Recipe: Pozole rojo con pollo

A good soup is a revelation. Because, let's be frank, soups are too often disappointing. Too salty, too muted, too blah, too boring. Soup as an afterthought.

But a soup that is right-down-the-middle, solidly good makes you sit up straight and take notice. In their eating, such soups and similarly stewy things soothe and charm in a way unique to them, warming both the body and spirit. Unfussy, steaming bowls of something good are the picture of abundant comfort.

My preference is for soups as the meal, and not merely as means of entry into one. Case in point, my pozole rojo. From stove to the table in less than an hour, it is resoundingly satisfying on a February evening: sustaining without any suffocating heaviness, and breathily spicy.

For the uninitiated, pozole (alternatively posole) is a soupish stew with roots in Central America and Mexico, and popular through the bordering U.S. states, such as Arizona. The term pozole also refers to hominy, dried corn kernels soaked in an alkali solution. Hominy is coarsely ground for grits, or finely ground to make masa, but in pozole they are left whole, puffing and blooming, giving body and bulk to the stew.

There are blanco, verde and rojo (white, green and red) pozole styles, with a clear broth, a tomatillo-based one or one fiery with chilies, respectively. For this pozole rojo, the pantry cupboard takes on most of the responsibility, supplying tinned hominy, dried chilis and dried spices. From the produce drawer, the garnishes can be as involved or as straightforward as you want.

It is a forgiving, adaptable recipe, which are appreciated traits as we impatiently wait for the spring thaw, with perhaps the hope to avoid a trip to the market. In many traditional pozoles rojo, the meat is poached in a cooking liquid (water or stock) with the red chili sauce prepared separately. The latter is then introduced to the former, along with the essential hominy, toward the end of production.

I make some moves to amplify the impact of efforts wherever possible. I roast chicken on its own, to maximize the potential for well-browned sticky bits that cling to the pan. (That said, you could poach boneless, skinless chicken thighs in the broth instead, and save some clean up.) Charring the onion and garlic contributes another layer of smokiness, as well as intensifying their sweetness. And frying the chili sauce before adding the stock further concentrates the flavour and deepens its impact.