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If Panama has a dish that means home, it is sancocho. A deep, golden chicken soup thick with root vegetables and corn and scented with culantro, it is Sunday lunch, party food, and the universally agreed-upon cure for a rough morning. In 2003 it was officially named the country’s national dish — a title it had unofficially held for generations.

This is a family version, in the santeño style — the spare, traditional approach from the Los Santos province in Panama’s interior. It came down through family conversations rather than any cookbook, which is exactly how sancocho has always traveled.

The Two Things You Cannot Skip

You can be flexible with a sancocho — more on that below — but two things are non-negotiable. The first is the chicken: traditionally a gallina de patio, a free-range yard hen, whose tougher meat makes a far richer broth than a supermarket bird. The second is culantro, the long-leafed herb — not cilantro, though cilantro will do in a pinch at triple the amount. As one Panamanian chef put it, culantro is the flavor of sancocho, even more than the chicken. It is the taste of Panama.

Ingredients

• 1 whole chicken (ideally a free-range hen), cut into pieces
• 1 large onion, finely chopped
• 1 green bell pepper, finely chopped
• 4 cloves garlic, finely chopped
• 4 leaves culantro (or ¼ cup cilantro), chopped
• 1 tablespoon salt
• 3 ears of corn, each cut into thirds
• 2 lbs ñame (West African yam), cut into chunks — or substitute yuca, otoe, or zapallo
• 1 teaspoon Mexican oregano
• 1 ají chombo (Panamanian habanero), seeded and chopped
• Optional: 1–2 Maggi chicken bouillon cubes
• White rice, to serve

Method

1. Start the chicken dry. Put the chicken pieces in a large, heavy pot — no oil, no water. Heat over medium and let them warm and sweat in their own juices, about 8–10 minutes. This Panamanian step builds flavor before any liquid goes in.
2. Add the onion, bell pepper, and garlic. Cover and cook over medium-low heat about 10 minutes, until soft and fragrant.
3. Add water to generously cover — about 10–12 cups — along with the salt and the bouillon cubes if using. Bring to a rolling boil and hold it for at least 40 minutes.
4. Add the culantro, corn, and ñame (or your mix of roots). Reduce to a steady simmer and cook 20–25 minutes, until everything is fully tender and the broth has thickened from the starchy roots. There should be plenty of broth.
5. Rub the Mexican oregano between your palms to release its oils, and add it with the chopped ají chombo. Boil 8 more minutes. Taste and adjust the salt.
6. Serve in deep bowls — each one with chicken, a piece of corn, and a good helping of roots — with white rice on the side.

Make It Yours

The santeño version keeps it simple — chicken, ñame, culantro, and not much else. But sancocho is forgiving and regional. In Chiriquí they add everything in sight; if you can find yuca, otoe, zapallo, and ñame, use all of them. A few family notes worth keeping: malanga and otoe are the same thing; Mexican oregano has more flavor than the Mediterranean kind; and when the family could not get a proper tough yard hen, they joked about “dragging the store-bought chicken around the backyard for a while” to toughen it up first.

And since this is a hunting site — yes, a wild turkey or other game bird stands in beautifully for the hen. That long, slow simmer is exactly what wilder, leaner meat wants.

Serve it hot, with rice and good company. Buen provecho.

Pollo de Abuelita con Macarrones — Grandmother’s chicken with pasta — is a Panamanian comfort dish: chicken slow-braised in a rich tomato sauce and served over thick spaghetti. The version in our family came out of the Panama Canal Zone, pieced together from the memories of aunts and uncles who each remembered their grandmother’s kitchen a little differently.

It was built for gallina de patio — a free-range yard hen, tougher and far more flavorful than anything from a store. And that is exactly why it adapts so well to wild game. The long, slow, acidic braise a tough old hen needs is the same treatment that turns lean, hard-working wild meat tender. Below are two adaptations: one for wild turkey, one for jackrabbit.

First, Why This Works

Wild game is lean. Without the fat of farmed animals, it dries out fast and can carry a strong, mineral edge. The braise solves both problems — the long simmer breaks down tough fibers, and the tangy tomato sauce (the family used Sauce Arturo, a Canal Zone staple) brings acid to tenderize, a little sugar to balance, and enough body to keep the meat moist. Plain tomato sauce would fall flat here. The bold, vinegary sauce does the heavy lifting.

Wild Turkey Version

Wild turkey — especially the breast — is much leaner than the farmed bird. A brine is the key step; it pulls moisture into the meat before it ever hits the pot.

Brine (the night before)

• 4 cups cold water
• ¼ cup kosher salt
• 2 tablespoons brown sugar
• 1 bay leaf and 6 black peppercorns

Dissolve the salt and sugar in the water, add the bay leaf and peppercorns, and submerge half a wild turkey — roughly a breast half, a thigh, and a drumstick. Refrigerate 8–12 hours, then rinse and pat dry.

For the braise

• 1 tsp ground onion (onion powder) and 3 cloves garlic
• ½ tsp smoked paprika
• 2–3 tbsp olive oil; salt and pepper
• ½ onion and 1 green bell pepper, chopped
• 2 cans (8 oz) tomato sauce — or Sauce Arturo, if you can find it
• 1 small can tomato paste; 4–5 cups water
• 4 leaves culantro (or ¼ cup cilantro), ½ tsp oregano, 1 bay leaf, a pinch of sugar
• 1 packet Sazón con achiote
• 1 lb thick spaghetti

Method

1. Rub the brined turkey with olive oil, onion powder, one clove of crushed garlic, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. Rest 30 minutes.
2. Brown the turkey well in a heavy pot — about 5–6 minutes per side. Set aside.
3. In the same pot, cook the onion, remaining garlic, and bell pepper for 5 minutes. Add one can of tomato sauce to deglaze.
4. Return the dark meat only — thigh and drumstick. Add the rest of the sauce, the paste, half the culantro, oregano, bay leaf, sugar, Sazón, and 4–5 cups water. Bring to a boil, then drop to a low simmer.
5. After 20 minutes, add the breast. It cooks faster, so staggering it keeps it from drying out. Simmer another 40–55 minutes, until everything is tender.
6. Stir in the rest of the culantro, remove the bay leaf, and adjust the salt. Serve over spaghetti cooked al dente.

Jackrabbit Version

Jackrabbit has an unfair reputation. Cooked fast, it is tough and dry. But braised — browned, then slow-simmered in tomato sauce until it falls off the bone — it is genuinely excellent. This recipe is essentially that technique. The braise does the work, so a brine here is optional.

Optional brine (the night before)

• 4 cups water, ¼ cup kosher salt, 2 tbsp brown sugar
• 2 tbsp apple cider vinegar, 1 bay leaf, 8 peppercorns

Submerge one jackrabbit, cut into 6–8 pieces, for 12–24 hours. Rinse and pat dry. Short on time? Skip it — the braise still delivers.

For the braise

• 1 tsp ground onion and 4 cloves garlic
• ½ tsp ground cumin and the juice of ½ lime
• 2–3 tbsp olive oil; salt and pepper
• ½ onion and 1 green bell pepper, chopped
• 2 cans (8 oz) tomato sauce or Sauce Arturo; 1 small can tomato paste
• 5–6 cups water; 1 tbsp apple cider vinegar
• 4 leaves culantro, ½ tsp oregano, ½ tsp cumin, 1 bay leaf, a pinch of sugar
• 1 packet Sazón con achiote
• 1 lb thick spaghetti

Method

1. Rub the rabbit with olive oil, onion powder, two cloves of crushed garlic, cumin, lime juice, salt, and pepper. Rest 30–45 minutes.
2. Brown the rabbit well in batches in a heavy pot. Set aside.
3. Cook the onion, remaining garlic, and bell pepper for 5 minutes. Add one can of sauce to deglaze.
4. Return all the rabbit. Add the rest of the sauce, the paste, vinegar, half the culantro, oregano, cumin, bay leaf, sugar, Sazón, and 5–6 cups water — enough to cover. Bring to a boil, then drop to a bare simmer.
5. Cover and braise 1½ to 2 hours. This is where the magic happens — the long, gentle heat and the acid break the meat down completely. Add water if it reduces too far.
6. Stir in the rest of the culantro, remove the bay leaf, adjust the salt, and finish with a squeeze of lime. Serve over spaghetti.

The Bottom Line

Wild turkey wants the brine and a staggered breast. Jackrabbit wants patience and a long braise. Both want the same bold, tangy sauce the original recipe was built around. Treat the game the way that grandmother treated a tough yard hen — low, slow, and unhurried — and it will reward you.