Carnitas Tacos

Carnitas — pork confited slowly in lard in a copper cazo — is most closely identified with Michoacán in western Mexico, above all the town of Quiroga, where market pork has been cooked this way since at least the late 19th century. As a taco it long ago left its home state: carnitas stands are a fixture of Mexico City and of weekend markets across central Mexico, sold by the kilo to take home or chopped to order into tacos. The taco form is a vehicle for the meat rather than a separate tradition, and its history is the history of the braise itself — a colonial marriage of the Spanish pig with the indigenous habit of cooking meat slowly in its own rendered fat. Where the regional braise is the destination dish, the taco is how the capital eats it any day of the week.

The first thing is texture contrast: a shred with mahogany, crackling edges against soft, almost dripping interior. The flavor is straight roast pork, lifted by a faint citrus note from the orange cooked into the lard. On the tortilla it meets the crunch of raw onion, the green bite of cilantro, the acid of salsa verde and lime — fat, then sharpness to cut it. Order it surtida (mixed) and you get lean meat, a little rib, maybe a scrap of crisp skin, all in one taco.

Carnitas is a confit, then a fry, in one pot. Held below the boil in melted lard, the pork's collagen hydrolyses to gelatin over hours while the surrounding fat keeps the surface from drying — that is what makes it tender. Toward the end the fat is brought hotter so the meat's residual moisture boils off and the pieces fry crisp at the edges, the Maillard browning that gives carnitas its color and roasted aroma. Orange peel, bay and sometimes milk or a splash of cola are added for aroma and, in the case of the sugars, faster browning. For the taco the meat is then chopped, mixing crisp and soft in every bite. Rush the heat and it is crisp but tough; skip the final fry and it is tender but pallid.