The 10 Dishes That Made My Career: Jose Enrique

The chef behind San Juan's Jose Enrique, Capital, and Miel offers an insider's view on modern Puerto Rican cooking.

Alia Akkam

Shortly before he is slated to board a flight to Miami, I give Jose Enrique a call. The Puerto Rican chef—whose eponymously named restaurant in San Juan has helped bring serious culinary cred to the city—has been making frequent airport appearances as of late. His latest venture, which will open sometime this winter in forthcoming El Blok boutique hotel, is a 20-minute puddle jumper away on the dreamy isle of Vieques.

“Sunlight streams through the windows. It will be an open, mellow space, serving dishes like grilled fish and roast chicken,” Enrique says. Guests will also find vending machines cleverly stocked with the chef’s specialties, such as Bloody Mary mix and octopus salad. And, he’s excited to make “little baskets all ready to go with a bottle of rosé you can bring to the beach, too.”

Puerto Rico’s idyllic tropical surroundings, as well as deep familial bonds forged around the dinner table, influenced the San Juan native for a young age. “My paternal grandparents, when they left Cuba, they opened a restaurant here,” he says. “When I picture food, I picture happy. The whole family is there eating and having fun.”

When I picture food, I picture happy.

In high school, Enrique thought he would be a lawyer, but he had an inkling those plans were shifting when he raced home from school every day to watch the show Great Chefs Great Cities at 3pm. “My mom said I was obsessed and that I needed to do my homework,” he laughs. Tinkering with recipes, he gradually realized it wasn’t the courtroom he craved but the kitchen. An education at the Culinary Institute of America followed, as did cooking experiences from France to Florida, most notably marked by Todd English’s Riche in New Orleans, Café Centro in New York, and the San Juan Water Beach Club.

“The CIA was the beginning of my professional cooking career,” Enrique says, “but it was actually working in New York where I learned the most. I go back four or five times a year—I can’t not go there.”

Missing his family, Enrique eventually returned to San Juan, opening Jose Enrique in 2007, followed by the brasserie Capital and the coffeehouse Miel. At his flagship restaurant, he does not attempt to alter traditional Puerto Rican cooking, but rather elevate it by using the freshest local ingredients. It’s not unusual for a purveyor to stroll in right before the kitchen opens with choice mangoes that will inspire a new dish on the fly. Night after night, the no-reservations restaurant finds guests eating the likes of crab stuffed in a casing of fried plantain mash, avocado and caimito fruit salads, and carne guisada stew strewn with chunks of filet mignon. This melding of indigenous flavors and quality ingredients scored Enrique the honor of becoming a James Beard Award semi-finalist in 2013—the first time for a Puerto Rico-based chef.

“I love living here,” he says. “I’m into spending time with all my family and friends, and I also love the beach and surfing. But I guess I can cook better.”

Here, Enrique walks us through the dishes that have inspired his greatest cooking and eating exploits, from spit-roasted pig to chicken soup in Bogota.

Béarnaise sauce

My grandmother—my father’s Cuban mother—was an excellent cook. One of the things she always made was béarnaise sauce for lunch, so I was a kid eating a lot of filets with this stuff I loved but had no clue what it was. I remember my dad would put it over eggs in the morning and it would get all melted. It wasn’t until later in life I realized it contained all those yolks and fat.
Serenata de bacalao

Serenata de bacalao is a classic, simple, unpretentious dish that’s a staple here. My Puerto Rican grandmother made it all the time with a variety of tubers and tropical vegetables like boiled, local yucca, and taro root. Salted and dried codfish are rehydrated with sides of avocado and hard-boiled egg, tons of olive oil, and a little bit of onion and tomato. It’s homey to me, something we would eat throughout the day. I make my own version now with fresh cod I salt for two or three days. I want the texture of bacalao, but a bit meatier. I make a little salad with local tomatoes and onions, and this time the egg has a runny center.
Pig on a spit

Spit-fired pork is something you usually see a lot during Christmas. I remember for one holiday my dad built a spit at my grandmother’s house. There was a 60- or 70-pound pig there for eight hours. It made quarter turns all day. Watching this thing turn over and over, it got to a point where I was so hungry. The adults were all drinking, but as a kid I was even more impatient. I remember being anxious, but when it finally came off it was so crispy and tender, cooked so slowly at such a low temperature. Everyone fought over the ears and it was just a beautiful thing.
Braising sauce

I was a saucier in New York and we were cooking beautiful lamb shanks. I remember carrying the braising liquid, cooked with root vegetables, into the walk-in and there were these chunks of carrots. I bit into one of them, and it was so good, it was ridiculous it wasn’t getting served. There were also heads of garlic cut in half, all smooth and soft, that were basically melted. I truly felt transported in time when I was eating all these flavored bits that had made the sauce while I was in the walk-in. It felt so basic, but like I was reliving history. Now, when I braise, I make two sauces: a silky one and a chunky one.
Butchered pig

Understanding the craftsmanship behind butchering a pig and seeing the whole process take shape changes your perspective. Deboning a 15- or 18-pound pig, leaving the trotters and hind leg on and serving it whole,—but with rounds of nice, crispy meat and the leftovers that have been made into a mousse served with tarragon and roasted garlic—is special. But what makes it so great is taking the time to butcher it by hand.
Suckling lamb

I was in Spain, close to Bugos—home of blood sausage—when I had suckling lamb. It was cooked in a clay pot, then put inside the hot brick oven. They poured pork fat over it, salted it, added half a lemon, flipped it over, and did the same thing until it got crispy. It was beautiful, because I knew this is just how they were making it 100 years ago. I can’t remember the name of the restaurant, but it was rustic, with concrete and wood, and when you walked in the oven was right there so you got to see everything. Sipping a Torresilo wine from Ribera del Duero, it was such a nice experience for me.
Ajiaco

Ajiaco is a Colombian chicken soup with three types of potatoes, as well as a huge kernels of corn, capers, and a runny, homemade cream. I had it in Bogota. You throw the capers in and the cream little by little. It’s earthy and rustic and I remember waking up every morning and saying I wanted it.
Crispy fried yellowtail snapper

The yellowtail—a crispy, deboned snapper—is the restaurant’s signature dish. I serve it over batata (the tropical, yellow sweet potato that is usually deep-fried) as a mash with a little bit of butter and cream. I take onions and pickle them with lime juice and salt and add cilantro, tomatoes, and peppers, but it’s the avocado and papaya salsa that makes the dish fresh and alive. I started with the avocado and papaya, not thinking how much further it could go, and everything fell together from there. Now I think it ended up capturing the Caribbean.
Suckling pig

I get 10 suckling pigs a week and fly through them in a day. I’ll cure each one for two days with tons of cilantro, roasted garlic, salt, and pepper, then put a little bit of sugar and tons of bay leaves and oregano. I leave it for a day or two then confit it in pork fat for six hours. When the order comes in I deep-fry it with just the skin touching the fryer so it gets crispy. I use nice organic tomatoes, and on the side there are rice and beans and tons of local limes to squeeze. The technique is French—it’s the way Jean-Louis Palladin did his—but the flavors are Puerto Rican.
Belgian Waffles

I spent some me time in Brussels, and one day, as I'm grabbing a train, I see a little waffle cart. To this day, I can't get the waffle out of my mind. It was so crisp on the outside and airy inside—I loved it. It's one of those things that is so simple, but when done right, it's just ridiculously good.

The 10 Dishes That Made My Career: Jose Enrique

Béarnaise sauce

Serenata de bacalao

Pig on a spit

Braising sauce

Butchered pig

Suckling lamb

Ajiaco

Crispy fried yellowtail snapper

Suckling pig

Belgian Waffles

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