Copitas are my version of Gorditas. Ah, gorditas. I remember when we were haggling with our editor during the prep time before our cookbook came out. She (no, not you Priti, your predecessor) wanted all recipe titles translated literally into English. OMG. So how do you translate Gorditas – “Little Fat Girls”? My husband and I still laugh about that one. Once we told her, she made the decision to call them “Fried Masa Pockets”. We left it at that. I suppose we will always encounter people that cannot accept that there are some things like words, customs, and traditions that cannot be translated or explained from one culture to another. We must simply accept, respect and appreciate our differences.
Anyway, I wanted to share this recipe with you and hope you enjoy it.
Copitas
8 -10 tablespoons masa harina
3 tablespoons flour
Pinch of baking soda
1-cup warm water
shortening for frying
Mix the masa harina with the flour and baking soda in a bowl. Add enough warm water (slowly) to make a firm but moist dough. You might not need the whole cup of water. Pinch off a heaping tablespoon of dough. Flatten dough and carefully bend the edges upwards to form a small cup, "copita".
Repeat the process with the remaining dough. Heat the shortening in a deep frying pan to medium-high heat. Add a batch of the copitas to the frying pan and spoon the hot shortening to the tops of the copitas. Flip the copitas over once to ensure even browning.
This process goes very quickly. Be careful not to fry too long or copas will burn. Remove from hot pan with a slotted spoon and drain on paper towels. Makes about 1 dozen.
Fill with your favorite filling: chile verde, mole, beans and chorizo, whatever you and your family enjoy. Mine were filled with shredded pork and topped with tomatoes, jalapeños, and queso fresco.
Thought it was time to let you guys know what Bob and I look like, so I’m attaching this picture of us. Don’t laugh too hard now. Remember, we all get old! For me, 58 and counting (my blessings).
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Mexican Word of the Day: Wheelchair
My homie was downing a 40 and I said, hey where's mine?
He says don't worry, wheel-chair!
