Los Angeles, California
Here's a typical conversation during the rainy season in Southern California. I'm with my friend, Joy, who is driving us to an event we attend each Tuesday evening (more about the event in posts to come). It is late April, which would be springtime in other places in the Western Hemisphere. But here in what was once a desert region, we now only have two seasons -- each lasting for years, or so it would seem. We have drought. We have El Nino. Now, El Nino is cool because you can blame everything on it. It's a lot like adolescence; PMS; or a mid-life crisis. Bad behavior, moodiness? El Nino. Get the picture?
Anyway, we are in the middle of a declared drought, but it's still raining. We've had twice the rain that we had last year, and are above the season average. Still, we're Angelenos. So, we don't really believe in rain. Therefore, on Tuesday evening, even though they had forecast a fifty percent chance of rain, we didn't recognize it when it came.
"Is that rain?" I asked Joy, when I saw spots on her windshield.
"No, I think it's sap," she replied (as if we live in a forest).
"It's moving," I said.
"OmiGod. It is raining!"
Trust me, there were conversations like this all over Los Angeles that night. And that rain is what brings me to the topic of today's post which is posole.
Now, if you're not familiar with posole, than you must turn away from your screen and run to your nearest bookstore (ok -- I know you stayed with the screen but logged onto your Amazon account) to purchase Calvin Trillin's book Feeding a Yen. He is my favorite food writer, and one of my favorite, favorite LOL writers. In this book you will find everything you need to know about posole in an article entitled Posole Dreams. Without giving too much away, the story chronicles Trillin's thwarted desire to open a restaurant in New York that only served posole. I would have eaten there. Often.
Posole is what you want on a rainy Los Angeles night. It's what you might want the night after too much tequila (though purists will say that is when menudo is indicated). It's what I want after Thanksgiving to use up the leftovers from the only turkey I roast in a calendar year. And it's what I crave for comfort during all the rest of the cooler months, but then prepared with chicken (which is frankly better, though the recipe below is for late November's version. It has a catchier title).
Thanksgiving Posole
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon canola oil
1/2 onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
1/2 teaspoon
1 teaspoon smoked, bittersweet paprika
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
ground pepper
1 quart chicken stock or broth
1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes
1 cup shredded turkey
1 teaspoon to 1 tablespoon chipotle chilies,
in adobo, pureedHere's a typical conversation during the rainy season in Southern California. I'm with my friend, Joy, who is driving us to an event we attend each Tuesday evening (more about the event in posts to come). It is late April, which would be springtime in other places in the Western Hemisphere. But here in what was once a desert region, we now only have two seasons -- each lasting for years, or so it would seem. We have drought. We have El Nino. Now, El Nino is cool because you can blame everything on it. It's a lot like adolescence; PMS; or a mid-life crisis. Bad behavior, moodiness? El Nino. Get the picture?
Anyway, we are in the middle of a declared drought, but it's still raining. We've had twice the rain that we had last year, and are above the season average. Still, we're Angelenos. So, we don't really believe in rain. Therefore, on Tuesday evening, even though they had forecast a fifty percent chance of rain, we didn't recognize it when it came.
"Is that rain?" I asked Joy, when I saw spots on her windshield.
"No, I think it's sap," she replied (as if we live in a forest).
"It's moving," I said.
"OmiGod. It is raining!"
Trust me, there were conversations like this all over Los Angeles that night. And that rain is what brings me to the topic of today's post which is posole.
Now, if you're not familiar with posole, than you must turn away from your screen and run to your nearest bookstore (ok -- I know you stayed with the screen but logged onto your Amazon account) to purchase Calvin Trillin's book Feeding a Yen. He is my favorite food writer, and one of my favorite, favorite LOL writers. In this book you will find everything you need to know about posole in an article entitled Posole Dreams. Without giving too much away, the story chronicles Trillin's thwarted desire to open a restaurant in New York that only served posole. I would have eaten there. Often.
Posole is what you want on a rainy Los Angeles night. It's what you might want the night after too much tequila (though purists will say that is when menudo is indicated). It's what I want after Thanksgiving to use up the leftovers from the only turkey I roast in a calendar year. And it's what I crave for comfort during all the rest of the cooler months, but then prepared with chicken (which is frankly better, though the recipe below is for late November's version. It has a catchier title).
Thanksgiving Posole
1 tablespoon butter
1 tablespoon canola oil
1/2 onion, chopped
1 garlic clove, minced
1/2 teaspoon
1 teaspoon smoked, bittersweet paprika
1/2 teaspoon ground coriander
1/2 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon dried oregano
ground pepper
1 quart chicken stock or broth
1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes
1 cup shredded turkey
1 teaspoon to 1 tablespoon chipotle chilies,
1 teaspoon to 1 tablespoon diced green chilies
1 14-ounce can golden hominy, drained
sliced radishes, scallions, chopped avocado, lime quarters, chopped cilantro & dried oregano (all in small condiment dishes; each person to add his own to the pozole)
Heat butter and oil in large dutch oven over medium heat. Add onion and garlic; saute three minutes. Add salt and continue sauteing until onion is soft. Sprinkle spices over, combine. Add pepper. Cook for one minute, then add chicken stock/broth. tomatoes, and chilies. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for twenty minutes. Add chicken and hominy. Simmer for five more minutes. Serve with condiments above.
Double recipe for six servings.
Note: 1 teaspoon of the chilies will make a rather mild posole. Conversely, 1 tablespoon will make a fairly hot one.
So there you have it. Posole. Even if you haven't heard of it, it will taste somehow familiar. And if you develop a yen for it, like Calvin Trillin, you may travel far and wide to eat a lot of it. Or, if you're like me, you'll think of it in an ambiguous, spring rain one night in Southern California. And you will prepare it once more before the rain stops falling, and the sap stops running. For it's a long, long time from April to November. Or something like that. Thank you for reading my blog.
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