I always say that every Chilean family has their own way of making empanadas de pino, and that is true. But for me, the way I learned from my own mamá in Valparaíso is the way I still do it today. It carries the smell of Sundays, the chatter of cousins running around, and the feeling that home is always close, even when life takes you far away.
So let me tell you how it goes, from the heart of a Chilean abuelita who has spent many afternoons with flour-dusted hands and a warm oven humming in the kitchen.
Sundays and Family
In Chile, Sundays are for family. It doesn’t matter if you live in Santiago, Valdivia, or up in Arica, the tradition is the same. We gather, we talk, we laugh, we argue a little, and most importantly—we eat.
When I was young, my mamá would say, “Niña, apúrate, la masa no espera” (“Girl, hurry up, the dough won’t wait”). I can still hear her voice in my head when I knead the dough today. Back then, empanadas weren’t something you only ate at fiestas patrias (our national holiday); they were a way to bring everyone together any time of the year.
And now, my own grandchildren run through my house with the same joy, waiting for the tray of golden-brown empanadas to come out of the oven.
The Smell of Pino
The heart of an empanada de pino is the filling. Pino is simple but full of flavor: ground beef, onions, a few spices, and the little treasures that make every bite special—an olive, a raisin, and a piece of hard-boiled egg.
When the onions hit the pan, sizzling in oil, the whole house begins to smell like comfort. I always make sure to cook them slowly until they’re soft and sweet. Then the beef joins in, along with cumin, paprika, salt, and pepper. Some people add a little broth to keep it juicy. I always say, “El pino debe ser jugoso, pero no aguado” (“The pino must be juicy, but not watery”).
It’s a careful balance, like life.
Making the Dough
The dough is another story. It’s not complicated, but it requires love and patience. Flour, warm water, a little salt, and melted lard or butter. Some use oil now, but I stay with lard—because that’s how mamá did it, and because the crust comes out golden and crisp.
I knead until the dough is soft and smooth. My granddaughter loves to help with this part, though she ends up with flour on her nose more often than not. We laugh, and I let her roll little balls of dough beside me.
We let the dough rest, covered with a cloth, so it doesn’t dry out. That’s when I usually tell stories—about when I was young, about the markets in Valparaíso, about the smell of the ocean mixed with the smell of empanadas sold on the street corners.
Filling and Folding
Now comes the magic. Each dough circle gets a spoonful of pino in the center, then a slice of hard-boiled egg, one olive, and one raisin. Just one! Because that way, when someone bites into it, there’s a surprise waiting.
Folding the empanada is like folding a little pocket of love. First, I fold the dough in half, sealing the edges with my fingers. Then I make the traditional repulgue (the crimping), pressing and folding the edge so it holds tight. I always say to my grandchildren, “Si no lo cierras bien, el pino se escapa” (“If you don’t close it well, the filling escapes”). They giggle, but they learn.
Baking the Empanadas
Before baking, I brush each empanada with a beaten egg so it comes out shiny and golden. Then, into the hot oven they go. The smell that fills the kitchen is pure heaven.
We all wait, sometimes impatiently, until I finally take the tray out and place it on the table. There they are: golden, warm, and irresistible. Everyone reaches for one, though we try to wait for them to cool a little.
The first bite is always the best. The crust is crisp but tender, the pino juicy, the egg soft, the olive salty, the raisin sweet. It’s a mixture of flavors that somehow just makes sense.
The Tradition Continues
You know, empanadas are more than food for us. They are a piece of Chile. They are part of our fiestas patrias, part of our Sunday lunches, part of our memories.
Whenever someone in the family moves far away, I send them with the recipe. Because even if they are in another country, the smell of pino in a pan will always bring them home in their heart.
My Recipe for Empanada de Pino
Ingredients (for about 12 empanadas):
For the pino (filling):
- 500 g ground beef
- 2 large onions, finely chopped
- 2 tbsp vegetable oil or lard
- 1 tsp cumin
- 1 tsp paprika
- Salt and pepper, to taste
- ½ cup beef broth (optional, for juiciness)
- 3 hard-boiled eggs, sliced
- 12 olives (black or green, as you like)
- 12 raisins
For the dough:
- 4 cups all-purpose flour
- 1 tsp salt
- ½ cup lard (or butter) melted
- 1 ¼ cup warm water
For brushing:
- 1 egg, beaten
Step by Step Preparation
- Make the Pino
- Heat oil in a pan. Add onions and cook slowly until soft and translucent.
- Add ground beef, cumin, paprika, salt, and pepper. Cook until beef is browned.
- If using broth, pour it in and let it simmer until the mixture is juicy but not watery.
- Let the pino cool completely before filling (this prevents the dough from breaking).
- Prepare the Dough
- In a large bowl, mix flour and salt.
- Add melted lard and warm water little by little, mixing until a dough forms.
- Knead on a floured surface until soft and smooth.
- Cover and let rest for 30 minutes.
- Assemble the Empanadas
- Roll out dough and cut into circles about 15 cm in diameter.
- Place 2 tbsp of pino in the center. Add one slice of egg, one olive, and one raisin.
- Fold the dough in half, press edges firmly, and crimp with your fingers or a fork.
- Bake
- Preheat oven to 200°C (400°F).
- Place empanadas on a baking tray. Brush tops with beaten egg.
- Bake for 20–25 minutes, until golden brown.
- Serve
- Let cool slightly, then enjoy warm with pebre (Chilean salsa) or just on their own.
Closing Words
As I sit with my family around the table, watching them bite into the empanadas with happy faces, I feel proud. I feel connected to my past, to my mamá, to my country.
Empanada de pino is not just a national favorite—it is a piece of who we are. And as long as there are grandchildren to teach and ovens to warm, this tradition will never fade.
Because in Chile, we don’t just eat empanadas. We live them.
