The empanada is a food of deceptive simplicity. A portable pocket of dough bearing fillings of meat, cheese, vegetables, or mariscos. But it is all too easy to get empanadas wrong. Dry fillings. Dough that is too thick or too hard. A dud empanada is an arid starch bomb that no amount of red wine can save.
At Donde Cristian, a small sidewalk stand found at a busy intersection in Van Nuys on most nights of the week, Marcelo Valdebenito sells Chilean-style empanadas that take me back to my aunt’s kitchen in Santiago. (I’m Chilean on my mother’s side.)
Valdebenito’s dough is thin and pliable—never dry. And his fillings are carefully made. An empanada de pino (beef empanada) is crafted with hand-chopped beef stewed with onions, cumin, and oregano. But the revelation is his empanada Napolitano (Neapolitan-style empanada), a mix of tomato, ham, cheese, and oregano that gently oozes when you bite into it.
Hot Pockets do not have anything on this.
He offers homemade pebre (the Chilean cousin of chimichurri) as a topping, which Valdebenito makes with a finely chopped mix of onions, garlic, tomatoes, cilantro, oil, and lemon juice.
“Chilean food is simple,” he says. (Unlike Mexico or Peru, the country is not a hot sauce culture.) “But it’s delicious.”
Valdebenito landed in Los Angeles early last fall, accompanied by his son. Born and raised in Santiago, he learned to cook from his grandmother, who taught him the art of empanadas, among other dishes. For a time, he ran an eatery in the central Santiago district of Lo Valledor, where he cooked up traditional Chilean dishes at a restaurant inside a wholesale market.
After landing in L.A., he needed work—quick. A fellow immigrant from South America recommended the intersection at Sherman Way and Sepulveda Boulevard as a good spot for vending—near a busy bus stop and a strip mall bearing a CVS and a Jons. (Don’t sleep on the Jons. It’s stocked with Russian beer, frozen pierogi, a surprising array of Mediterranean and Middle Eastern cheeses and dips, plus a full-blown Armenian bakery.)
Valdebenito kicked off his business with a single cooler, from which he purveyed fresh mote con huesillo, a popular Chilean drink made from dried peaches stewed with sugar and cinnamon, and served with a scoop of cooked barley. It’s a refreshing drink/snack—cool and mildly sweet—and the sort of thing that can recharge the brain cells after a day of mind-melting San Fernando Valley heat. (A glass goes for $6 and is practically a meal.)
On several evenings, I’ve watched customers pull up and walk away with half or a full dozen. On some days, he sells out before the sun even sets.
After his mote con huesillo caught on, Valdebenito added other items to his menu. He picked up a small grill and began serving Chilean sandwiches such as Barros Luco (a type of cheesesteak named for a former Chilean president) and chacareros (a steak sandwich topped with tomatoes and green beans) — which sell for $14.
Also on the list are completos, the Chilean-style hot dog known for bearing decadent quantities of mashed avocado, tomatoes, and mayo ($10). He also began to make empanadas ($8 each), which he can warm up for you on the spot or pack up to go.
It’s the empanadas—his best item—that immediately drew my attention for their careful fabrication. Valdebenito says that after he landed in the U.S., he worked diligently to recreate Chilean empanadas by testing a variety of flours to see which best resembled the ones found in his native country.
“I want to make empanadas that are like eating at home,” he says, “like you are eating in a Chilean home.”
The empanadas have drawn the attention of others, too. On several evenings, I’ve watched customers pull up and walk away with a half or full dozen. On some days, he sells out before the sun even sets. (If you’re driving across town for a visit, it’s best to call ahead to see if he’s stocked. Valdebenito also takes advance orders for empanadas, requiring a minimum order of half a dozen and at least two days' notice.)
Now locally established as a purveyor of Chilean food, he has also added a host of other products. For sale is an array of commercial snacks he imports from South America for those feeling nostalgic for their favorite chip.
For Valdebenito, Donde Cristian has been a reliable business. But it’s more than that, too. “I may make this for the public,” he says. “But, really, it is my home cooking. I want to make something the people will like.”
On a recent evening, he was stocked with Frac cookies (a chocolate sandwich cookie that is one of my beloved staples when I visit Chile), Super 8 candy bars (a crunchy wafer dipped in chocolate), and manjar blanco (a spreadable caramel comparable to Mexican cajeta). He even carries Chilean sodas like Bilz and Pap, which are more renowned for their nuclear colors— screaming red and electric yellow—than for any particular flavor, which, for the record, is sweet. (Even if the makers of Pap allege that their soda tastes like papayas.)
Lately, Valdebeinto has been teaming up with a fellow Chilean—a friend he describes as an abuelita chilena (a Chilean granny)—who bakes alfajores, a cookie sandwich filled with caramel and dusted with unsweetened coconut.
Alfajores are also very simple foods that can go horribly awry. The worst are too dry, too heavy, and cloyingly sweet. But these feature cookies are made with cornstarch instead of wheat flour, which makes for an impossibly light dough that crumbles in the mouth. They couldn’t be more attractive: each is embossed with a decorative floral pattern. (A box of six goes for $15.)
For Valdebenito, Donde Cristian has been a reliable business. But it’s more than that, too.
“I may make this for the public,” he says. “But, really, it is my home cooking. I want to make something the people will like.”
Donde Cristian ~ 15232 Sherman Way, Van Nuys, CA 91406. Phone: 818-310-3521.
Hours: Valdebenito is generally in place from 6 p.m. to midnight, Monday through Saturday, but may take nights off when catering events.
