Nov 18
With the holidays coming fast and furious, I had the uncharacteristically practical thought that it was time to make empanadas, an easy way to use leftovers. So sensible, but after a poor initial batch involving sirloin tips and too-buttery dough, I had to start from scratch. I was looking for something in a chicken, baked not fried, and maybe a little sweet. That’s when I found Anya Von Bremzen’s recipe for pastela moruna, Moorish chicken with dried fruits and Read more
Nov 1
I first came across pan de muerto, or “bread of the dead” in the long stretch of Mexican bakeries and stores in Sunset Park. Placed on family altars for el Día de los Muertos (November 1 & 2) as an offering to their deceased loved ones, I asked everyone I knew how they’d celebrated in Mexico and whether they continued to do so in the States. Read more
Sep 30
Recently, when I was asking friends and family how they felt about the sandwich Cubano, I was surprised at how many said they preferred medianoches. Similar to the Cubano but smaller and sweeter, the medianoche or “midnight” sandwich was sold in Havana nightclubs to tired dancers at late night cafes. Also tired from my last miss at making a pan de agua loaf, I decided to medianoche bread instead. If you live in South Florida, making Cuban bread at home makes as much sense as churning your own butter. It’s as easy to find there as it’s impossible everywhere else, so I was excited to see this recipe for the challah-like bread on the Three Guys From Miami site. I spent all day fussing over the rolls like a nervous mother – will the yeast bubble, do I knead more, will they rise? Read more
Aug 10
I made yet another attempt at producing Cuban pan de agua this morning with mixed results. If my last loaf went French, this one stopped by Italy came out a pan de ciabatta or ciabatta de agua. The barely there crust of Cuban bread still eludes me but the slightly sweet flavor and airy texture were much closer. When it rised up perfectly and plumped in the oven, I thought I finally had it but it wasn’t to be. Nevertheless, I am getting warmer and will be diving into the flour bag again. It’s hard to tell where my Cuban bread will go next. Greece? Morocco? Spain? I’ll find out soon enough.
Jul 10
I had planned on including a recipe for Cuban pan de agua, but my bread went French on me and not in a good way. It was my third attempt, and I thought I had finally found my mistake. Having misread the recipe before, I measured everything out carefully, kneaded it, let it rise, and shaped it before putting into a cold oven with boiling water. The result wasn’t terrible, it just wasn’t Cuban. Instead of a barely golden, plump loaf it had the dark heavy crust of a disappointed baguette. A friend suggested that just like a French soufflé needs quiet, maybe Cuban bread needs shouting. I’ll have to try that the next time.
May 18
This past week was my older sister Cami’s birthday, so I have been wound up planning an informal, low-key picnic in Central Park for 40 people. When I sent out the evite, I was worried that people wouldn’t be able to make it. When the RSVPs climbed, I was worried they all meant it when they said they were. I did my best to anticipate any logistical problems – were the bathrooms at the Delacorte Theater open, were leashed dogs allowed on the Great Lawn, were you allowed to hang a piñata from Central Park’s look-but-don’t-climb trees? (Answers: Yes, Yes, and Not if they see you). I prayed for sun but when I woke up to a gray Saturday morning, I was overwhelmed by the enormous number of things left to do for a picnic that was so obviously going be awash in early afternoon thunderstorms and soaked donkey piñatas.
I wanted Cami to have the classic Cuban spread – cangrejitos (crab-shaped puffs filled with sweet ham), crispy croquetas, meat filled empanadas, bocaditos (small white bread sandwiches filled with flavored cream cheese), and pastelitos de guayaba. Armed with 4 sheets of puff pastry, 3 bricks of cream cheese, ham and picadillo fillings, and the last of the homemade guava paste I’d brought from home, I set to work. To add a further complication, I was also settling in my mother and Chiqui who had arrived the night before for a two week stay (Chiqui being the 8 pound chihuahua who has replaced me in my mother’s affections).
The few hours I had given myself to prepare evaporated between finding extra closet space, outlets for chargers and rolling out emapanada dough. With just an hour to go, it seemed hopeless, and I started weighing the evils of less food versus having friends wandering the park looking for a spot that hadn’t been staked out. Then someone, probably Chiqui, set my iTunes to Celia Cruz. Now while listening to Celia cannot solve every problem, it does make unhappiness almost impossible. Somewhere Between Cao Cao Mani Picao and Oye Mi Rumba, time slowed enough for me to finish my first empanadas and my mother to cut the crusts of my sister’s favorite tuna bocaditos. By the time I climbed up the subway stairs to 81st Street & Central Park West with a box full of Cuban treats and five minutes to spare, I could finally see the blue skies I first felt when Celia started singing.
Finalist for the 2015 James Beard Foundation Award in the International Cookbook Category for The Cuban Table
hungry sofia 