Sofrito

Here's the latest submission to the Writer's Showcase - Sofrito by Nilsa Moreno (aka Nittles). A heartfelt tribute to tradition, family and mothers that couldn't have come at a better time. Enjoy and as always, your comments are much appreciated.

Sofrito
By Nilsa Moreno

I felt like Tita in Laura Esquivel’s Like Water for Chocolate. I was overcome by the intense aromas of the sautéed cilantro and the joy of experiencing this Puerto Rican tradition as I stood in the kitchen and cooked pasteles with my mother. Pasteles, as any Puerto Rican knows, takes days to prepare. After several trips to the supermarket and specialty stores we found all of the ingredients we needed. The cooking process began with the making of the masa, a polenta like dough consistency made from root vegetables similar to potatoes and yams. We grated cassava root, squash, plantains and green bananas and mixed them together until they blended into an earthen like color. Then we doused the grainy textured meal with a vegetable stock that had been simmering since early morning. Traces of carrot, onion and green peppers moistened the masa into a succulent mound as we prepared to season the meat filling of this dish.

We made a Puerto Rican styled mirapois of cilantro, recao, onions, garlic, salt and olive oil, otherwise known as sofrito. I used my favorite caldero to heat the olive oil and achiote dye, the orange food coloring made from the achiote seed. The color blended into the oil turning the bottom of the pan orange. A tenor broke out as I spooned the sofrito onto the scalding surface, the onions and garlic yelping with joy making a crackling sound. Immediately the fragrance I love so much filled the kitchen air. I waved my hand over the pot to bring the aroma filled air to my nostrils, and inhaled the sweet scent. I said to my mom “smell that, it smells like La Isla Del Encanto.” Sounds and scents lapped over my senses as I looked over to my mother and smiled. The cooking process not only fused the ingredients but us as well.

As the sofrito cooked I added pieces of cubed pork and watched its color change from pink to brown. The caldero glistened as juice from the pork simmered on melted onions and garlic. The meat cooled as we began the next phase of combining all the ingredients to create the pastel.

The string was cut, the paper laid flat on the counter’s surface, the masa, meat, banana leaves and chick peas lined up as they waited their turn on the assembly line. I moistened the crisp paper with droplets of the colored oil, staining the starchy white paper with spirals of color I made with the back of my wooden spoon. Then I laid the banana leaf on the dampened paper to blanket the masa that I spooned on next. A spread of meat, capers, olives and chick peas blanketed the masa like frosting on a cake.

My mother folded the parchment paper in half, then again on its edges, bringing it back to the center of the rectangular mass of ingredients. She creased the paper with her fingers pinching its folds as if she were making origami. The air from within released when she sealed the sides in the same fashion folding them over twice bringing the ends to the center of the mass again. Putting her experience at an Italian bakery to use she tied up the pastel like a box of anisettes, sliding the string under and then criss-crossing it over length wise, being sure to tighten the cord around the ends of the paper. She was so good at this she didn’t need a finger to press down around the knot.

Finally, the pasteles were done – well at least with the preparation part. After grating, sautéing, staining, spreading, folding and tying three dozen pasteles they were ready to be cooked and we were ready to eat. Fluffy white rice had been cooked to perfection and a pot of boiling water neighbored on the next burner. The water slowed to a simmer as the pastel was gently lowered into the pot and covered. Forty minutes later, I removed from a pot of orange stained water my first pastel. Excitement layered over us as my mother shouted “muchacha!” I smiled gloating knowing that my grandmother and family members would be proud that this hybrid Puerto/Peruvian could throw down Boricua style.