I thought there was about a zero percent chance this stuff would even be edible. I've tried enough vegan dips, cheeses, condiments, and sauces in my day to know it's rare if those types of products are worth a single provisional purchase, let alone the times when they're actually good and could potentially become a household staple or replace something made with dairy. Here's the one exception I can think of off the top of my head: Trader Joe's Vegan Tzatziki Dip.
I'm equally impressed with this product. I thought it would taste like rancid almond butter with a few spices tossed into the mix. Nope. In fact, the almond butter base doesn't really interfere with the chipotle flavor at all somehow. It's only faintly nutty. The main essence of the dip is a spicy, tangy, zippy chipotle. It's slightly garlicky and smoky, but not over the top on either count. There's a hint of onions and black pepper, but it's mostly just chipotle flavor—in this case coming from a chipotle pepper powder.
Oddly, it's a bit thinner than almond butter. I'd say it's even thinner than most dairy-based chipotle dips I've had, but it still coats quite well. It also works fine that way because it packs quite a punch even if you use very little—it's only moderately spicy yet very flavorful.
We used it in place of cheese with nachos, as a taco sauce, a dip for chips, and a glaze for chicken. It even worked with veggies like carrots and broccoli. I'm surprised how versatile it proved to be.
$3.49 for the tub. Vegan. Would buy again. Four stars from me. Three and a half from Sonia for Trader Joe's Almond Chipotle Dip.
So...I speak a little Spanish, but I'm not so confident to be 100% sure I'm translating everything I read or hear correctly. Glancing at the title of this product, I thought it meant something along the lines of "hand pies made of old clothes." Well that's obviously wrong, I thought. So I asked my wife, fluent in español, where I'd gone wrong. "No, that's correct," she explained.
She'd heard of the dish before but didn't grow up eating it. Apparently, it's more of a Caribbean and Central American thing than a Mexican thing. Her Cuban co-worker, very familiar with the traditional meal, explained that there's a legend that an old homeless man with no food began tearing up his own clothes in lieu of meat and heating them on the stove and they magically turned into beef—hence the name. Thanks, Julio, for that anecdote.
But enough about the name. How does this offering from Trader Joe's taste? Shoot. It's REALLY good. I'm surprised I haven't heard more buzz about this product. Both the wifey and I found it muy delicioso.
Nine minutes in the air fryer had these puppies piping hot and crispy golden brown on the outside. Pretty sure the traditional dish is made with actual bread rather than cassava—a root vegetable—but this product didn't suffer at all for the substitution. It's not the first empanada with cassava crust we've seen from TJ's. It lends a faintly nutty flavor to the "breading" part of the empanada.
The filling is soft, flavorful shredded beef with tomato, onion, and bell pepper. It just melts in your mouth. There's a spice blend including garlic, salt, oregano, and coriander that rounds out the taste perfectly.
I could have sworn there was a layer of mashed potatoes just inside the crust, but I think it was just more cassava. It made the meat pie feel even more like comfort food. So, so good.
The beautiful wifey and I plowed through the pack in a single sitting for lunch. We'd absolutely buy it again. About $6 for eight mini empanadas. Restaurant-quality appetizers. Four and a half stars a piece for Trader Joe's Empanadas de Ropa Vieja.
