Orelhas de Porco de Coentrada

This is one of the dishes I'm most afraid of losing. When I ask young people if they've tried orelhas, they wrinkle their noses. When I ask their grandmothers, their eyes light up. As avós sabem. The grandmothers know.

In every tasca in Alentejo, there used to be a bowl of these on the counter. Pig's ears, slow-cooked until the cartilage went from tough to tender to almost melting, then sliced and drowned in a garlicky dressing thick with coentros. You'd eat them with toothpicks, standing at the bar, with a glass of red wine that cost almost nothing.

Avó Leonor made these for my grandfather every time they slaughtered a pig. Nothing was wasted. The meat became chouriço, the blood became morcela, and the ears became this salad. She'd let them sit overnight in the dressing, the vinegar cutting through the richness, the coentros making everything bright and sharp.

I've been documenting this recipe from grandmothers across Alentejo, and every one of them says the same thing: their grandchildren won't eat it. Won't even try it. This breaks my heart. This is who we are. This is peasant genius, transforming what others throw away into something that makes you close your eyes when you eat it.

If you've never eaten pig's ear, start here. The texture is unlike anything else: silky, slightly chewy, rich without being heavy. The coentrada dressing is punchy enough to balance the richness. Give it a chance. The grandmothers knew what they were doing.