Pernil (Puerto Rican Roasted Pork Shoulder)

One week. Seven days. Mami arrives next Tuesday and I have not slept properly in four days because the anticipation is keeping me awake the way the hurricane kept me awake in September, except this time the wakefulness is joy instead of fear, and joy-wakefulness and fear-wakefulness feel surprisingly similar at 3 AM — both involve standing in the kitchen, both involve making cafe, both involve staring at the ceiling and talking to God or whoever is listening, saying please, saying thank you, saying hurry up and slow down at the same time.

Ana is coming with Mami. Ana will stay for a week to help Mami settle in, then fly back to Bridgeport. The house in Bayamon — what is left of it — will stay in the family. Marisol will check on it. Julio will check on it from San Juan. The house is damaged but standing, like Mami, like the island, like everything that matters. Standing is enough. Standing is the whole point.

I made a shopping list for Mami first week of meals. Tuesday night: pernil, because Mami arrives on a Tuesday and Tuesday or not, her first meal in Hartford will be pernil. Wednesday: arroz con pollo, the comfort food, the transition food, the food that says you are not in Bayamon but the kitchen is the same and the taste is the same and the love is the same. Thursday: habichuelas guisadas, because Mami beans are the best beans and I need her to taste mine and tell me what is missing so I can fix it, and the fixing will be her first act of mothering in Hartford, and mothering is what Mami needs to feel alive.

Eduardo came home and found me crying at the kitchen table for no reason that I could articulate. He sat down. He said, She is coming, Carmen. I said, I know. He said, Then why are you crying? I said, Because she is coming and she should not have to come, she should be in Bayamon where she belongs, but Bayamon does not have a roof and Hartford does and the roof is winning and the island is losing and I am happy and I am guilty and I am standing at the intersection of happy and guilty again, Eduardo, the way I have been standing there since September.

He held my hand. He said, Carmen, the roof is not winning. You are winning. You are bringing your mother home. That is not guilt. That is love. That is the strongest thing in the world. Stronger than a hurricane. Stronger than a roof. He is right. Eduardo is right so rarely that when he is right it feels monumental, and tonight he was right, and the rightness filled the kitchen the way sofrito fills a pot, and I sat there and I let it fill me and I stopped crying and I started planning Tuesday dinner. Because planning dinner is how I say I love you. And Tuesday is coming. And Mami is coming. And the pernil is going to be perfect.

So this is the pernil. The Tuesday night pernil. The one I have been losing sleep over, the one I have been planning since the moment Ana called and said the flights are booked. I have made pernil a hundred times, but this one has to be different — this one has to taste like Bayamón, like Mami’s kitchen before the storm took the roof, like every Christmas and every birthday and every ordinary Tuesday that we took for granted. Eduardo says I am overthinking it. He is probably right. But overthinking dinner is how I love people, and this pernil is going to carry all of that love in every piece of crispy skin and every clove of garlic I push into the meat.

Prep Time: 30 minutes (plus overnight marinating) | Cook Time: 4 hours | Total Time: 4 hours 30 minutes (plus marinating) | Servings: 10

Ingredients

1 bone-in, skin-on pork shoulder (8 to 10 pounds)
15 cloves garlic, peeled
2 tablespoons olive oil
2 tablespoons white vinegar
1 tablespoon dried oregano
2 teaspoons ground cumin
1 tablespoon kosher salt
1 teaspoon black pepper
2 packets sazón (with achiote)
1 tablespoon adobo seasoning
3 tablespoons sofrito
2 tablespoons recaito (green sofrito)
Juice of 2 limes

Instructions

Make the adobo paste. In a mortar and pestle (or small food processor), combine the garlic, olive oil, vinegar, oregano, cumin, salt, pepper, sazón, adobo seasoning, sofrito, recaito, and lime juice. Blend into a thick paste.
Score and season the pork. Using a sharp knife, cut deep slits all over the pork shoulder — about 1 to 1-1/2 inches deep and 2 inches apart. Push the adobo paste deep into each slit with your fingers, then rub the remaining paste over the entire surface, including under the skin where possible.
Marinate overnight. Place the pork in a large roasting pan, cover tightly with plastic wrap or aluminum foil, and refrigerate for at least 12 hours or up to 24 hours. The longer it marinates, the deeper the flavor.
Bring to room temperature. Remove the pork from the refrigerator 1 hour before roasting. Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Cover and roast low and slow. Cover the roasting pan tightly with aluminum foil. Roast for 3 hours, basting with the pan juices every hour. The meat should be fork-tender and pulling away from the bone.
Crisp the skin. Remove the foil and increase the oven temperature to 400°F. Roast uncovered for 45 minutes to 1 hour, until the skin is golden brown and crackling. If the skin is not crisping evenly, broil on high for the last 3 to 5 minutes, watching carefully to prevent burning.
Rest and serve. Remove from the oven and let rest for 20 minutes. The meat should shred easily with a fork. Serve with arroz con gandules and tostones, spooning the pan juices over each portion.

Nutrition (per serving)

Pernil (Puerto Rican Roasted Pork Shoulder) — The Tuesday Night Dinner That Says Welcome Home