At Jezabel’s, There’s an Art to Making the Perfect Empanada

Jezabel Careaga teaching a class on how to make empanadas. / Photograph by Joana Moono

Whenever I’m in University City, I make it a point to stop by Jezabel’s for an empanada or ten. And when I really crave one, I’ll make the journey just to stop by the restaurant and bakery or swing by one of the farmer’s markets where chef-owner Jezabel Careaga sells empanadas made with the flavors of her home of northwest Argentina.

They make a delightful snack or lunch on their own, with some chimichurri sauce, or dunked into a bowl of soup. Each neat, golden-tan crescent has a lovely sheen; and the pastry, made with olive-oil dough, isn’t greasy or dry or too thin or thick. Then, there’s the filling — you can choose from chicken, beef, leek and cheese, and more — that’s always bursting with flavor, spiked with a frisson of spice.

To achieve that level of consistency, you might think there’s a machine involved in Jezabel’s empanada-making process. But, as I learned one sunny morning in early March, laboring over a slab of dough in the restaurant’s open kitchen, it’s all done by hand — a fact that makes perfect sense, given that Careaga is not only a chef but also a metal worker and designer.

I’m at Jezabel’s “Mujeres Making Empanadas” event (on International Women’s Day, no less), learning how to make Careaga’s signature pastries with a group of other empanada enthusiasts. As we stand at a large wooden island, stretching out dough with a rolling pin under Careaga’s instruction, we work on attaining the right thickness — about an eighth of an inch, the chef says, or when the dough moves in your hands like silk. At nearby tables, diners wrap up brunch, tidbits of their conversation and the clattering of their cutlery bringing a lively energy to the space.

At $70 for a ticket, the two-hour class is a good deal. You get to learn to make some of Philly’s best empanadas, enjoy them at lunch afterward (along with some other treats), and then take the rest home.

Chef Careaga instructing her empanada-making class. / Photograph by Chloé Pantazi-Wolber

The experience feels more like cooking with a family friend or relative — but far more organized. It makes sense as Careaga tells us how a family dinner during a visit to Argentina inspired the classes. One night in her hometown of San Salvador de Jujuy, Careaga and her relatives gathered at a cousin’s house and decided on a whim to make empanadas. They didn’t start cooking until around 8:30 p.m., but with everyone doing their part — Careaga made the dough, her cousin prepped the ingredients, her sister cooked the fillings, and her aunts assembled the pastries — dinner was on the table a couple of hours later.

The night left an impression on Careaga, and she wanted to replicate that experience for guests at Jezabel’s. In addition to offering classes, the chef says she’s considering making empanada kits with the prepared dough and fillings so people can enjoy them more easily at home or throw them together for parties.

Though I’ve just met the other people in the workshop today, they don’t feel like strangers as we chat in between Careaga’s demonstrations. We begin by washing our hands and donning an apron before assembling at the communal kitchen table. There, we’re each given a ball of dough to roll into a sheet and then cut into circles — each should weigh 31 to 35 grams, Careaga says, placing a pastry disc on a scale — then set them aside on a plate. Next, we roughly chop the remnants of the dough into triangles and transfer them to a sheet pan. After a few minutes in the oven, we each have our own serving of crispy chips, and I feel right at home, where I often snack while I cook. Then, we learn about the empanada fillings and Careaga’s prized spices — she keeps a couple of varieties from Argentina in jars labeled “Jez’s use only,” including cumin grown in the Andes.

Careaga tells me she’s used to some Argentinian customers asking why the empanadas are spicy. “This is not food from Buenos Aires,” she says. “This food tends to be spicy because it’s from this part of the country.”

But Jezabel’s isn’t intended to be “traditional.” Careaga considers her food to be part of the new Argentine cuisine that’s emerging in her home country, in the way that “new American” cuisine has taken hold in the United States. “I think being traditional and being authentic, they’re two different things,” she says. “I’m authentic to what I grew up eating, but maybe I’m not making the traditional northwest Argentine empanada. I use authentic ingredients, but it’s my interpretation.” During the class, she notes that the pastries taste just like the ones her grandmother made and that some diners are surprised by the raisins in the beef empanadas — a nod to Careaga’s aunt who always made them that way.

Chef Careaga instructing students how to crimp the edges of an empanada at Jezabel’s. / Photograph by Chloé Pantazi-Wolber

Closing the empanadas is its own process, and there’s an art to it. First, you fold the circle into a semicircle, pressing the dough with your fingers to create a seal. Then, you crimp the border however you like. Careaga demonstrates the various methods they use at Jezabel’s — where each type of empanada has its own crimping style — from simple Z-shaped twists to more elaborate braids. I’ve never mastered any kind of braid in my life, but I attempt the latter design anyway.

Careaga helps me with my first empanada, pinching the dough between her thumb, index, and middle fingers, and I repeat the pattern from there. I’m on a roll, and soon almost all of my empanadas have a pretty, plaited edge. For a moment, I admire my handiwork, impressed that I’ve pulled off a more advanced technique — then I realize that by choosing one style for most of my empanadas, which contain a mix of fillings, I have no way to tell them apart. Even still, I’m happy that they’re neat, and when I hand my tray of empanadas to Careaga to spray them with egg wash, I pray they stay intact in the oven.

When the pastries are done, I’m relieved the filling hasn’t escaped, and they almost match the light-brown, wooden countertop — the yardstick by which Careaga judges an empanada’s appearance. The chef often references the materials around her as she guides us through the workshop, her love of design on display. She measures the thickness of the dough with a ruler and shares stories of her father and grandfather’s work at a steel factory, which inspired her to work with metal and design much of the furniture in her University City cafe. Later, when we sit down for lunch, it’s at a large, industrial-chic table with a metal frame and glass top — one of Careaga’s creations — and it occurs to me that she brings the same level of precision and style to constructing an empanada.

The author’s finished empanadas. / Photograph by Chloé Pantazi-Wolber

Of course, the empanadas are the main event at lunch, but there’s also a delicious pickled eggplant dip to go with our chips and bowls of locro, a hearty Andean meat stew. The empanadas are outstanding, and they’re even better dipped into the stew.

As we eat, there’s a sense of community. We talk about our favorite restaurants, Careaga shares more about her love of food, travel, and design, and, as lunch winds down, Careaga doles out hugs and to-go boxes of empanadas. Heading out, I feel more like I’m leaving a relative’s house than a restaurant.

“What you’re making is going beyond just the plate. You’re really getting a full experience that you can share with other people,” says Elizabeth O’Brien, the founder and CEO of Marigold Experiences, which connects communities to events like Jezabel’s empanada workshop. “You can go with the intention of learning a new skill or meeting new people or doing something with your friends,” she adds, noting that “for many people, it’s just about simply getting out of the house.” As a new mom, I’ve been looking for ways to get out of the house more during the day. Making empanadas at Jezabel’s, I didn’t expect to feel so at home.

There’s one more “Mujeres Making Empanadas” workshop to close out Women’s History Month on March 30, but Jezabel’s has more cooking classes planned through May, including other iterations of its empanada experience — there’s a happy-hour version and one with dinner — as well as an event focused on alfajores. The restaurant takes bookings for its upcoming workshops on Resy and accommodates some private group events as well. If you can’t make it to this season’s classes, they’ll return in September, and in the meantime, you can find Careaga’s beef empanada recipe here.