Pastelillos
The sizzling and popping of the fryer grows suddenly louder as my father opens the lid to check on its contents. Apparently satisfied with what he sees, he gently lifts the delicate pastry shells up out of the oil, and places them one-by-one on a plate covered with a sheet of paper towel. Mouths watering with anticipation, my brother and I take our seats at the dinner table, where my mother is just setting down the last of the silverware. My father brings the plate over to the table and all of us quickly take our pick of the crescent-shaped pastries. I take 3, and immediately begin the process of “venting” them, something I’ve been doing ever since I was little. I bite off the corners of each of them before setting them down again, revealing the savory meat on the inside and allowing the steam to escape. I have burnt myself eating them before, but by now I’m a professional. After a minute or so of agonizing wait, I dig in, and the rich flavors of Puerto Rico temporarily transport me from my rural Massachusetts home. Just about everyone likes food, and just about everyone has a similar experience with a dish. For me, that dish is pastelillos. My father’s cooking has taught me that food isn’t just something to sate our hunger, or satisfy our cravings. Food is passion, food is culture, food is life. No dish represents that more than pastelillos.
Pastelillos, for those who aren’t familiar, are a Latin-American dish consisting of meat or cheese fried in a sort of pastry shell. They are best described as smaller empanadas, which more people are familiar with. What exactly the difference is, or if there even is one, is unknown to me. Just like everyone cooks a steak or a pot pie a bit differently, exact recipes and fillings for pastelillos are variable. I can confidently say my father’s is the best. That being said, it’s not technically his recipe. When asked about where he got it, he said, “The recipe came from Spain where my great-grandparents lived before they moved to Puerto Rico.” My great-grandparents passed the recipe down to my grandparents, who then passed it down to their children. The recipe is certainly not quite like any other. At its center is a delicious stewed beef that I grew up calling “carne molida” which I now know is a bit of a generalization, simply meaning “ground beef” in Spanish.
For me, the dish is a way of connecting with Puerto Rican culture and my heritage. Growing up in rural Massachusetts, my only way of experiencing hispanic culture outside of physically going to Puerto Rico was through food. My father tried to teach me Spanish when I was young, but having no place to practice it outside of my home, it didn’t catch on. I asked my father why he thought I liked the dish, and he said, “I think you like the dish because of how tasty it is, plus the fact that is a traditional dish that not only I make, but your abuela makes for the family to enjoy.” He’s certainly right in thinking that. Not only is it delicious, it reminds me of childhood memories with my family, and my rarely-visited second home that is San Juan.
Every time I eat pastelillos, I’m reminded of my father’s home in Puerto Rico, where my grandparents still live. Puerto Rico is a place that I can only describe as magical, and it won’t stop calling us back. My father’s childhood home is just outside of the city in San Juan, Puerto Rico. He spent the first 18 years of his life there, before coming to Boston for college. When working in Connecticut, he met my mother on a blind date set up by his coworker, and he never left New England. Tasting the sweet and savory meat on the inside transports me to my grandmother’s kitchen, where my father learned to cook. The smells of her favorite spices to cook with, the sizzling of food in the pan, the warm, humid air on my skin, and the melodious chirping of the coqui frogs outside. She makes pastelillos there, but by eating pastelillos I’m reminded of the other delicious foods she cooks as well. There will never be anything quite like coming back from a long day hiking in El Yunque to a large meal of arroz con pollo, amarillos, and pastelillos de carne.
Pastelillos have always been a special meal for me, bringing me back to Puerto Rico when a plane couldn’t. I figured my father had similar reasons for liking them, but I wanted to ask him, in case he had some more specific memories or experiences that they remind him of. When asked about it, he said “This dish reminds me of my childhood and being with family during the holidays.” Indeed, my grandmother likes to mark the holidays with special dishes such as pastelillos. My father has upheld that tradition, saving the pastelillos for Christmas and birthdays. Occasionally throughout the year we eat them when we miss Puerto Rico and its flavors especially intensely.
To say that pastelillos are merely food would be an insult to the dish. Pastelillos are my heritage, my comforting memories, and of course my favorite meal. It’s easy to just look at food as something we eat to stave off hunger and nourish our bodies, but I’m a firm believer that a good dish is aso nourishment for the soul. A recipe can contain more than just ingredients. Culture, passion, and motherly or fatherly love can turn a dish from something tasty into something transporting.
Recipe:
Written by my father, as my grandmother doesn’t use a recipe, she does it all by feel. He prefaced the email that included this recipe by saying its not really a recipe – just a guideline. He cooks how his mother taught him, which means he usually just improvises and feels it out.
To make the meat:
1 lbs ground beef
(1) 8 oz can tomato sauce
(6) pitted green olives
(1) small box of raisins
(1) 6 oz sofrito
Salt and pepper
(1) Beef bouillon
Steps for meat:
On medium heat place a pan with sofrito, bouillon and tomato sauce and simmer to dissolve the sofrito. Add the meat, raisins, olives, salt and pepper. Cook over low heat covered for 30 minutes stirring occasionally. After 30 minutes shut off and let it sit and cool.
To make the pastelillos:
Dough – We buy the premade pastelillo dough made by Goya. Let it thaw before using, but if it gets too warm it will be hard to handle.
Place flour on wax paper on the counter, flour lightly each side of the dough disc. Using a rolling pin stretch the dough a little (premade dough is a little thick). Then place spoonful or two of meat in the center. Put a little water on the edge of the dough disc and fold in half covering the meat. Press the edges with a fork so the pastelillo will stay closed.
To cook:
In a deep fryer set to 350 degrees place one or two of the pastelillos and cook until lightly golden brown on each side. (depending on fryer they will need to be flipped) Then take out of the fryer and let drain on a plate covered with paper towels.
