Swinging both ways with adobo

“How do you make your adobo?”

Note, if you will, the possessive pronoun. Pancit, pinakbet, pizza — hardly anyone asks how I do mine, just how they’re made. With adobo, everyone has an opinion, a version. It’s common and personal at the same time.

What can I say? I’m of the “go with what feels right” persuasion. I keep to no set ingredients, or measured amounts thereof, which is why I generally find posting recipes so taxing. Sometimes I put in a lot more garlic (or bay laurel, or peppercorns) in mine, just because I feel like it. Sometimes I boil the meat straightaway, but mostly I sear it first. Still, there is no pleasing everybody: it is saucy when they want it dry, or else not saucy enough, or too dark or pale, and oh how my mother hates those peppercorns!

To give yourself leeway for such varied preferences, you can not go wrong making basic adobo. To start, a hot pan; no oil. I like to hear the fatty meat (pork belly in this case, each slice about an inch by a half) sizzle as I arrange them in there as snugly as will fit (single layer only; if yours do not fit all at once, sear in batches, then return everything to the pan for the next step). I always season/salt meat whether I’m using it now or later: a tablespoon of salt for every kilo, plus a tablespoon of granulated garlic and a teaspoon of cracked black pepper; your salt mileage may vary (I always add a wee bit more on account of Pa, who complains about our food not having enough).

As always, remove surface moisture from the meat as much as you can, preferably before slicing. To sear, turn the slices over after 2 to 3 minutes on high heat. Give the other side the same time to color, then add vinegar, about a quarter of a cup. Here I take a cue from Gene Gonzalez: “Don’t stir until vinegar boils and releases acidic odor.” (The Little Adobo Book, Anvil, 1999) Why not stir? Frankly, I am not aware of any chemical reaction that that would engender/interrupt/negate, but from a practical standpoint, I think it’s because doing so actually accomplishes little more at this point — once the vinegar releases its acidity and cooks off with it the raw smell of the pork, it has basically done its job, so why even bother? Not to discount vinegar’s preservative properties, of course. I usually give it 10 minutes to simmer (lower heat to medium, by the way), then add water to cover meat halfway. Lid on and simmer some more.

After 20 minutes (total time so far: 30 minutes), the spices: a teaspoonful of black peppercorns, two or three dried bay leaves, and as much crushed garlic (skin on) as you like. No soy sauce yet (if ever); remember, this is a basic recipe and we want to give ourselves options. Gently turn the meat occasionally, checking for tenderness at around 45 minutes total time. At this point, there should be little to no water left, only rendered pork fat or lard (see photo at the very top). The pork skin should still feel a bit rubbery and not easily break off when pinched, while the meat should just about flake. Don’t worry: there is no getting it perfect every time (I wish). In any case, we’re not done yet, ha-ha.

But now you get to choose. If you want your adobo crispy-chewy, drain the pork (reserve the lard for whatever use later) and let cool while you heat up some oil (at least two inches) for deep frying. Here’s my setup:

As you can see, it’s simply a shallow pan on top of a deep one. It’s primitive, but very efficient. The pan on top contains the inevitable spatter. If you have the appropriate thermometer the oil should read at least 175℃, but most of the time I really can not be bothered with that, so what I do is wait until the oil is just starting to smoke, put in the meat, then switch heat off. Now I am not advocating this approach; heating oil past its smoking point causes it to degrade or decompose and generates dangerous free radicals to boot. I’m just saying that it’s what I sometimes do. I wait a minute before turning the heat back on, this time to medium-low.

This is a two-step process, by the way. At this stage, we fry the meat at a relatively low temperature until just golden. Here’s what they look like, if a little too browned to my liking (I did not bother with the thermometer for this batch, obviously). Move the pieces around as soon as the sizzling dies down and check that they don’t stick to the bottom, ensure even exposure to the hot oil, then remove from the pan.

You could eat them at this point, but trust me, it gets better with just one more extra step. Heat the oil up to 250℃ and put the pork back in. Then sprinkle some water in there and cover. Expect serious crackle and pop. Do it twice more, wait for the noise to abate, then remove finished adobo from the pan, drain, and serve. It takes no more than a minute or two, and yet such a world of difference:

…mostly in the skin, which by now resembles that of chicharon (crackling), if with an appealing chewiness that sets it apart. It looks like lechon kawali, except the fatty part remains tenderly unctuous. It pairs insanely well with ginamós.

Fancy a saucier/more classic adobo? No sweat. Combine a tablespoon of soy sauce with a quarter cup of water and a pinch of sugar. Pour into the pan with the basic adobo and add whole black peppercorns (because you can never have enough of that), then simmer over medium to low heat, turning occasionally until the pork is to your desired tenderness (add more water as necessary). Season to taste and serve with a heaping mountain of rice.

So that’s adobo the way(s) I do it. I usually make a big batch of basic adobo and store it in the freezer so I can take some whenever the craving strikes, and then it’s only a matter of minutes to finish the dish. My family is partial to the dry version, but if it’s the traditional kind you like, I’m confident you won’t be disappointed. Let’s just say that when it comes to adobo, I got my ass covered.

There are many other adobo recipes in the archives, in prose and poetry; Chinese-style; with chicken both native and broiler; squid small, medium, and large; and even veggies like mung bean sprouts and winged beans.