My Interpretation of My Mother’s Roast Pork, Pernil
Growing up I was a picky eater. One of the pickiest — other than my mother herself, who still refuses to eat ANYTHING green. Her vegetable intake is quite literally limited to —
I stopped to text my mom…
Those are not vegetables Ma, those are starches. How she’s survived this long on rice and processed foods is unbeknownst to me.
This is not to say she doesn’t whip up the most incredible mouth-watering dishes. She will cook anything and everything for her kids, husband, and guests — eating the food she cooks on the other hand is a completely different topic.
She cooked the food my siblings and myself enjoyed to eat, so she expected us to eat what was made. There wasn’t a second option or her saying, “Do you want a grilled cheese instead??” as she does now with her grandchildren.
Within the last year I was visiting Florida and vividly remember the look on her face when I threw away an empanada I only took one bite out of. Her reaction -
“I’ve never saw a whole empanada in my garbage can before.” Disdain filled her words, and if looks could kill.
It’s not my fault, I have hot girl belly issues. I CANNOT have tomato sauce in every single dish I eat. Hence, I offended my mother in the worst way ever — by insulting her food.
The worst kind of offense to a Puerto Rican woman…
In any case, I’m now committed to learning how to recreate some of the dishes I grew up on and make them a bit healthier, without the red dye package sazón and adobo.
However, this recipe is NOT that one. I wanted to replicated my mother’s recipe as authentically as I could, with a twist.
Growing up, pernil is the staple dish at any holiday. However, my mother did raise picky eaters so there was always turkey served as well.
I didn’t start eating her pork until I was eighteen years old and pregnant with my second child.
The air would be thick with the perfume of garlic, sofrito, sazón, adobo and the faintly mischievous tang of vinegar — the kind that made your nose tingle and your stomach growl hours before you were allowed anywhere near it.
My mother never measured, she still doesn’t. “A little of this, un poquito más of that,” and I cook exactly the same way.
Allowing your eye and hand to do the measuring, and filling the dish with intention that it’s going to be the most amazing food yet.
So, when I decided to make my version of pernil, I had two goals:
Honor the original — because no one survives a holiday without respecting the family food hierarchy.
Survive the process without burning the house down — because pernil requires commitment, patience, and, in my case, wine—however, to my disappointment—I had none and it was 8am while I was seasoning this thing.
Instead of marinating overnight like she always does, I penetrated that meat with so much love, it owed me money with the garlic-paste-and-spice rub, wrapped it tight and forgot about it for hours.
Where my mother roasted hers slowly for six or more hours, I played a dangerous game of “I think I can shave off thirty minutes” because patience may be a virtue, but so is keeping the dinner guests from mutiny. It worked — mostly. The skin came out crisp, the meat tender enough to fall apart with the nudge of a fork, and the flavor… well, it was close enough that my mother only would probably raise one eyebrow — never two.
My pernil isn’t her pernil, and it never will be. But it carries her spirit — the love in every clove of garlic, the stubbornness in every splash of olive oil, and the unshakable belief that food tastes better when it’s shared with loud, laughing people and an open bottle of wine.
If chaos is inevitable in the kitchen, you might as well pair it with something full-bodied and red- but not at 8am. Unless that’s your thing, then you do you boo.
ENJOY!
Preheat oven to 350°F
Ingredients:
1 cup-ish olive oil
2 tbsp-ish garlic powder
2 tbsp-ish onion powder
1 whole bulb of garlic, minced (yes, the whole thing — your neighbors should smell it)
Fresh cilantro, chopped (a hearty handful)
Fresh parsley, chopped (another hearty handful)
2-3 packets Sazón (the little orange magic packets)
4 tbsp-ish Adobo seasoning (I don’t sprinkle, I commit)
1 large pork shoulder (bone-in for maximum flavor)
3 limes
Instructions:
In a large mixing bowl, mix olive oil, fresh squeezed lime juice, garlic powder, onion powder, minced garlic, cilantro, parsley, Sazón, and Adobo until combined.
Score the pork - then massage the mixture into every nook and cranny. Finger it. Act as if you’ve never felt the inside of a vagina. And now that you have— all you want to do it play with it.
Place pork in a roasting pan, cover tightly with a tent of aluminum foil (think “airtight fort”), and roast for 2.5 hours.
Loosen the foil and continue roasting for another 2–3 hours- possibly longer. It depends on the size of the shoulder, and I honestly don’t remember how much this one weighed.
Remove the foil completely and let the fat cap crisp up until it’s crunchy perfection.
Pull the meat apart, pour yourself another glass of Cabernet, and prepare for applause.
I have some great ideas for the left overs, if you want to hear more, please comment!
Until next time…
@e.lynnjimenez Dinner with Cabernet & Chaos 🍷 #dinner #trendingreels #blogger #homecooking #foodie #goodeats #cooking #reels #eatup ♬ original sound - E. Lynn Jimenez
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