
Chef Lupita
Aporreadillo Michoacano con Huevo
Michoacán's Tierra Caliente almuerzo, where salted beef is softened, pounded, fried in lard, folded with egg and chile perón salsa, then served beside morisqueta like a proper working table.
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The Huasteca Hidalguense's massive Sunday tamal, a slab of coarse martajada masa cradling pork shoulder, ribs, and chicken in chile guajillo adobo, wrapped in banana and papatla leaves and baked for hours.
The zacahuil belongs to the Huasteca, the tropical region that climbs from the Gulf coast up into the sierras of Hidalgo, Veracruz, and San Luis Potosí. The version I am giving you is Hidalguense, from Huejutla and the small towns around it, where every Sunday market has a woman tending a zacahuil the size of a child wrapped in banana leaves and pulled steaming from a wood-fired earth oven.
This is not a tamal. Or it is, but only in the way a cathedral is a building. The zacahuil is the largest tamal in Mexican cuisine, sometimes a meter long, feeding twenty or thirty people at a single seating. The masa is martajada, coarse-ground, with visible bits of nixtamalized grain. Not the smooth masa of a regular tamal. That texture is the dish. The adobo is built on chile guajillo, ancho, and chino, the chiles of the Huasteca trade routes. The fat is manteca, pure and generous, because la manteca es el sabor. Inside, whole pieces of pork shoulder, ribs, and chicken, bone in, marinated overnight in the same adobo that colors the masa.
I traveled to Huejutla for the first time in my second year of fieldwork. I went on a Sunday because I was told the market was the only place to understand zacahuil. A señora named Doña Felipa let me sit beside her oven for six hours. She did not give me her recipe. She told me to watch. She told me the zacahuil is not a recipe, it is a way the Huasteca feeds itself. The leaves come from the patio. The pig comes from the family. The chiles come from the trader who walks the highland route. Nothing in it is bought from a supermarket and nothing about it is fast.
Cada estado, su propia cocina. Hidalgo has pastes from Real del Monte, barbacoa from the Mezquital valley, and the zacahuil from the Huasteca. They are three different cuisines inside one state. Do not call this Mexican food. Call it Hidalguense, and inside that, call it Huasteca. Get the geography right and the dish makes sense.
The zacahuil traces its origins to the pre-Columbian Huastec people, who occupied the Gulf lowlands and the eastern sierras long before the Aztec expansion reached them, and it remains the most archaeologically intact ceremonial dish in modern Mexican cooking. The name derives from the Nahuatl 'tzacahuilli,' a word documented in 16th-century colonial sources describing a large tamal prepared for feasts and ritual gatherings. Wrapping the bundle in hoja de papatla, a leaf specific to the Huasteca region and rarely seen outside it, distinguishes the Hidalguense version from the Veracruz and Potosino variants, and the use of pork rather than turkey reflects the post-conquest substitution that preserved the form of the dish while transforming its protein.
Quantity
5 pounds
cut into 3-inch pieces
Quantity
2 pounds
cut into individual ribs
Quantity
1 (about 4 pounds)
cut into 8 pieces
Quantity
4 pounds whole corn, or 8 cups masa
Quantity
1 pound
Quantity
20
stemmed and seeded
Quantity
10
stemmed and seeded
Quantity
6
stemmed and seeded
Quantity
4
stemmed and seeded
Quantity
1 whole
peeled
Quantity
1 large
quartered
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
6
Quantity
1 stick (about 3 inches)
Quantity
4
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1/4 cup
Quantity
3 tablespoons, divided
Quantity
8 large
passed over the flame to soften
Quantity
4 to 6 large
Quantity
as needed
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| bone-in pork shoulder with skin oncut into 3-inch pieces | 5 pounds |
| bone-in pork ribscut into individual ribs | 2 pounds |
| whole chickencut into 8 pieces | 1 (about 4 pounds) |
| nixtamalized corn (maíz para pozole) or coarse-ground masa martajada | 4 pounds whole corn, or 8 cups masa |
| manteca de cerdo (pork lard) | 1 pound |
| dried chile guajillostemmed and seeded | 20 |
| dried chile anchostemmed and seeded | 10 |
| dried chile chino (or chile costeño)stemmed and seeded | 6 |
| dried chile cascabelstemmed and seeded | 4 |
| head of garlicpeeled | 1 whole |
| white onionquartered | 1 large |
| cumin seeds | 2 tablespoons |
| whole black peppercorns | 1 tablespoon |
| whole cloves | 6 |
| Mexican canela | 1 stick (about 3 inches) |
| bay leaves | 4 |
| dried Mexican oregano | 2 tablespoons |
| apple cider vinegar | 1/4 cup |
| kosher salt | 3 tablespoons, divided |
| fresh hoja de plátano (banana leaves)passed over the flame to soften | 8 large |
| fresh hoja de papatla (or additional banana leaves) | 4 to 6 large |
| heavy cotton kitchen twine | as needed |
If starting with whole nixtamalized corn, drain and rinse it well, then take it to your local molino and ask for masa martajada, coarse, with visible bits of grain, not the smooth masa fina used for tortillas. The texture is the dish. If your molino does not exist, pulse the wet nixtamal in a heavy-duty food processor in batches until it looks like wet, broken cornmeal, never a smooth paste. The zacahuil's character lives in that rough grain. A smooth masa makes a tamal, not a zacahuil.
Heat a dry comal over medium. Toast the guajillo, ancho, chino, and cascabel chiles separately, pressing them flat for about 20 to 30 seconds per side, until the skins puff and the kitchen smells like a chile vendor's stall in the Pachuca market. Do not let any of them blacken. Burned chile turns the adobo bitter and there is no recovering from it later. Transfer to a heatproof bowl and cover with hot tap water, not boiling. Let them soften for 25 minutes.
While the chiles soak, toast the cumin, peppercorns, cloves, and canela on the same comal for about a minute, until fragrant. Drain the chiles, reserving the soaking liquid. Transfer the chiles to a blender along with the toasted spices, garlic, onion, oregano, bay leaves, vinegar, and 2 tablespoons of salt. Add 1 cup of the chile soaking liquid. Blend on high for a full three minutes until completely smooth. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve into a large bowl, pressing hard on the solids. You should have a deep red, slightly thick adobo with the body of heavy cream. La cocina no es decoración, es trabajo. This adobo is the recipe.
Place the pork shoulder, ribs, and chicken in a large non-reactive container. Pour half the adobo over the meat and turn every piece so it is fully coated. Reserve the other half for the masa. Cover and refrigerate for at least 4 hours, preferably overnight. The Huasteca cooks do this the night before, never the morning of. The adobo needs time to find its way into the meat.
In a very large bowl or directly on a clean work surface in the old Huasteca style, combine the martajada masa with the lard and the remaining 1 tablespoon of salt. Work it with your hands until the lard is fully incorporated and the masa feels supple. Now add the reserved half of the adobo and continue mixing until the masa is a uniform brick red and holds together when squeezed. If it feels dry, add chile soaking liquid by the half cup until it has the texture of thick, spreadable cookie dough. It should not be loose. A loose masa collapses inside the leaves.
Pass each banana leaf over an open gas flame for a few seconds per section, until it turns from matte to glossy and pliable. This softens the leaf and releases the aromatic oil that perfumes the zacahuil from the inside. Wipe each leaf clean with a damp cloth. Do the same with the papatla leaves if using. The papatla is the traditional outer layer in the Huasteca Hidalguense, but it is hard to find outside the region. Extra banana leaves will work as a compromise.
On a large clean table, lay down a generous double layer of papatla leaves to form a rectangle about 30 inches long and 20 inches wide. Overlap 4 to 5 banana leaves on top, vein side down, creating a continuous surface with no gaps. The leaves will be your bake vessel. Spread about two-thirds of the masa down the center in a thick rectangular slab about 18 inches long, 12 inches wide, and 2 inches deep. This is the cradle that holds the meat.
Arrange the marinated pork shoulder, ribs, and chicken pieces along the length of the masa slab, pressing them gently into the surface so they sit half embedded. Spoon any adobo that pooled in the marinating container over the meat. Cover the meat with the remaining masa, working it across the top and down the sides to fully enclose the meat. This is one giant tamal. The whole pig wrapped in corn. Así se hace y punto.
Fold the banana leaves up and over the masa, starting with the long sides, then the short ends, sealing the package completely. Then fold the outer papatla leaves over the top in the same way. Tie the bundle securely with heavy kitchen twine, crisscrossing in both directions like you are wrapping a parcel for a long journey, because that is what you are doing. The twine should be tight but not so tight that it cuts the leaves. Pregúntale a las señoras del mercado de Huejutla, they tie zacahuiles that weigh fifty pounds and the bundles never break open.
Traditionally the zacahuil bakes in an horno de tierra, an earth oven heated with wood until the walls glow. Few cooks have one. A home oven works if you respect the time. Preheat to 300°F. Place the wrapped zacahuil on a heavy sheet pan or directly in a large roasting pan. Bake for 5 to 6 hours, checking once an hour to make sure the leaves are not scorching. If the outer leaves darken too fast, drape a layer of foil loosely on top. You are not roasting. You are slow-baking until the masa is set and the meat falls off the bone.
Pull the zacahuil from the oven and let it rest, still wrapped, for at least 30 minutes. The masa needs that time to firm up. Carry the whole bundle to the table on a wooden board. Cut the twine and fold back the leaves in front of your family. The aroma that rises is the reward for eight hours of work. Serve the masa and the meat directly from the leaves, with extra adobo on the side and a stack of warm corn tortillas. This is Sunday food in the Huasteca. It feeds the whole table and the neighbors who hear about it. Saber cocinar es saber vivir.
1 serving (about 340g)
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