When the Weather Only Pretends to Change
When the air turns just a little cooler — even if you’re in Florida, where it’s more hope than reality — something shifts in the kitchen.
It’s the season for big cuts like pork shoulder — the kind that sits in the oven for hours. The aroma is filling the house with garlic, onions, and fat melting into flavor.
Every fall, I find myself returning to the same Cuban pork shoulder recipe. The one my father used to make — simple, slow, and full of memory.
If you’ve ever read The Bitter Stock That Ruined My Day, you know I’m a believer in slow transformations. Pork shoulder is one of them.
The Pork Shoulder I Grew Up With
My father made pork shoulder all the time when I was growing up. Not a fancy braise — just a proper roasted pork shoulder, Cuban style.
He’d rub it with garlic, splash it with citrus, and let the heat do the rest. It wasn’t about perfectly trimmed meat or expensive cuts. It was about stretching a few dollars to feed everyone. The leftovers piled onto white rice or folded into beans the next day.
In Cuban cooking, lechón usually means lechón asado — roasted pork done our way. Traditionally, it’s a whole young pig roasted low and slow in a caja china (a big roasting box) or on a spit until the skin crackles and the meat falls apart.
At home, most families — like mine — use a pork shoulder (pernil) or Boston butt instead. It’s fatty, forgiving, and soaks up all that mojo criollo: sour orange juice (or orange + lime if you can’t find naranja agria), garlic paste, oregano, cumin, and a little olive oil or lard. Sometimes sliced onions and bay leaves, too.
Nothing fancy. But the smell alone could fill a whole neighborhood — the kind that makes you peek over the fence to ask, What’s cooking?
What Makes Cuban Lechón Different
Every bite balances richness with brightness — the garlic and citrus cutting through the fat like a melody that never gets old to me.
That’s the part people forget about slow cooking. The seasoning is simple, but the timing and patience make it something memorable. If you’ve never made mojo criollo before, this authentic Cuban Mojo recipe from A Sassy Spoon captures it perfectly. The recipe is bright, garlicky, and with ingredients you probably already have.
What Fall Cooking Means to Me
For me, fall cooking is about making the most of cheap cuts that feed a crowd without fuss.
A big pork shoulder isn’t just dinner — it’s sandwiches the next day, tacos the day after, maybe even stirred into a pot of beans when you’re too tired to cook again.
When you know how to play with the flavors — the charred edges, the citrusy bite that cuts the fat, the pickled onions you scatter on top then you understand why pork shoulder keeps coming back to my kitchen.
Fall is when the weather makes slow cooking worth it again — when you want the oven on, when you want food that feeds your people more than once. This is why cheap cuts turn into something generous and rich.
How I Make It
At home, I keep it just like my father did:
Cut: A big pork shoulder or Boston butt (bone-in if you can).
Marinade: Mojo criollo — fresh orange juice (or sour orange if you have it), lime juice, smashed garlic, oregano, cumin, salt, pepper, olive oil.
How long: Let it sit overnight if you can — the longer, the better.
Roast: Low and slow until the meat is falling apart and the fat’s crispy.
Serve it with rice, beans, or pile it into a sandwich — whatever makes you happy.
When the Season Finds You Again
Even if fall in Florida just means cracking open the windows and pretending there’s a chill in the air,
the smell of pork roasting all afternoon still makes it feel like the season finally arrived.
