Grandma Clari's Empanadas
All day I have been buffeted by a terrible nostalgia for everything Argentine and long gone, for my grandmother's beautiful and varied cooking, for the shape of her fingers (one bent due to a kitchen mishap, another with its tip sliced off), for the all-encompassing feeling of arriving at her kitchen surrounded by cousins. I blame all this on my old friend Hernan, who last night for no earthly reason posted a shameless list of classic Argentine hits from the mid-eighties. My grandmother Clari was the sort who sent you to the vegetable patch to unearth potatoes if you wanted gnocchi for lunch, and who all but burnt our small flat down when, on a visit once to Geneva—and wanting me to eat proper, homemade dulce de leche—set the big Le Creuset pot on a low fire and settled in for a nap. She died ten years ago, and I've been missing her awfully. It's easy to get really great empanadas on almost any Buenos Aires block, and in the past decade regional empanadas (especially those hailing from Tucuman, Salta, and Mendoza) have really gussied up the offerings—but nothing quite has the flavor of Clari's homemade empanadas. I have a tiny black notebook in which she wrote out some recipes for me, and the only thing that stands out, possibly apart from the alchemy and other ethers, is the combination of flavours created by combining plumped raisins, green olives, and cumin, and the specific texture and juiciness of the hand-cut beef. Don't take a shortcut on this step. In terms of the effort you'll put into it, it's really not a big deal, but the results are incomparable to ground beef. If a shortcut is absolutely necessary here, make it by using premade dough for the empanada rounds. It won't be the same, but it will be good enough, and not everyone has access to flaky beef back fat. But I really wouldn't bother to make these with ground beef. Clari baked her empanadas, and they'd emerge from the oven steaming and almost juicing over, just waiting for the first bite. But if anyone has a preference for frying, I'd say go for it. It's got to be a great take on these. I recommend a nice Malbec and a late afternoon breeze to accompany the empanadas. Buen provecho! NOTE: You can play with the amounts of cumin, coriander, oregano, and pimenton to come up with your own best flavour.
All day I have been buffeted by a terrible nostalgia for everything Argentine and long gone, for my grandmother's beautiful and varied cooking, for the shape of her fingers (one bent due to a kitchen mishap, another with its tip sliced off), for the all-encompassing feeling of arriving at her kitchen surrounded by cousins. I blame all this on my old friend Hernan, who last night for no earthly reason posted a shameless list of classic Argentine hits from the mid-eighties. My grandmother Clari was the sort who sent you to the vegetable patch to unearth potatoes if you wanted gnocchi for lunch, and who all but burnt our small flat down when, on a visit once to Geneva—and wanting me to eat proper, homemade dulce de leche—set the big Le Creuset pot on a low fire and settled in for a nap. She died ten years ago, and I've been missing her awfully. It's easy to get really great empanadas on almost any Buenos Aires block, and in the past decade regional empanadas (especially those hailing from Tucuman, Salta, and Mendoza) have really gussied up the offerings—but nothing quite has the flavor of Clari's homemade empanadas. I have a tiny black notebook in which she wrote out some recipes for me, and the only thing that stands out, possibly apart from the alchemy and other ethers, is the combination of flavours created by combining plumped raisins, green olives, and cumin, and the specific texture and juiciness of the hand-cut beef. Don't take a shortcut on this step. In terms of the effort you'll put into it, it's really not a big deal, but the results are incomparable to ground beef. If a shortcut is absolutely necessary here, make it by using premade dough for the empanada rounds. It won't be the same, but it will be good enough, and not everyone has access to flaky beef back fat. But I really wouldn't bother to make these with ground beef. Clari baked her empanadas, and they'd emerge from the oven steaming and almost juicing over, just waiting for the first bite. But if anyone has a preference for frying, I'd say go for it. It's got to be a great take on these. I recommend a nice Malbec and a late afternoon breeze to accompany the empanadas. Buen provecho! NOTE: You can play with the amounts of cumin, coriander, oregano, and pimenton to come up with your own best flavour.
- 4 eggs
- 8 cups flour
- 1 1/2 teaspoons dried oregano
- 1 tablespoon tomato paste
- 2 1/2 cups water
- 1 1/2 teaspoons cumin
- 1/3 cup raisins
- 1 teaspoon coriander seeds
- 1 green pepper
- 2 teaspoons fine sea salt
- 1 dash salt and pepper to taste
- 8 1/2 ounces flaky beef fat rendered and cooled, or other fat or oil
- 1/2 pound green olives then some
- 1 pound excellent fillet of beef
- 1 bunch spring onions sliced
- 1 medium-sized onion
- 2 tablespoons rendered and cooled beef fat
- 1 teaspoon demerara sugar
- 1 teaspoon sweet pimentã³n or paprika
- Carbohydrate 1313.79433703752 g
- Cholesterol 19.6 mg
- Fat 30.1714575579028 g
- Fiber 17.7584280782668 g
- Protein 25.0685554545654 g
- Saturated Fat 6.16855726769929 g
- Serving Size 1 1 recipe (3616g)
- Sodium 7214.79123321122 mg
- Sugar 1296.03590895925 g
- Trans Fat 1.71081847218564 g
- Calories 5409 calories
Step-by-step
- For the dough: mix the flour, salt, and cooled rendered fat. Add water as you mix the ingredients, until the mass holds together and becomes a smooth dough. Knead only until it holds its own shape well, wrap in plastic wrap, and allow an hour to rest at room temp.
- When you're ready, divide into manageable portions and roll out into a thin layer, about 1/4 inch thick. Cut into disks, 3 to 4 inches in diameter. Keep these disks humid by stacking them with plastic wrap between each disk and covering the entire pile. You can refrigerate these while making the filling.
- For the filling: First, the mise en place: Hydrate the raisins in water or red wine and set aside. Remove the pits from the green olives, dice, and set aside. Boil the eggs for about 8 minutes, let cool, peel, and chop and set aside.
- Finely chop the beef into thin, small slices resembling what you might be served at a fine Parisian bistro if you asked for a good beef tartare, a pile of distinct beef shavings far from a mash. Please enjoy this last step thoroughly!
- Finely chop the spring onions, onion, and deveined green pepper. Melt the rendered beef fat in a large pot and begin to gently soften the onions and pepper. You do not want them in any way to crisp. Crush the coriander seeds and add them along with salt, pepper, cumin, and oregano. Add tomato paste and sugar.
- Add the beef and mix while it begins to cook, until it loses its raw color. Add the olives and raisins.
- Add chopped cooked eggs and pimentón, mix very gently, and check that the seasoning is to your taste. Allow the filling to cool before forming the empanadas.
- Preheat your oven to 400° F. Remove dough disks from fridge and allow to reach room temperature. Place a little more than a tablespoon of filling on one side of each disk and fold the other half over it, sealing the edges with water and neat folds, as if you were crimping a pie.
- These are best made on a pizza stone, but use what you've got. If you are using a plain baking sheet, I'd recommend sprinkling with some polenta before placing the empanadas on top. These normally need to bake for about 20 to 25 minutes, and emerge succulent and piping hot.
A Taste of Home: Grandma Clari's Empanadas
The aroma of baking empanadas always takes me back to my grandmother Clari's kitchen. It’s a scent thick with the warmth of a wood-burning oven, the savory tang of beef, and the subtle sweetness of plump raisins. More than just a recipe, these empanadas are a portal to my childhood, a time filled with the boisterous laughter of cousins, the comforting presence of my grandmother, and the magic of her cooking. Her kitchen wasn't just a place to prepare food; it was the heart of our family, a place where memories were made, stories were shared, and love was poured into every dish. I remember her hands, worn and strong from years of kneading dough and tending the garden, one finger bent, another slightly shorter from past kitchen mishaps—these hands crafted dishes that were as unique and unforgettable as she was.
Clari’s empanadas weren't just any empanadas; they were a testament to her unwavering dedication to traditional Argentine flavors. She insisted on hand-cutting the beef, a detail that might seem insignificant, but one that fundamentally changes the texture and taste. While modern convenience might tempt us to reach for ground beef, resisting that urge is crucial here. The result is a juicy, tender filling that’s simply unparalleled. The subtle combination of plumped raisins, briny green olives, and fragrant cumin creates an unforgettable depth of flavor that's as intricate as a tango melody.
Beyond the unique combination of ingredients, it was her intuition, that innate sense of knowing exactly how much of each spice to add that made her empanadas so exceptional. While she didn't have a precise recipe, I meticulously recorded her instructions in a small, worn notebook. It's filled with more than just measurements; it captures the essence of her culinary wisdom, the unspoken techniques passed down through generations. Even the simple act of crimping the edges seemed to possess a particular elegance under her expert touch. There's something incredibly satisfying about creating these delicate pockets of deliciousness, a tradition I am happy to continue.
The empanadas themselves are a testament to her character – hearty, flavorful, and deeply satisfying. The perfectly flaky crust gives way to a juicy, intensely flavorful filling. The combination of the tender beef, sweet raisins, salty olives, and fragrant spices creates a complex flavor profile that is both savory and subtly sweet. Whether baked to a golden brown in a wood-fired oven or pan-fried to a crisp, each bite is a reminder of the love and care that went into their creation.
More than just a culinary experience, preparing these empanadas is a journey through time and memory. Each step, from kneading the dough to carefully shaping the empanadas, is an opportunity to reconnect with my grandmother and honor her legacy. It’s a privilege to share her recipes and the stories behind them. I hope that whoever makes these empanadas will feel a fraction of the warmth and love that always filled Clari’s kitchen.
So, gather your ingredients, put on some classic Argentinian music, and prepare to embark on a culinary adventure. And when you take that first bite, close your eyes, and let the flavors transport you to a simpler time, a time filled with love, laughter, and the unforgettable taste of Grandma Clari's empanadas.
