Onion Mustard Buns

The week between Christmas and New Year's. Mi amor, this week has no name in English and it should. In Puerto Rico we call it "la semana muerta" — the dead week — and it is dead only in the sense that everyone is quietly digesting. The work of December is done. The pasteles are gone. The tree is still up. The coquito is still in the fridge, the last half-bottle, the one I am pretending to save for Eduardo but that I will finish myself when nobody is watching.

Monday I made pernil sandwiches from the leftover shoulder. Thick slabs of cold pernil on pan sobao — the soft Puerto Rican sandwich bread — with garlic mojo and pickled onions and a slice of the ajíes dulces I fermented in October. This is the whole point of making a nine-pound pork shoulder for eleven people. The leftovers. The sandwiches. The second life of the pernil, which is almost better than the first life, because cold pork has a density hot pork cannot achieve, and garlic mojo on day three is a different animal than garlic mojo on day one.

Eduardo ate three sandwiches in a row without speaking, which is how Eduardo compliments food. I watched him eat and thought about the fifty-three pernils I've made in this house, the forty-seven in this marriage, the seventy — give or take — in my cooking life. Pernil is the spine of the Delgado year. The shoulder holds us up.

Tuesday I drove to Mami's apartment with a container of sandwiches and a thermos of coffee. She was confused about the day — she thought it was Nochebuena again and asked where the children were. I did not correct her. I fed her a sandwich and we listened to the Christmas music she still has on the little radio Miguel Jr. set up for her, and for forty minutes she was not confused, she was just my mother, eating pernil and humming. This is the gift of cold pernil. It does not demand anything from the hands or the memory. You just eat.

Wednesday Sofía came over with her nursing school paperwork — she starts the program in June, and the prerequisites list is longer than the Ten Commandments. I helped her organize the folders on the dining room table while she practiced taking my blood pressure. It was high. I said, "Of course it's high, Sofía, I'm your mother."

David called from Brooklyn and told me James had made him tortilla española and it was "not bad." I said, "Not bad from a white boy from Queens is the same as excellent from a Delgado," and David laughed his real laugh, the one I do not hear enough anymore.

Friday I made a pot of sancocho for the freezer. Saturday I slept until 7 AM, which is the latest I've slept in twenty years. The year is ending. My hands are rested. My kitchen is clean. My mother is alive. Wepa.

I would never tell Eduardo that the pan sobao ran out on Wednesday, because a woman has to keep some things to herself. But when I made a second round of pernil sandwiches later in the week, I wanted a bun that could hold up to the garlic mojo without falling apart — something with a little character, a little bite. These onion mustard buns are what I make when I need the bread to do some of the talking. They are soft enough for Mami, sturdy enough for the pork, and they smell like something worth staying in the kitchen for.

Prep Time: 20 minutes + 1 hour 30 minutes rising | Cook Time: 20 minutes | Total Time: 2 hours 10 minutes | Servings: 12 buns

Ingredients

3 1/2 cups all-purpose flour, plus more for dusting
2 1/4 teaspoons active dry yeast (1 packet)
3/4 cup warm whole milk (110°F)
1/4 cup warm water (110°F)
2 tablespoons unsalted butter, softened
1 large egg, room temperature
2 tablespoons Dijon mustard
1 tablespoon yellow mustard
1/3 cup finely minced yellow onion
1 1/2 teaspoons granulated sugar
1 1/4 teaspoons kosher salt
1 tablespoon olive oil (for bowl)
For topping: 1 egg beaten with 1 tablespoon water; 2 tablespoons dried minced onion

Instructions

Activate the yeast. Combine warm milk, warm water, and sugar in a large bowl. Sprinkle yeast over the top and let stand 5–8 minutes until foamy and fragrant.
Build the dough. Add the softened butter, egg, Dijon mustard, yellow mustard, minced onion, and salt to the yeast mixture. Stir to combine. Add flour one cup at a time, mixing with a wooden spoon until a shaggy dough forms.
Knead until smooth. Turn dough onto a lightly floured surface and knead for 8–10 minutes until the dough is smooth, elastic, and springs back when poked. Add flour a tablespoon at a time only if the dough is sticking badly — it should be slightly tacky.
First rise. Shape dough into a ball and place in a lightly oiled bowl, turning to coat. Cover with a damp kitchen towel or plastic wrap. Let rise in a warm spot for 1 hour, or until doubled in size.
Shape the buns. Punch dough down and turn onto a lightly floured surface. Divide into 12 equal portions (about 75g each). Roll each piece into a smooth ball by cupping your hand and rolling against the counter in tight circles. Arrange on a parchment-lined baking sheet, spacing 2 inches apart.
Second rise. Cover loosely and let buns rise for 25–30 minutes until puffed and nearly doubled. Meanwhile, preheat oven to 375°F.
Egg wash and top. Brush each bun gently with the egg wash. Sprinkle dried minced onion evenly over the tops.
Bake. Bake 18–22 minutes until deep golden brown on top and the buns sound hollow when tapped on the bottom. Transfer to a wire rack and cool at least 15 minutes before slicing.

Nutrition (per serving)

Onion Mustard Buns — The Bread That Holds Everything Together