Caribbean Wontons

The last week before December, and I am already planning Christmas pasteles, which is my version of planning for hope — the pasteles are December, December is Christmas, Christmas is the family at the table, and even though the pandemic says the table will be small again, the pasteles will be full-sized, the tradition will not shrink to match the circumstance, because tradition is the thing you hold onto when everything else is letting go.

Mami turned eighty-three in April — I realize I have not marked this in weeks, and the not-marking is its own kind of loss, because Mami's birthday is usually a celebration and this year it was a container of flan left at her door and a phone call where she thought I was Marisol for the first ten minutes. The forgetting is accelerating. The pandemic isolation has been a catalyst — less stimulation, fewer people, more hours alone in the apartment where the walls do not answer back and the silence does not jog the memory.

But this week she remembered David. I brought her habichuelas on Thursday and she ate them and said, David makes good food. I said, Yes, Mami, David is a chef. She said, He was always in the kitchen. The was startled me — past tense, accurate past tense, the memory of David as a child in the kitchen in Hartford, underfoot, watching, absorbing, becoming the chef he is by standing at my counter and watching me the way I stood at Mami's counter and watched her. She remembered this. The fog allowed it, briefly, and the memory surfaced like a fish breaking water — visible for a moment, then gone, but the ripples remaining.

I made pernil for Sunday dinner. For two. Eduardo and me. The smallest pernil I have ever made — a four-pound shoulder, ridiculous, barely worth the oven heat — but I made it because Sunday is pernil day and four pounds of pernil is still pernil and the tradition holds even when the portion shrinks. I ate it with Eduardo in the kitchen and Sofía came down for a plate and the three of us sat at the twelve-seat table and the nine empty chairs were louder than the food. But the food was good. The food is always good. The tradition holds. We hold. Wepa.

I keep thinking about what it means to hold a tradition when everything around it has changed shape — the four-pound pernil, the habichuelas carried to Mami’s door, the twelve-seat table with three people and nine empty chairs. The food does not shrink. The care in it does not shrink. These Caribbean Wontons are the recipe I reach for when I want to bring something to the table that feels festive and celebratory even in a quiet room — because the island flavors in that little folded wrapper do not know the difference between a party of twenty and a party of three, and neither do I, not anymore. Make a batch, pull up a chair, and let the food be enough.

Prep Time: 25 minutes | Cook Time: 15 minutes | Total Time: 40 minutes | Servings: 8 (about 3 wontons each)

Ingredients

24 wonton wrappers
1/2 lb ground pork
3 oz cream cheese, softened
2 tablespoons sofrito
1 teaspoon ground cumin
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder
1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper
1/4 teaspoon dried oregano
Salt and black pepper to taste
1 egg, beaten (for sealing)
Vegetable oil, for frying
Mango salsa or sweet chili sauce, for serving

Instructions

Cook the filling. In a skillet over medium heat, cook the ground pork, breaking it up, until no pink remains, about 6–8 minutes. Stir in sofrito, cumin, garlic powder, cayenne, and oregano. Season with salt and pepper. Remove from heat and let cool for 10 minutes.
Mix with cream cheese. Stir the softened cream cheese into the cooled pork mixture until fully combined. The filling should be cohesive and slightly creamy.
Fill the wontons. Lay a wonton wrapper flat on a clean surface. Place 1 heaping teaspoon of filling in the center. Brush the edges lightly with beaten egg. Fold the wrapper diagonally to form a triangle, pressing firmly to seal. Bring the two base corners together and press to join, forming a classic wonton shape. Repeat with remaining wrappers and filling.
Heat the oil. Pour 2–3 inches of vegetable oil into a heavy-bottomed pot or Dutch oven. Heat over medium-high heat to 375°F, using a thermometer to monitor temperature.
Fry in batches. Working in batches of 5–6, gently lower wontons into the hot oil. Fry 2–3 minutes, turning once, until deep golden brown and crisp. Do not crowd the pot.
Drain and serve. Remove wontons with a slotted spoon and drain on a paper towel-lined plate. Serve immediately alongside mango salsa or sweet chili sauce.

Nutrition (per serving)

Caribbean Wontons — When the Table Is Small, the Flavors Stay Big