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If It's Thursday, This Must Be Posole


It's Thursday afternoon in the palm-cloaked town of Zihuatanejo on Mexico's west coast. The doctor's office is dark. Construction sites lie idle. The hotels are staffed with skeleton crews.

This isn't just another siesta hour. Here, and in other Mexican towns dotting the coast, Thursday is posole day. By 2 p.m., tourists may still be at the beach, but locals are on their way to a serious feast that--between eating, socializing and simply digesting--will likely consume the remainder of their work day.

Posole , a dense, gelatinous stew of hominy and, typically, pork head, meat and bones, is eaten in many parts of Mexico. You'll find a simple white version at cantinas in Guadalajara and a shrimp-based variety in mountain towns along Jalisco's Ameca River. In Mexico City, overzealous revelers swear by posole as a sure-fire hangover cure.

But along the Pacific Coast, this gutsy concoction is the center of a time-honored Thursday ritual. On that day, humble posolerias , shuttered most of the week, come to life. Rickety tables are perked up with checked oilcloths, and kitchens emit the mouthwatering aroma of simmering meat and piquant spices. By mid-morning, local workers are busy debating which posoleria they'll visit--a subject not taken lightly, since everyone seems to have a favorite.


In Zihuatanejo, Teozintle is one of the town's best-loved posole haunts. With only a small sign dangling out front, this utterly unassuming building on the busy airport road is easy for out-of-towners to miss. But locals have no problem. By 3 o'clock, VW Beetles, shiny sedans and dented pick-up trucks have filled the parking lot and spill out onto the road.

Shaded by a sloping red tile roof, the packed outdoor dining terrace offers a human profile of the town. At one table sit 10 Westin resort bellmen in starched white uniforms; another table seats five Sheraton receptionists in vivid floral prints. Nearby, 10 government officials pow-wow in open-necked dress shirts, and a doctor chats quietly with his nurse, wife and child.

Owner Arturo Meneses keeps a small stack of hand-lettered menus around, but regulars rarely request them. Their only dilemma is whether to order mild white posole or the lusty green variety (popular in the state of Guerrero) that is laced with toasted pumpkin seeds, epazote and fragrant hoja santa. (The neighboring state of Michoacan typically serves a red posole , spiked with guajillo chiles.) The intrepid, or simply indecisive, can visit the kitchen, where Arturo's wife, Rosalva, offers tastes from huge caldrons brimming with pig snouts.

Once this decision is made, the ritual begins. Waiters carry fried pork rinds, crisp tortilla triangles and posole platters laden with shredded lettuce, chopped onions, red radishes, diced avocados, crumbled white cheese and sliced limes to tables littered with cigarette packs and tequila glasses. Aficionados round all this out with plates of pickled pig's feet.

When the posole arrives, chatter dies down and diners turn their attention to the deep ceramic bowls before them. To the steaming broth, thick with morsels of pork and chewy kernels of perfectly blossomed hominy, they add some or most of the garnishes from the central platter. Then they get down to business.


In the intense afternoon heat, beads of sweat form on foreheads, trickle down faces. Every few minutes customers pause to smoke a cigarette, mop their brows. Posole is a workout, often leaving green-horns feeling they've been physically pummeled. But when that soft breeze hits one's moist skin and icy beer braces one's tingling palate, this Mexican foil to midday heat puts dainty salads and air conditioning to shame.

Traditionally, posole is made with hominy--a large kerneled corn treated with limestone and dried. To obtain a lively flower-like bloom, Mexican cooks usually remove the tiny hull from each kernel by hand before boiling for hours. In the interest of time and accessibility, we have substituted canned hominy in the following posole recipes. Additionally, most pork-based posoles rely on pig heads and feet for their hearty, gelatinous body. We suggest American cooks use stew bones and pig's feet. If using feet does not suit you, feel free to omit them--the result will still be quite delicious.

Do be sure to present a generous garnish platter alongside the posole --it makes all the difference.


This dish can be served as is with garnishes, or used as a base for red posole.


8 quarts water

2 heads garlic, halved crosswise

2 onions, halved

2 1/2 pounds boneless pork leg or butt

2 pork soup bones, preferably shoulder hocks

2 pig's feet, cleaned and halved, optional

1 pound fatback, optional

2 1/4 pounds boneless pork loin, in chunks

1 (2 1/4-pound) chicken, quartered

3 (14 1/2-ounce) cans hominy, drained


Shredded lettuce

Red radishes, sliced or diced

Chopped onions

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