When it comes to fast food, I try to avoid the homogenized fare of American chains, with their nutritionally engineered burgers and Frankenstein fries. Instead, I seek out the portable street food of other countries. Empanadas fit that bill nicely.
Although they probably originated in the Galicia region of Spain, empanadas are common throughout South America and the Caribbean. The Galicians get around, I guess. Fried or baked, spicy or mild, and stuffed with a wide and wacky array of fillings, the pastry pocket gets a unique twist in every country that adopts it. Thanks to Tampa's vibrant history of immigration, we've got a smorgasbord of empanadas at our disposal.
Since this is food for the common man, I roused a bunch of Planet drones out of their cubicles with the faint whisper of "free food in the conference room" over the intercom. Time for an empanadas taste-off! Yee-haw! Soon, platters were emptied, comment sheets were flying, and all the contestants were duly ranked on a 10-point scale.
Forgive me if I passed up your favorite local empanaderie, or that gas station on the corner with the old lady who makes them fresh every morning, but this is fast food. As much as I deride the plastic grub of U.S. chains, both they and I realize that convenience is important.
I picked up empanadas from places that are centrally located and easy to find: Empanadas Tampa and Don Pan Bakery on Dale Mabry, and Mr. Empanada on Armenia (which has two other locations). I also picked La Pequena Columbia — winner of our Best of the Bay for empanadas in 2003 — and one supermarket ringer. Beef is the benchmark for fillings, so I stuck with that and threw in a couple of fancier varieties for kicks.
Here's the rundown, in order of preference:
Mr. Empanada, Beef, 7.0
It turns out the common folk love the deep fryer. No surprise there. "Crispy" and "awesome" were two of the favorite adjectives for Mr. Empanada's blistered and buttery crust; one gourmand with a delicate palate even praised its "greasy texture." Tomato sauce was the defining characteristic of the Mr.'s filling, "like a sloppy joe with a kick," according to one staffer. Mr. Empanada's basic beef was "da' best!"
Mr. Empanada, Chicken, Broccoli and Cheese, 5.8
Although it had an oddly creamy consistency reminiscent of mayo, some thought that was a plus. Two people likened it to chicken pot pie, and several thought it might be tuna salad, one writing "love it! Tastes like a tuna melt!" Tuna melt? Most gave this one a thumbs-up.
La Pequena Colombia, Beef, 5.3
The drones liked the corn dough typical to these Colombian-style empanadas — calling it "authentic" and "a nice change" from the other entrants. However, the golden crenelations coating the outside seemed to absorb fat in an unpleasant manner. "Oily" and "greasy" were used as negative adjectives this time, but one person thought it would be "good for a hangover." Is that a compliment? The filling was both derided and lauded for the hefty potato quotient, another Colombian trademark.
Empanadas Tampa, Chicken, 4.5
Empanada Tampa's chicken offering fared even better than its beef. A mixed blessing, since even the chicken was only fourth overall. Comments were uniformly, well, missing. It didn't stand out.
Goya (frozen, supermarket), Beef, 4.3
The big surprise of our blind tasting was old empanada No. 5. There it sat, limp and pale, seemingly unpraiseworthy. But more than half of the tasters reveled in its "taco-like taste" and heavily seasoned meat. Third favorite among the beef empanadas isn't bad for a frozen supermarket brand cooked in the microwave. Fried up properly, they might have been a contender.
Empanadas Tampa, Beef, 4
The place promotes its baked dough as a healthier choice than fried. Kudos to them, but tasted blindly by a bunch of hungry Planeteers, baked equals "bland," "dry" and "doughy." No greasy sex appeal, I guess. One paranoid taster asked of the beef filling, "What am I eating? I don't trust the meat."
Don Pan International Bakery, Beef, 3.6
Don Pan's tasteless meat was almost universally disdained, but that could have been because the "dry," "dry" and "dry" baked crust left a bad taste in our mouths.
Don Pan Italian, 2.2
This one sparked a lot of talk. "Did you slip some supermarket brand into this tasting?" asked an editor. Yeah, but not this one. When cut open, there was a giant pocket of air and a thin layer of cheese, sauce and pepperoni, like a "dried up hot pocket." One taste-tester likened it to "bland pizza matsoh that had been left sitting out," while another one thought it belonged under a heat lamp at a Hess Station. Still another particularly eloquent staffer found that the "choice between this and starvation is a tough one." Ouch.
What did we learn? Only that Albert Perez, the Mr. behind Mr. Empanada, knows what he's doing. Mr. Empanada is his second go at the fast food market, after selling his first empanada chain in 1990. There are currently three locations, with another two on the way. At the Armenia headquarters, you can see him packing pastries into little paper bags behind the counter most days of the week. Stop in and grab a couple to go.
Brian Ries is a former restaurant general manager with an advanced diploma from the Court of Master Sommeliers. Planet food critics dine anonymously, and the paper pays for the meals. Restaurants chosen for review are not related to advertising.
This article appears in Jun 14-20, 2006.
