From Argentina With Love

From the Archives: Pastelitos del 25 de Mayo

 

A couple of years back, I wrote about the tradition of serving pastelitos on the 25th of May.  In that post, I wrote about how my husband, Guillermo, went door-to-door in his little town, selling the puffy little pastries in a sort of rural-Argentina version of the Girl Scouts.   He was trying to raise money to go on a class trip.

Today I bring you the recipe (slightly updated) from the archives for pastelitos, along with a photo from the family archives of Guillermo (the blondie on the left) with his brother Marcos in these rockin' matching applique doggie pantsuits.  I estimate Guillermo to be around seven in this picture--would you have said 'no' if this adorable kid came to your door selling pastries? 

I would have bought two dozen--especially if he had been wearing this outfit!

Today, though the pantsuit is long gone, the tradition of eating pastelitos lives on.  They are simple to make, but they won't last long--the proof being that Guillermo stood around while I was making them asking "Which one is ugly?"

These 'ugly' ones being the rejects that would be styled out of the photo.  He knows he has to wait until 'the blog stuff' is done before he digs in.  Ugly or not--quince filled fried pastry?  Yes, please!

Here, in the photo below, are all the 'pretty' pastelitos.  The not so pretty (though just as tasty) ones are--like the pantsuits and the days of selling pastelitos--are but  a memory.

Next week, in honor of the Argentineans declaring independence (though it took a number of years to achieve it), why not whip up a dozen pastelitos and take your own trip down memory lane?

 

Pastelitos del 25 de mayo

Pastries For May 25th

These pastries are served on May 25, the Constitution Day in Argentina, though they are a popular treat at other times of the year, as well.  Serve as a snack or dessert, or for breakfast with cafe con leche.

1 package La Salteña tapas for Pastelitos, or 24 small squares of puff pastry (the size of square won-ton wrappers) or 24 won-ton wrappers (which don't have the same yummy puff-pastry effect, but get the job done!)

6 0z. quince paste (available at Whole Foods or at most Latin Markets, also called Dulce de Membrillo)

vegetable oil, for frying

small cup of water, for sealing the edges

1/2 cup sugar

1/4 cup water

sprinkles for cake decorating

Lay out several  tapas on the counter.  Cut the quince paste into small cubes, about 1/2 inch dice.  Place a square of quince paste in the center of each tapa.  Moisten the area around  the quince paste and also the edges around the square with water using your fingertip.  Take a second pastry square and place it over the first one, press lightly around the quince to create a seal and then around the edges of the square, sealing again.  Take the two diagonal corners over the index finger of each hand and meet them in the center, making a boat shape.  Repeat with the other two corners.  The result is all four corners neatly meeting in the center, much like a wonton.

Heat 3/4 inch of canola oil in a skillet over medium-high heat.  Place four of the pastelitos  in, letting the oil bubble, for a couple of minutes each side, until the shell has turned golden brown.  Using tongs, turn the pastries until each side is equally golden.  Remove to a paper-towel lined plate.

Meanwhile, in a small saucepan, heat the sugar and the water until the sugar has dissolved.  Raise the heat to high and bring the 'almibar' to a boil.  Let thicken slightly, but not brown.  Remove from heat.  Using a spoon, drizzle the syrup over the top of the pastelitos and then sprinkle with colored sprinkles.

Turrón de Avena--Chocolate Oatmeal Wafer Bars

 

 As I've mentioned in previous posts, one of the best things about this blog is the emails I get from readers requesting recipes--I hope that From Argentina With Love is a reference point for those folks who have married into it (as I have), who have traveled to Argentina and fallen in love with it,  for those readers who are the descendants of immigrants from Argentina, and even those who are expats, themselves! 

Not long ago I got just such an email from Alex, requesting a recipe "I used to have as a child when I went to my grandmother's house, but she has passed away and my father (and his family) have no trace of a recipe for it. "

Rosca de Reyes--Kings' Cake

 
 The tradition of El Dia de los Tres Reyes Magos (literally, the Day of the Three Magi Kings)--aka the Epiphany--is a holiday that originated in Spain and is now celebrated in Hispanic cultures around the world on January 6th.

The Magi are those three Wise Men--the kings who traveled to Bethlehem to visit the infant Jesus and bring him gifts of Gold, Frankincense, and Myrrh. The holiday is meant to celebrate the appearance to the world of the baby Christ.

As part of the tradition, which marks the end of the Christmas season in Spanish-speaking countries, children write letters to the Three Magi asking for gifts, much like American children write to Santa Claus.  And just as children leave carrots out for Santa's reindeer, Argentinean children leave out grass and water for the Kings' camels.

The children's little shoes are left out on the night of January 5th by the door of the house, and on the morning of January 6, they find a gift there.  (Below, a picture of our Esteban's shoes filled with chocolate coins.) 

 

Dulce de Batata--Sweet Potato Paste

 

The smells outside my in-laws home in Bowen are a rustic melange of the countryside.  In fall, it's the tangy, tannic quaff of the bodega across the street, La Bowense, making their brew--their strong damajuana (jug) wine stings a bit in the nose.  In early mornings, a whiff of woodsmoke from someone's hearth fire, burning to take off the early morning autumnal chill can cross by, or the smell of freshly baked crusty bread and sweet pastries, if you get close to Al Pan Pan.  But my favorite smell, as we take an evening walk, basking in the peace and slow pace of my husband's small hometown, emanates from the Dulce de Batata factory two blocks away.  

 

Tortas Fritas--Rainy Day Fried Bread

 

This morning as I bustled around getting ready to take Esteban to preschool, the wind was blowing but the sun was shining; an autumn chill was in the air.  On our drive, the weather was a bizarre mix that defines Colorado's typically atypical seasonal weather--bright morning sun in the East, and a wall of black clouds looming on the horizon.  Miraculously, a bright rainbow was seen, too, and it seemed to lead right to our son's preschool--the thought of his teachers 'bringing' the rainbow to school just delighted him.  After drop-off, I lingered to talk to another mom and coo over her new baby, and by the time I left ten minutes later, the weather had completely changed.  It was now a despicable, blustery mess.

We have an expression in Colorado:  "If you don't like the weather, just wait a minute!"  It sums up our mercurial climate perfectly, since things here can change in a heartbeat.  I dashed to my car.  The wind was whipping fiercely, gold leaves skittered sideways across the road, and icy rain pelted my windshield.  I only had one thought as I raced home.