Pozole Rojo – A Deep, Rich Hominy Stew With Pork And Red Chile Sauce.
My cousin Hector? He tried to make pozole in an Instant Pot. An Instant Pot. ¡Ay Dios mío! The ancestors rolled over. That’s where this story begins.
Pozole has been around for…well, a long time. Like, pre-Columbus long time. It goes way back to Aztec times when they used human meat. No, no, don’t look at me like that, mija. I didn't say it was GOOD. They used human meat in ceremonies dedicated to the goddess Centéotl, who was the goddess of maize. So, when the Spanish came along, they were like "Okay, maybe the pork is better." Which, honestly, it is. It became a tradition, changing over the centuries with regional variations—white, green, red. But all pozole is sacred, okay? Sacred.
Now, different states have their own version. Jalisco, they go hard on the pork and use white hominy – pozole blanco. Guerrero likes theirs with green chile, pozole verde, and Sinaloa? Red, pozole rojo, with a chile guajillo base. This recipe, this is my familia's version, a little bit of everything from everyone. It's not polite to ask how much of what we borrow (read: steal) from our cousins.
Abuela Elena, she was the queen of pozole. Every Christmas Eve, the whole family would gather. Not just our immediate family, oh no. Cousins, tias, tios, second cousins twice removed...everyone. And Abuela Elena, bless her soul, she’d be stirring that pot for, I swear, three days straight. She said the secret was the love you put into it. Also, probably a lot of oregano.
My mother, Rosa, she took over after Abuela Elena passed. But my mother? She was… competitive. Especially with Tía Mildred. Now, Tía Mildred thinks she's the best cook in the world. She isn’t. Her flan looks like scrambled eggs, but she insists it's "rustic." The rivalry between them was legendary. Every Christmas Eve, they would both make pozole, side-by-side, glaring at each other while tasting each other’s work.
One year, Tía Mildred tried to sabotage my mom's pozole. She snuck in extra cumin! Extra cumin, can you believe it? My mom noticed immediately, of course. "Mildred," she said, eyes narrowing, “are you trying to ruin my pozole?" Tía Mildred just batted her eyelashes and said, “I was just adding a little sabor.” ¡Sabor, indeed! That woman!
And then there was Cousin Carlos. He had a thing for my sister, Sofia. A HUGE thing. He would always hang around the kitchen, offering to help stir the pozole, mostly so he could talk to Sofia. He once spilled an entire container of salsa roja into the pot, trying to impress her with his "enthusiasm". It was a disaster. My mom nearly chancla’d him. Nearly.
Sofia, though, she just laughed. She knew Carlos was hopeless. She was dating Roberto back then, a very handsome mariachi player. Tía Mildred, naturally, disapproved of Roberto. Said he was "too artistic" (whatever that means). She wanted Sofia to marry a doctor or a lawyer. Someone "respectable".
My brother, Javier, he was the official taste tester. But he was also the biggest complainer. "Needs more salt!" he’d say. "Not enough chile!" "The pork is too chewy!" My mother would roll her eyes but secretly appreciated his feedback. He has a very refined palate, that one. For complaints.
The year Hector attempted the Instant Pot disaster? It smelled like burnt plastic and regret. My mom almost cried. Tía Mildred actually smiled. For once. Then my uncle Ricardo bought a new slow cooker as an apology gift for everyone's ruined Christmas.
We all pitched in to make it the way Abuela Elena taught us – slowly, carefully, lovingly. Even Tía Mildred helped, grudgingly. And, surprisingly, it turned out pretty good. Not Abuela Elena good, but good enough. Except for the cumin. I think Tía Mildred added some anyway. I saw her.
Roberto played his guitar and sang carols. Sofia and Javier argued about which topping was better—radishes or cabbage. Carlos still hovered around Sofia, but he kept a safe distance from the pot. And my mother? She finally admitted that maybe, just maybe, Tía Mildred's flan wasn't that bad. (It still looked like scrambled eggs.)
But the thing about pozole, it brings people together. Even when they’re driving each other crazy. It's a tradition, a memory, a little piece of home in every bite. It is a love language, honestly.
Recipe
Pozole Rojo – A deep, rich hominy stew with pork and red chile sauce.
(This recipe takes time, mija, but it’s worth it!)
Ingredients 🌽🥘
- 2 lbs pork shoulder, cut into 2-inch chunks (Don't be shy with the fat, flavor is key)
- 1 large white onion, quartered (save some for garnish, okay?)
- 6 cloves garlic, smashed (I use more. Don't tell anyone.)
- 8 oz dried guajillo chiles, stemmed and seeded (Wear gloves! Seriously!)
- 4 cups water (for rehydrating the chiles)
- 1 (32 oz) can white hominy, drained and rinsed (Don’t skip this part, or your tía will yell)
- 1 (15 oz) can diced tomatoes, undrained
- 2 tbsp olive oil (or lard, if you’re feeling extra traditional)
- 1 tsp ground cumin
- 1 tsp dried oregano (Abuela Elena would approve)
- 1/2 tsp ground cloves
- Salt and pepper to taste (Taste often, mija! Often!)
- 4 cups chicken broth (low sodium)
Tools 🔪🥄
- Large stockpot or Dutch oven
- Blender or food processor
- Large skillet
- Cutting board & knife
- Measuring cups & spoons
Steps
- Rehydrate the guajillo chiles by placing them in a bowl with 4 cups of hot water for about 30 minutes. This makes them soft enough to blend. ¡Paciencia, mija!
- While the chiles are soaking, season the pork with salt and pepper. In a large stockpot or Dutch oven, heat the olive oil over medium-high heat and brown the pork on all sides. Don’t overcrowd the pot; do it in batches.
- Remove the pork from the pot and set aside. Add the quartered onion and smashed garlic to the pot and cook until softened, about 5-7 minutes. They need to get happy and translucent.
- Drain the rehydrated chiles, reserving about 1 cup of the chile soaking liquid. Place the chiles and reserved liquid into a blender and blend until smooth. Strain through a fine-mesh sieve to remove any skins or seeds. This is important; no one wants bits of skin in their pozole.
- Pour the strained chile puree into the pot with the cooked onions and garlic. Cook for 5 minutes, stirring constantly, to develop the flavors. It will smell amazing.
- Return the browned pork to the pot. Add the diced tomatoes, hominy, chicken broth, cumin, oregano, and cloves. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat to low, cover, and simmer for at least 3 hours, or until the pork is very tender. The longer it simmers, the better it gets. Trust me on this.
- Skim off any foam that rises to the surface during simmering. Nobody likes foam. 8 . Once the pork is tender, shred it using two forks. Return the shredded pork to the pot.
- Season with salt and pepper to taste. Remember to taste as you go!
- Serve hot, garnished with your desired toppings (see Side Dish Pairing section).
Make-Ahead / Storage
Pozole actually tastes better the next day, so making it a day ahead is highly recommended! Store leftover pozole in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days or freeze for up to 2 months.
Side Dish Pairing
This is where Pozole really shines! Offer a variety of toppings like thinly sliced radishes, shredded cabbage, chopped onion, cilantro, lime wedges, avocado slices, dried oregano, and hot sauce. Tortilla chips are also a MUST for scooping up every last drop of deliciousness.
Remember, life is what you bake of it.
