Fel's Manteca Colora (almost)

Now Fel stood in the Nomeolvides kitchen, melting down manteca, dyeing it red with paprika and chili powder. He tore green herbs into pieces, letting them fall into the bright sauce.

. . . He sliced day-old bread and spread it over a metal sheet. He brushed it with olive oil and garlic cloves and left it in the oven until the edges browned.

As he swirled the spoon through the wide copper pot, this family and this kitchen felt so much like his that he didn't worry about the paprika staining the wooden spoon. He stirred in bay and oregano leaves, and they sank into the manteca colora. The stems gave off a low, bitter smell that made him remember the gold and orange of fall leaves. (Wild Beauty, 108-109) 

Let me begin by stating, I know this recipe is wrong. But, I'm also okay with that because from what I can tell, manteca colora is a family-by-family recipe. Even Fel and Estralla disagree on what exactly the meal consists of.

Last night, I invited a friend over to help me make Fel's version of manteca colora, as described in the quotation above. I also searched online to find a similar recipe, and found this definition:

Manteca colora (Andalusian for "red lard") is a food item prepared by adding spices (usually bay leaf and oregano) and paprika--which is what gives the dish its characteristic orange color--to lard, which is then cooked with minced or finely shopped pieces of pork. (wikipedia)

McLemore mentions that Fel pulls out day old bread, manteca, and meat, so we started there.

Day Old Bread: I must admit, I do not keep day old bread in my house, so . . . I faked it. I toasted two slices of bread then, as described above, my friend set it on a pan, brushed it with olive oil, and sprinkled on a little garlic salt. The bread was placed in the oven at 200F for about six minutes.

Manteca: I'm supremely embarrassed to tell you thatnothing. So, all I can tell you is I used a bunch of butter--probably close to two sticks or one cup. What I should have done: combine the butter/fat and spices (I used cumin, oregano, and paprika, totally overlooked the chili) in a bowl and melt in microwave or stove. Hey, I'm sure Fel would have used a microwave if he had one.
my dish was missing the main ingredient, lard. I don't keep that on hand (don't judge me, I'm a newlywed who has only just started to cook). What do I have in my kitchen to substitute? Butter. I wanted to be true to the story, so I measured

Meat: Traditional menteca colora recipes use pork, but the meat I had on hand was canned chicken. I had a total brain fart and threw everything into one bowl before melting the butter/spices. Next time, I'll follow the directions I listed above. Shred the meat and add to the manteca mixture.

Spanish rice and Manteca Colora.
Notice: mine is not a rich red color.
I believe adding chili will help with
that in the future. 

From here, I know what I made was wrong. Next time, I will let the meat simmer in the manteca to ensure it thickens a little. As Fel did, I served mine warm: a foundation of toast with the manteca colora spooned on the top. My friend and I felt something was missing, so we added cheese. As I read more about the dish, I realized it is generally served at breakfast, so I drizzled honey over mine (so incredibly amazing), but my friend chose to go without.

There you go! My failed attempt at Fel's Manteca Colora as described in Wild Beauty by Anna-Marie McLemore.

Fel spooned the manteca colora over the bread, softening the edges. He served the Nomeolvides women, grandmothers and mothers and daughters, hoping they would speak, talk to one another about anything, knowing they wouldn't He sat down with them, and they ate. The paprika's spice slid over their tongues, the herbs coming up through the red enough that they still tasted green and alive. (Wild Beauty, 110)