The result is both bracingly fresh and a bit unsettling - the sensation of nibbling cold gelatinous flesh off of a pig’s hoof making me glad I didn’t order the cow version - although it’s ultimately not much different than a plate of pork belly.
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In most cases, souse refers to a variant of head cheese, an aspic of skull padding and organ meats pickled with vinegar. Picadillo, throughout Spain and Latin America, points to a swirling of spiced ground meat seasoned with tomatoes and peppers, plus various aromatics and spices. In Panama, as I learned from a recent visit to Crown Heights’ Panamanian Independence Day festival, things are a little different. There, souse instead refers to the other extreme of nose-to-tail eating - pickled feet, usually of the porcine or bovine variety - a denomination which actually applies all over the Caribbean. Historically connected to that other souse, it demonstrates an inventive way to make use of spare parts, via a spicy, citrusy preparation that can now also be prepared with chicken feet or conch. Sharing the vinegary base of the European variety, the one here also comes smothered in quick-pickled cucumbers, ribbons of white onion and rounds of Scotch Bonnet pepper, the entire thing immersed a tincture tinged with lime. Further flavor is provided through the addition of culantro (aka Chadon Beni), cilantro’s brawnier cousin. The result is both bracingly fresh and a bit unsettling - the sensation of nibbling cold gelatinous flesh off of a pig’s hoof making me glad I didn’t order the cow version - although it’s ultimately not much different than a plate of pork belly. The alternate identity of the picadillo, also referred to as bofe, was a bit more of a surprise. The word in Spanish means ‘mince,’ which explains why the Panamanian version involves chunks of squishy meat instead of ground beef. These turned out to be cow lung. The funky taste was similar to that of the Sicilian pani ca meusa, which is also sometimes made with lung, suggesting textural parallels between the two organs. Paired with a strong marinade, the flavor proved a little intense for even my seasoned palate. Aside from these two staples, the most common offering at the festival’s plethora of food stalls was frituras, a broad category composed of several different kinds of fritter. Of these I purchased only the small sheath of fried dough known as hojaldre, one of the traditional uses of which, I later learned, is paired with bofe chunks as a hearty breakfast. Not knowing this, I ate the dough, its shatter-thin crust flecked with hints of nutmeg (and allspice?), on the way home. A firm believe in the powers of fusion, I then employed the leftovers the next morning in a taco, using an egg and some parmesan cheese as a binder and hot sauce as a vinegary offset for the offal funk. This worked marvelously, proving that even the gnarliest of meats can be tamed by the restorative powers of the taco.
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