Empanadas with Puff Pastry

Oh hi. I have Very Strong Opinions: puff pastry is the adult version of a blanket fort — flaky, comforting, and wildly deceptive in how much it makes you look like you Know Things. Also: butter is not optional. Stand back. Two-word truth: pure magic.

How I turned Thanksgiving trauma into savory pastry therapy

Let me confess something immediately and dramatically: I once attempted to make empanadas from scratch for a neighborhood potluck during Thanksgiving and produced a sad stack of doughy frisbees that embarrassed my late aunt’s casserole. Remember the cranberry sauce incident of 2018? This was worse. I rolled dough like I was trying to flatten my anxiety (spoiler: it didn’t work), and someone—possibly a small child—called them “pillow pockets,” which, okay, was a lie and also accurate.

That disaster taught me two things: 1) Good filling covers a multitude of textural sins, and 2) Trader Joe’s puff pastry is a gift from the pastry gods when you need something that screams “I tried very hard” with minimal elbow grease. If you want proof that shortcuts are sometimes the right morally ambiguous choice, check out my cheat-day worship of easy peach cobbler with cake mix — yes, that recipe is comfort and controversy in a bowl.

Pivot to dinner: quick, flaky, slightly theatrical empanadas

ANYWAY, before I re-enact my entire baking-induced trauma scene like it’s a one-woman musical—these empanadas are the pivot from kitchen chaos to dinner table applause. You brown the beef, soften some onions, drop in garlic like you mean it, stuff, bake, and then pretend you planned it all along while pretending not to judge the person who eats three.

Ingredients (and my mini-rant about good vs. bargain stuff)

• 1 package puff pastry (thawed but still chill)
• 1 lb ground beef
• 1 cup shredded cheese (sharp cheddar or a melty hybrid)
• 1 onion, chopped
• 2 cloves garlic, minced
• Salt and pepper to taste
• 1 egg (for egg wash)

Also: a few seasoning ideas — smoked paprika, cumin, or a dash of hot sauce if you’re messy and proud.

Mini-rant: Puff pastry from Trader Joe’s is my lazy gourmet flex; if you want to DIY dough be my guest (I salute you, masochist). Ground beef? Don’t buy the cheapest gross sack—get something with a little fat for flavor. Aldi does surprisingly decent cheese if you’re on a budget and I will absolutely tell you about it at length.

Quick unit cheat sheet (because measuring like a human matters)

Need to swap cups for grams or Fahrenheit for Celsius mid-bake panic? This little converter keeps your oven tantrums minimal.

Technique: messy, honest, and what I learned the hard way

I will not give you a rigid ruler of steps because life is messy and so is pastry, but here are gestures and lessons from the scorched, tear-streaked trenches: always sweat the onion until it’s tender and a little sweet (caramelization is like sending a love letter to your taste buds), brown the beef but don’t make it a charcoal monument, and for the love of all things flaky—chill the pastry if your kitchen is a sauna (or you are dramatic like me).

Also: here’s the actual rundown because we all need that moment of structure amid chaos:

1. Preheat your oven to 400°F (200°C).
2. In a skillet, cook the onion and garlic until softened.
3. Add the ground beef, season with salt and pepper, and cook until browned.
4. Roll out the puff pastry and cut into circles.
5. Place a spoonful of the beef mixture and cheese on one half of each circle.
6. Fold the pastry over and seal the edges, crimping with a fork.
7. Brush the tops with beaten egg.
8. Bake in the preheated oven for 20-25 minutes or until golden brown.
9. Serve with your choice of dip.

Pro tip: Don’t overfill unless you want an emotional geyser of beef at 400°F. Also, if your first batch leaks, regroup and pretend it’s artisanal.

Why this tiny pastry matters to me (and maybe you)

Cooking is my anchor when everything else is a shaky, weird carnival ride. My grandmother used to make stuffed pockets on Sundays, and biting into a warm empanada is like hearing a specific song in the middle of a chaotic grocery run—nostalgia in butter and salt. Food keeps family legacies alive, even the goofy ones (I’m looking at you, Aunt Deb’s mood salad).

Also, if you ever need a bridge between casual weeknight and “I absolutely meant to be fancy,” these empanadas are it — and yes, they pair suspiciously well with leftover holiday sides (I learned that after serving them next to a triumphant cranberry-spinach stuffed chicken and pretending it was planned).

Small, embarrassing anecdote you will laugh at and then forget to judge me for

I once tried to make tiny empanadas as appetizers for a book club and labeled them “miniatures.” A guest called them “sophisti-pockets” and now that is forever the official name in my group chat. I have no regrets.

Chaotic Frequently Asked Questions (yes, the ones you actually wonder out loud):

Okay, I’ll stop talking now. Make these, feed people, watch someone close their eyes and groan with pleasure, and then tell me how many you ate because I will judge and then empathize. (Also: more butter.)