
Chef Lupita
Arroz a la Oaxaqueña
Oaxaca's red rice, stained with tomato and fried in lard, steamed with carrots, ejotes, black beans, and epazote. The side that anchors a Oaxacan family meal and earns its place beside the main.
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Yucatecan ripe plantains baked whole in their blackened skins, split open and glazed with naranja agria, manteca, and piloncillo. The sweet, sour answer to a plate of cochinita pibil.
This is from Yucatán. Specifically from the home kitchens around Mérida and the smaller towns of the peninsula, where a plate of cochinita pibil or pavo en escabeche is never set on the table without something sweet and sour to answer it. These plantains are that answer.
The plantain itself is not Yucatecan in origin, it traveled here from West Africa through the Caribbean, but the peninsula adopted it the way it adopted everything: by putting naranja agria on it. Naranja agria, the sour orange the Spanish brought from Seville and that grows in patios all over Yucatán, is the citrus that defines this kitchen. It is in the cochinita, in the escabeche, in the salbutes, and it is here, cutting the sweetness of the caramelized plantain with a bitter-sour edge that orange juice and lime juice together can only approximate.
Baking the plantain whole in its skin is the trick. The skin holds the moisture in, the flesh confits in its own sugars and a little manteca, and the syrup that runs out of the slits at the end is essentially candy. You do not peel a plantain to roast it in Yucatán. You let the skin do the work. The cook who taught me this was a señora in Tixkokob who set them in the bottom of her oven while the cochinita finished on top, the lard from one dripping down to baste the other. La cocina no es decoración, es trabajo. Saber cocinar es saber vivir.
The plantain arrived in the Yucatán peninsula through Cuban and Caribbean trade routes in the 16th and 17th centuries, having traveled from its origins in Southeast Asia through Africa and the Atlantic slave trade. Naranja agria, citrus aurantium, was brought from Seville by Spanish colonists in the same period and adapted so completely to Yucatecan soil that it became the defining acid of the regional cuisine, displacing lime in most savory applications. The Maya word for plantain, 'haaz,' is still used in rural Yucatán alongside the Spanish 'plátano,' and the combination of African ingredient, European citrus, and Maya cooking technique, slow heat in an earthen oven, is the kind of culinary trilingualism that defines the peninsula's table.
Quantity
6
skins almost entirely black with patches of yellow
Quantity
1/3 cup
freshly squeezed
Quantity
3 tablespoons
melted
Quantity
2 tablespoons
grated, or dark brown sugar packed
Quantity
1/2 teaspoon
Quantity
1/4 teaspoon
Quantity
for serving
Quantity
for serving
crumbled
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| very ripe plantainsskins almost entirely black with patches of yellow | 6 |
| naranja agria juice (sour orange)freshly squeezed | 1/3 cup |
| manteca de cerdo (pork lard)melted | 3 tablespoons |
| piloncillograted, or dark brown sugar packed | 2 tablespoons |
| kosher salt | 1/2 teaspoon |
| ground canela (Mexican cinnamon) (optional) | 1/4 teaspoon |
| crema de rancho or thick Mexican crema (optional) | for serving |
| queso fresco (optional)crumbled | for serving |
Look at the skins. They should be almost completely black with a few patches of dark yellow showing through. Yellow plantains are not ready. Slightly black is not ready. You want them ugly, soft to a gentle squeeze, and smelling faintly sweet at the stem. If your plantains are still firm, leave them on the counter for three or four more days. La fruta dice cuándo está lista. The fruit tells you when it is ready, not the calendar.
Heat the oven to 400F. Wipe the plantains clean with a damp cloth. Do not peel them. The skin is the cazuela. Lay them on a sheet pan or a shallow clay cazuela in a single layer, with a little room between each one. Pierce each plantain twice along the top with the tip of a paring knife, about a quarter inch deep. Those slits let the sugars vent and keep the skin from bursting open in the heat.
Slide the pan into the oven and bake for 35 to 45 minutes. You are waiting for three things at once: the skins should turn fully black and glossy, dark syrup should be weeping from the slits and pooling under the plantains, and the flesh should feel soft when you press the skin with the back of a spoon. The smaller the plantain, the faster it cooks. Check at thirty-five minutes.
While the plantains bake, stir together the naranja agria juice, melted lard, grated piloncillo, salt, and canela in a small bowl. The piloncillo will not dissolve completely and that is fine, it will finish melting on the hot plantain. The naranja agria is what makes this a Yucatecan dish and not a plain baked plantain. It cuts the sweetness with a sour edge that no other citrus replicates.
Pull the plantains out of the oven. Let them rest for two minutes so the steam stops jumping out at you. Slit each one lengthwise down the top, from stem to tip, and pinch the ends together to push the soft flesh up through the opening, the way you would a baked potato. The flesh will be deep amber, almost translucent at the edges, sticky from its own caramelized sugars. Spoon the naranja agria glaze over the open flesh of each one. Let it soak in for a minute. Spoon any glaze that ran onto the pan back over the top.
Bring the whole pan to the table, plantains still in their blackened skins. This is a side dish for cochinita pibil, pavo en escabeche, or any slow-cooked Yucatecan main where the salt and the achiote want a sweet, sour answer on the side. Crumble queso fresco over the top and drizzle crema if you are serving them on their own. Eat them with a spoon, straight from the skin. Así se hace y punto.
1 serving (about 240g)
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