I've had pupusas on the brain. A few months ago I was bullied by Big Masa into buying a five-pound bag of Maseca even though I only needed two tablespoons for a recipe. Ever since then, it's been sitting in my cupboard, taunting me. "Hey!" it shouts. "Why don't you just let me sit here until I get all moldy and gross, thus being a total waste of however much I cost you!" The bag of Maseca is sarcastic and cruel.
I dug up some recipes using masa so I can finally shut that voice up. I had some leftover refried beans in the fridge so I thought I'd try my hand at pupusas--little stuffed corn tortillas. Heck, I've seen them made on tv dozens of times. I just had to channel my inner Central American grandmother and go to it.
Pupusas are hard to make. Oh sure, the Central American grandmothers make it look easy, deftly tossing the filled dough patties from hand to hand, quick as lightning, dropping them onto a well-seasoned cast iron skillet and cooking them until crisp and hot. Oh sure. It *looks* easy.
I tried to make a pupusa. Then I gave up and decided empanadas were more my style anyway. I rolled out a ball of dough, added a spoonful of bean filling, closed it all up, and fried that sucker until it looked done. And it worked. It wasn't pretty, but it sure tasted good.
I dug up some recipes using masa so I can finally shut that voice up. I had some leftover refried beans in the fridge so I thought I'd try my hand at pupusas--little stuffed corn tortillas. Heck, I've seen them made on tv dozens of times. I just had to channel my inner Central American grandmother and go to it.
Pupusas are hard to make. Oh sure, the Central American grandmothers make it look easy, deftly tossing the filled dough patties from hand to hand, quick as lightning, dropping them onto a well-seasoned cast iron skillet and cooking them until crisp and hot. Oh sure. It *looks* easy.
I tried to make a pupusa. Then I gave up and decided empanadas were more my style anyway. I rolled out a ball of dough, added a spoonful of bean filling, closed it all up, and fried that sucker until it looked done. And it worked. It wasn't pretty, but it sure tasted good.
I made four empanadas before giving up and calling it a night. But the important thing is, I never gave up. Oh, except I did. Twice. Whatever.
Here is a pic of the one empanada I made that looked pretty nice. It also happened to be empanada #4. I like to quit while I'm ahead.
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Note the flaky golden crust. Irresistible, no?
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