
Chef Lupita
Besitos Yucatecos
Mérida's pale egg-yolk-and-vanilla kisses, tiny cookies built on eight yolks and a perfume of orange blossom, sandwiched with guava paste and dusted heavy with powdered sugar.
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Mérida's puff pastry triangles, laminated with butter and lard, crowned with a reckless heap of crystal sugar, baked until they fan open and the sugar glitters across the top.
These triangles are from Yucatán. Specifically from Mérida, where every neighborhood has a panadería and every panadería has a tray of these by seven in the morning. You buy them with tongs, slide them onto a metal tray, eat them standing up at the counter with café yucateco. That is the ritual. It does not translate to a Pinterest board.
The Yucatán has a pastry tradition the rest of Mexico tends to forget. The peninsula was a port. Sugar, butter, wheat, eggs, all moved through the docks at Sisal and Progreso for centuries. While the interior was building its corn-and-chile tradition, Yucatán was building a parallel one in flour and sugar and lard. The triangles are part of that lineage. Hojaldre with manteca, not pure butter. The lard is what makes a Yucatecan triangle taste like Mérida and not like Paris.
This is laminated dough, so it takes time and it takes a cold kitchen. Three turns, four hours of rest minimum, an overnight if you respect the dough. The reward is layers that fan open when they bake and a crown of crystal sugar that stays in distinct grains on top, glittering, crunching under your teeth. My notebook has a page for these copied from a panadero in Mérida who would not give me the recipe directly but let me watch him shape a tray. I wrote down what I saw. That is how you learn this work. La cocina no es decoración, es trabajo.
Yucatán's pastry tradition emerged from the peninsula's status as a colonial port economy, where wheat flour, butter, sugar, and European baking techniques arrived through the ports of Sisal, Campeche, and later Progreso, bypassing the central Mexican plateau entirely. The hojaldre, or laminated pastry, was introduced by Spanish bakers in the 17th and 18th centuries and was adapted by Yucatecan panaderos who substituted manteca de cerdo for part of the butter, both for cost and for a more savory undertone that suited the local palate. The triangle shape, common to panaderías across Mérida and Valladolid, distinguishes the regional product from the French palmier and the Spanish miguelitos, and the heavy crown of azúcar gruesa is a Yucatecan signature not commonly seen in other Mexican states.
Quantity
4 cups
plus more for dusting
Quantity
1 1/2 teaspoons
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1 1/4 cups
Quantity
1 tablespoon
Quantity
2 tablespoons
softened
Quantity
1 pound (4 sticks)
Quantity
2 tablespoons
Quantity
1
beaten with 1 tablespoon whole milk, for the wash
Quantity
1 1/2 cups
for topping
| Ingredient | Quantity |
|---|---|
| all-purpose flour (for dough)plus more for dusting | 4 cups |
| fine sea salt | 1 1/2 teaspoons |
| granulated sugar | 2 tablespoons |
| cold water | 1 1/4 cups |
| white vinegar | 1 tablespoon |
| manteca de cerdo (pork lard)softened | 2 tablespoons |
| cold unsalted butter (for the laminating block) | 1 pound (4 sticks) |
| all-purpose flour (for the butter block) | 2 tablespoons |
| large eggbeaten with 1 tablespoon whole milk, for the wash | 1 |
| large-crystal sugar (azúcar gruesa or turbinado)for topping | 1 1/2 cups |
In a wide bowl, whisk the four cups of flour with the salt and the two tablespoons of granulated sugar. Make a well in the center. Pour in the cold water, the vinegar, and the softened lard. Bring it together with your hands until you have a shaggy, slightly sticky dough. Turn it onto a lightly floured counter and knead for two minutes, no more. You want the dough to hold together, not to develop a strong gluten. The vinegar keeps the dough relaxed and the lard gives it the flavor that separates a Yucatecan pastry from a French one. La manteca es el sabor, even in dough.
Shape the dough into a thick square, about six inches on a side. Score a deep cross on top with a sharp knife, almost halfway through. Wrap tightly in plastic and refrigerate for at least one hour. This is non-negotiable. The dough has to relax before it can be laminated, otherwise it tears and the butter breaks through.
While the dough rests, lay the cold butter sticks side by side on a sheet of parchment. Sprinkle the two tablespoons of flour over the top. Cover with a second sheet of parchment and pound the butter with a rolling pin, working it into a flat square about seven inches on a side. The flour gives the butter just enough body to roll without cracking. The block should be pliable but cold, like cold modeling clay. Refrigerate it while you wait for the dough.
On a lightly floured counter, roll the rested dough into a cross shape, leaving a thick mound in the center the size of the butter block and four flat flaps extending outward. Place the butter block on the center mound. Fold the flaps over the butter one at a time so the butter is completely sealed inside, like a package. Press the seams gently to close them. There should be no butter visible.
With the seam side down, roll the dough into a long rectangle, about eight by twenty inches. Work in one direction only, from the short end away from you. If the butter cracks through, dust the spot with flour and keep going. Fold the rectangle in thirds like a letter: bottom third up, top third down over it. That is your first turn. Wrap and refrigerate for 30 minutes.
Place the dough on the counter with the closed seam to your right, like a book waiting to be opened. Roll out into a long rectangle again. Fold in thirds. That is the second turn. Wrap, refrigerate 30 minutes. Repeat one more time for the third turn. Three turns is the Yucatecan standard for these triangles. More turns and the layers get too thin to hold the sugar crown on top. After the third turn, refrigerate at least four hours, ideally overnight. The dough needs the long rest to relax completely before the final shaping.
Roll the rested dough on a lightly floured counter into a large rectangle, about sixteen by twenty inches and a quarter-inch thick. Trim the edges square with a sharp knife. Cut the rectangle into eight squares of four by five inches, then cut each square diagonally to make sixteen triangles. Transfer the triangles to two parchment-lined sheet pans, leaving two inches between them. They will spread and puff.
Brush each triangle generously with the egg wash, making sure to cover the whole top surface without letting the wash drip down the cut sides. Egg on the layers will glue them shut and the pastry will not rise. Now scatter the crystal sugar over the top of each triangle, generously, almost recklessly. The sugar crown is the dish. In Mérida the panaderías pile it on until the triangle disappears underneath. Do not be shy with it.
Refrigerate the shaped triangles for 30 minutes while you heat the oven to 400°F. This last cold rest sets the butter one more time so the layers explode upward in the oven instead of sliding sideways. Skipping this rest is the single most common mistake. No me vengas con atajos.
Bake one sheet at a time on the middle rack for 20 to 25 minutes, rotating the pan halfway through. The triangles should rise dramatically, the layers fanning out at the cut sides, and the tops should turn deep golden brown. The sugar will not melt completely. It is supposed to stay in distinct crystals across the top, glittering, catching the light. That crunch under your teeth when you bite in is the whole point.
Transfer to a wire rack and let cool for at least ten minutes. The layers need that time to set, otherwise they collapse. Eat them within the day. These triangles are a panadería pastry, not a keepsake. Tomorrow morning the sugar softens and the layers go limp. So you eat them today, standing over the counter, with a cup of café yucateco. Así se hace y punto.
1 serving (about 82g)
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