Pork Shoulder

Peppers, the red, collapsed horns in particular, are heavily linked with Hungary and its rust-colored stews. The Hungarians make ground paprika from them too, which has become their most famous culinary export. Despite their South American origins, Hungary is where I have found the most dazzling displays of peppers in the markets. Two minutes, even less, from the river and the Szabadsag Bridge, Budapest’s market stalls glow deep rust and gold with tins of paprika and strings of dried mahogany chiles. I love the crumbling wooden stalls of scarlet-capped mushrooms with their stray pieces of iridescent moss, wicker baskets of black sloes, and small sacks of red berries, and the apparently precarious piles of peppers, Christmas red, clean white, and burnt orange turning scarlet. The long peppers that curl back on themselves have the intrigue of Aladdin’s lamp but are awkward in the kitchen, tending to tip their stuffing out into the baking pan. You can roast them, though, with olive oil and lots of salt, and eat them with sesame bread torn into chunks. The most useful, called Gypsy and the size of a fat rodent, are perfect for stuffing: with spinach and cream; translucent onions, capers, parsley, and garlic; cracked wheat, green olives, and toasted pine nuts; ground lamb and cumin. But mostly they are baked with a shake of the olive oil bottle and a grinding of salt until they collapse, wrinkle, and melt into silken strips. You’ll need bread then, in fat, rough chunks, and maybe a glass of bright beer. From August to the close of the year is when the market has the most from which to choose. After that the peppers come dried, in long strings of tobacco, madder, and soot. They shouldn’t be despised. By then the stalls are mostly piled with roots and cabbages, endless sausages, and wholesomely fatty pork. The paprika stalls, stacked with red and gold tins, are kitsch in a Hansel and Gretel way, their shelves covered in fastidiously ironed lace, like the old women who run them. Gulyas, or goulash, means “cowboy” and was traditionally cooked over an open fire. My paprika-scented pork stew—you could use beef-departs not too radically from the classical dish. I include dried mushrooms and cook it in a low oven, giving it a particularly deep, smoky flavor.

Blizzard food at its best. This buttery crusted pie, filled with rib-sticking pork, will fortify you for any winter's night.

Shredded meat is a staple in both Mexican and southwestern kitchens, and is a perfect side to make in a slow cooker. It can be used to fill tacos, burritos, and tostadas or can just be tossed with scrambled eggs for breakfast. The following simple recipe can be made with beef, pork, or even turkey. Cooking times may vary according to type and cut of meat, but in general, when your desired result is meat that can easily be shredded, anything cooked for 6 to 8 hours ought to work out fine.

This is an incredibly satisfying stew that gets better as it ages, so think about making extra to keep as leftovers. The smoky chipotles add a depth of flavor along with a spicy heat. To tame the heat, you can reduce the number of chipotles or serve the stew with Mexican crema.

Garlicky and savory-sweet, this roasted pork is a mainstay of Cantonese barbecue shops and dim sum houses.

A perfect taro puff (pictured) is ethereal; its gossamer shell crisp and not greasy. The underside of the dough is rich and creamy, enveloping a well-seasoned filling. I eagerly look for wu gok, as taro puffs are called in Cantonese, at dim sum restaurants. Unfortunately, most versions are lackluster and leaden by the time I pick them off the cart. Homemade ones are significantly better because they are consistently tasty and hold their crispness for hours. The dough and filling can be prepared in advance and refrigerated for a couple of days. Dumpling assembly is easy, and the deep-frying is fast. Brown and barrel-shaped with distinctive rings, taro is sold at Asian and Latin markets, often near other tubers like sweet potato. For this recipe, the large variety is used because its flesh is much drier than that of the small taro. Select a firm, full one with no signs of shriveling or molding. When cut open, taro should smell fresh; its flesh should be bright and feel firm like coconut. Store taro in a cool, dry spot and use it within a few days of purchase. Peeled and trimmed taro sold in Cryovac packaging works great. Feel free to substitute chicken thigh for the pork. Finely chopped bamboo shoots, water chestnut, or rehydrated shiitake mushrooms can replace the shrimp. Weighing the wheat starch and cooked taro and frying at moderately high heat ensures that the puff will hold together.

Sorry, guys—no “In a Pinch” quick fix here. If you want proper pulled pork, you gotta give it the time it needs. An overnight brine bath helps keep it moist through the long, slow, 12-hour journey to porcine perfection. Serve the pulled pork on hamburger buns, drizzled with your favorite barbecue sauce or more Sriracha, if you feel so inclined.

We owe enormous thanks to our slow cooker for making it possible to turn our absolute favorite weekend treat, barbecued pork, into a four-ingredient recipe we can throw together for a weeknight. We love to make sandwiches with the soft, flavorful shredded pork on hamburger buns, and serve them with some Lemony Coleslaw with Raisins (page 116), on top or alongside.

When my brothers and I were cooking and working at my father’s barbecue restaurant, we had barbecue baked potatoes on the menu and they were popular as hell. I ate them for lunch all the time, and to this day I make them whenever I have leftover pulled pork.

If you ever find yourself wondering what to do with that last pound of barbecue, I’ve got a solution for you: nachos. This is the best damn appetizer in the world, especially good for things like Super Bowl parties and poker games. You can make your own salsa, of course, but I usually just use whichever brand I happen to have in the fridge.

Deviled eggs remind me of church picnics and Fourth of July parties and just about every occasion I grew up going to where there was food involved. Of course I make my own deviled eggs, but you know I’m not going to make them like everybody else’s; I put my own stamp on them. And that means barbecue. Deviled eggs stuffed with a little of it makes them better than you’ve ever had them, I promise you that.

When I make this stew, an extremely old-fashioned and indigenous example of the “poor people” food that the South was built on, I feel like I’m cooking a piece of my own history. The origins of this piquant, thin stew, which is loaded with meat and vegetables, are hotly disputed between Brunswick, Georgia, and Brunswick County, Virginia (I’m a Georgia product myself, so you know which side I’m on). I always make this for a crowd. A big crowd. Like those at my cooking school, which typically draws more than fifty students. I have my own professional-size meat grinder, and what I often do is grind the onions and potatoes together with the pork and brisket. You don’t need to do that at home; you can just mix them together. And feel free to cut this recipe in half (or quarters, whatever you need), but I suggest you make it for your next snow day, and bake up some cornbread to go with it—feed the whole block and you’ll have friends for life, trust me.

When you cook a whole hog, one thing you should never do is throw out the skin. It’s the key ingredient for one of the tastiest by-products in the world. If you’re not cooking a whole hog, I’m not going to fool you by saying it’s easy to pick up some pig skin, but you might be able to get some from your local butcher or from someone who is cooking a whole hog, a ham, or a pork shoulder and is willing to part with it.

In Tuscany, every town has a market day. This is when trucks carrying all kinds of delightful edibles pull into the center of town, open up their sides, and become little grocery stores on wheels. Of course my favorite truck was always the porchetta truck—who doesn’t love a truck that sells a delicious crispy pork product? Traditionally, porchetta is a whole pig that’s been boned and cooked for hours, until the skin gets totally brown and crunchy and the meat becomes wonderfully tender. It’s most often seasoned with garlic, sage, and black pepper—and while pepper is not usually how I roll, it’s appropriate in this dish to keep the classic flavors intact. What is totally unique in my version is to cook the pork on a bed of autumn vegetables—they soak up the lovely porky juices and help create the ultimate one-pot dinner for a crowd. Be sure to save some leftovers for a sandwich the next day!

This can be cooked in a slow cooker, in a Dutch oven on top of the stove, or in a roasting pan in a 375°F. oven. Pick the way that suits you. Any way you cook it, you will find that the sweet pickle relish and barbecue sauce flavor the meat through and through.

Sweet, succulent, and aromatic, this sophisticated yet homey family-style supper is definitely one to pull out when company is coming. Not only is pork shoulder super satisfying, but the cut is also an inexpensive way to feed a lot of people. Serve with herbaceous Parsley Sauce (page 239) and creamy Cheese Grits (page 189) for a lethal combination.

On the few nights that he is not at Lantern, Miguel cooks Mexican at home. He has not seen his family since moving to North Carolina in 1999, and the goal of his home cooking is to make his dishes taste as close to his mother’s and grandmother’s as possible with the ingredients he can get here. He thinks that he is getting close with these carnitas.

Pork shoulder is my hands-down favorite cut of meat. Studded with garlic, it makes a succulent roast for dinner with enough for sandwiches the next day; and braised with a few flavorful ingredients, it creates its own sauce. Hard cider brings acidity to the sweetness of regular cider and apples.