Pork Chili — The Bowl That Holds Both Halves of Who We Are

Sofia came home from school on Wednesday and asked me a question that stopped me cold: "Daddy, why do we speak two languages?" She wasn't complaining — she was genuinely curious. At preschool, she's one of maybe five kids in the bilingual track, and the other kids in her class have started noticing. "Lily says it's weird that I talk different," Sofia reported, without any apparent distress, as if she were reporting the weather.

I sat down at the kitchen table with her. Diego was on the floor with his pots and pans, banging away, providing the soundtrack to what felt like one of the most important conversations I'd ever have as a father. I said, "We speak two languages because our family comes from two places. Abuela and Abuelo's parents came from Mexico, and they spoke Spanish. And Grandma and Grandpa in Duluth speak English. And you get both, mija. You get to carry both."

She thought about this. Then she said, "Does Diego speak two languages?" I looked at Diego, who was saying "more" while banging a pot lid on the tile floor. "Diego speaks one language," I said. "And that language is chaos." Sofia laughed. Crisis averted. But the conversation stayed with me all week.

I called Roberto that night. Told him what Sofia asked. He was quiet for a moment — rare for Roberto — and then he said, "My father was afraid to speak Spanish in public. He came to this country and was told to speak English or go home. He spoke English at work and Spanish at home, and he died feeling like half a person. You're giving Sofia the whole person, mijo. Both halves. Don't let anyone make her feel weird about it."

I hung up and sat in the backyard for a long time. Roberto doesn't talk about his father much — my grandfather, Alejandro, who died before I was born. But when he does, it's always about the language. The suppression. The shame. The way a man can cross a border and gain a country but lose his voice. I will not let that happen to my kids. Sofia will speak Spanish because it is hers. Diego will speak Spanish because it is his. This is not negotiable.

Cooked pozole this week — the red kind, with pork and hominy and dried guajillo chiles. It's my mom's recipe, the one she makes for Christmas Eve, but I make it whenever I need to feel anchored to something older than myself. The chiles rehydrate in hot water and blend into a sauce that's deep red and smoky and smells like Elena's kitchen in December. The pork simmers for hours until it falls apart. The hominy blooms in the broth like little pearls.

I made a huge pot and brought half to my parents. Roberto ate two bowls and spoke to Sofia in Spanish the entire time. She answered in Spanish. Diego said "more." The whole person. Both halves. This is how you fight for a thread.

What I made this week was technically a pork chili, but in my house, in my heart, it lives right next to my mom Elena’s Christmas pozole — the same dried chiles, the same long simmer, the same smell that fills a kitchen and makes you feel like you belong somewhere permanent. After Roberto’s words about my grandfather Alejandro, about losing your voice when you cross a border, I needed to cook something that couldn’t be taken away. This recipe is that something. Make it low and slow, let the pork go soft, and don’t rush the chiles — they’ve been waiting their whole lives to bloom in that broth.

Pork Chili

Prep Time: 25 min | Cook Time: 2 hrs 15 min | Total Time: 2 hrs 40 min | Servings: 8

Ingredients

• 2 1/2 lbs boneless pork shoulder, cut into 1-inch cubes
• 1 can (29 oz) hominy, drained and rinsed
• 1 can (14.5 oz) fire-roasted diced tomatoes
• 4 dried guajillo chiles, stemmed and seeded
• 2 dried ancho chiles, stemmed and seeded
• 1 medium white onion, diced
• 5 cloves garlic, minced
• 2 cups low-sodium chicken broth
• 1 cup water
• 2 tbsp vegetable oil
• 2 tsp ground cumin
• 1 tsp dried oregano (Mexican oregano preferred)
• 1 tsp smoked paprika
• 1/2 tsp chipotle chili powder
• Salt and black pepper to taste
• Toppings: thinly sliced radishes, shredded cabbage, diced white onion, dried oregano, lime wedges, tostadas

Instructions

1. Rehydrate the chiles. Place guajillo and ancho chiles in a heatproof bowl and cover with 2 cups of boiling water. Let soak 20 minutes until soft and pliable. Reserve 1/2 cup of the soaking liquid, then transfer chiles to a blender.
2. Blend the chile sauce. Add the reserved soaking liquid, 2 cloves of the minced garlic, and the fire-roasted tomatoes to the blender with the chiles. Blend on high until completely smooth, about 60 seconds. Set aside.
3. Brown the pork. Pat pork cubes dry and season generously with salt and pepper. Heat oil in a large Dutch oven or heavy pot over medium-high heat. Working in two batches, sear pork on all sides until deep golden brown, about 4–5 minutes per batch. Transfer to a plate.
4. Build the base. Reduce heat to medium. Add the diced onion to the pot and cook, stirring occasionally, until softened and translucent, about 5 minutes. Add remaining garlic, cumin, oregano, smoked paprika, and chipotle chili powder. Stir and cook 1 minute until fragrant.
5. Simmer low and slow. Return the browned pork to the pot. Pour in the blended chile sauce, chicken broth, and water. Stir to combine, scraping up any browned bits from the bottom of the pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low. Cover and simmer for 1 hour 30 minutes, until pork is very tender and beginning to fall apart.
6. Add the hominy. Stir in the drained hominy. Simmer uncovered for an additional 30 minutes, allowing the broth to thicken slightly and the hominy to absorb the flavors of the chile broth. Taste and adjust salt as needed.
7. Serve with toppings. Ladle into deep bowls. Set out radishes, shredded cabbage, diced onion, dried oregano, and lime wedges so everyone can build their own bowl at the table.

Nutrition (per serving)

Calories: 385 | Protein: 32g | Fat: 16g | Carbs: 28g | Fiber: 5g | Sodium: 520mg