What does the word ‘authentic’ really mean, when it comes to both culture and cuisine? I think we often misuse the term ‘authentic’, to mean better or real when it’s not always the case.
As a former student of dance anthropology, authenticity was something I spent a lot of time thinking about and discussing with my peers. As consumers of other cultures (that’s basically what anthropologist are) how do we define the very important line between appreciation and appropriation? What does the word authentic really mean, and why do we assume there is room for only one TRUE answer (rather than a sliding variation)?
There are many professions that focus on preservation of culture; whether it’s goal is to pin a dish or a dance or a piece of artwork to a specific place and moment before the tides of time erode and change. Record keeping makes sense. But equally, just because a tradition moves on does not make the new practice any less authentic, real or worthwhile (which is what I think many people really mean when they use the word authentic to describe something). Anthropologists and historians learn that often it is the diaspora; the group of people that move away from their homeland, that become more entrenched and attached to static traditions of their culture, in attempt to strengthen their connection to it from afar. It is human nature to hold on dearly to that which brings us comfort and reminds us of home.
In light of all of this questioning of authenticity, it is equally important to pay attention to who it is that decides when a recipe, dance or representation of any kind is considered to be authentic, and who has the authority to move that representation forward. The fear of appropriation is a forever looming and necessary cloud that hangs over me whenever I reference another cuisine or culture, reminding me that it is imperative to do my research, and to speak from my own experiences rather than a culture that is not my own.
I have spent a good bit of time recently retracing my steps from move to move, choice to choice. I’ve revisited my few but wonderful years spent in New Mexico, and just how formative they were. Those few years in my mid twenties represent a piece of the world and of myself I am keen to reconnect to and share with my family. Living so far away from that space today makes it hard to find tangible examples of the person I was then, and the culture that helped me to develop into the person I am now. The easiest way I have found to do so is to begin with the food.
Carne Adovada is a relatively mild chile (the pepper spelled intentionally this way in New Mexico) dish, and a backbone of New Mexican cuisine. Chiles are so prevalent in the cuisine from this region that years ago, when I was preparing to move away, I heard quite a few cautionary tales of others who had left the state and consequently suffered depression, as chiles are known for their serotonin-boosting properties and vitamin C, they literally, biologically help make us happier. Between the amount of sunshine and the mood-lifting pervasive use of chiles, New Mexico practically breeds happiness.
I did a fair amount of research when I decided I wanted to make this particular dish, worried that if I toned down the heat too much I would be taking away from the spirit of the dish. I consulted nearly a dozen recipes and references from a variety of sources, before landing on the ingredients below. I feel I have kept the integrity of the dish through my choice of ingredients, as well as the spirit. As it is considered to be one of the milder dishes of New Mexico’s cuisine, I felt at liberty to tone down the heat of my own dish by using less chiles, in order to be able to introduce my children to the new food in a positive light. Admittedly, the four year old wasn’t too keen but my six-year old couldn’t get enough of it, it made her (and therefore me) noticeably happier with each bite she took. If you want to bump up the heat, just throw more chiles into your sauce, the ratio for everything else can remain the same.
1kg pork shoulder, cut into 4-5cm (2 inch) sized chunks
2 heaped teaspoons cumin
2 heaped teaspoons Mexican oregano, or Italian if you can’t find Mexican
2 teaspoons garlic powder
1 Spanish white onion, thinly sliced
5 cloves garlic, minced
vegetable oil for cooking
Red Chile Sauce
10-12 dried New Mexico chiles
2 teaspoons chile de pasilla powder
750ml (3 cups) warm chicken stock or water
1 tablespoon local honey
2 tablespoons white vinegar
juice of ½ lime
corn or flour tortillas to serve
Garnish: lime juice, grated cheese, roughly chopped coriander, and sour cream to garnish if desired
Begin by dicing your pork shoulder into large bite-sized chunks. Then, using your hands (which will help the flavours to blend), add the spices to the pork and mix to combine. Leave to marinate whilst you make your red chile sauce.
To make your red chile sauce, start by toasting the dried chilles in a dry frying pan over a high heat for 1-2 minutes on each side, or until fragrant. Once toasted, let them cool then remove seed and stems. Make sure not to touch your eyes or face when handling chiles! Whilst your chiles are toasting, gently heat your chicken stock or water.
In a blender add your chiles, along with hot stock or water and let sit for up to 30 minutes before adding honey, vinegar, additional chile powder and lime and blending. Taste and adjust for a blend of spice, acidity and sweetness.
In a heavy bottomed casserole dish or dutch oven over a medium high heat, add a teaspoon of vegetable oil then brown all sides of your pork shoulder- this will probably require cooking it in two batches so as not to overcrowd your pan. (resulting in grey unappealing meat) Tip cooked pork onto a plate to reserve for further use.
Then in the same pot, add a further 1 teaspoon oil, followed by your sliced onion and gently heat until translucent, before adding in the minced garlic and continue to cook until softened and fragrant. Tip your browned pork shoulder in, pour in your freshly blended chile sauce and bring to a boil before lowering to a simmer. Keeping the lid off of the pot, gently simmer your pork in red chile sauce for up to two hours, stirring occasionally.
The result should be tender, well-coated meat, an earthy, slightly citrusy mild dose of heat, and a sauce thick enough to coat the back of a spoon, but thin enough to pour.
Should you wish to intensify your flavours you can make the red chile sauce in advance, and marinate the pork shoulder in the sauce in the refrigerator overnight. To cook, bring the pork up to room temperature before adding to a heavy bottomed pot, bringing to the boil and simmering for the same length of time until tender.