | Carbs: 64g | Fiber: 4g | Sodium: 620mg