My mother, Lula, was only five years old when she began cooking for my grandparents, aunts, and uncles. I, too, was about the same age when I first fell in love with it.

Every day, as the only child with no siblings, I’d watch her as she’d prepare these authentic Dominican meals with pure love. Some days I’d follow along quietly. Stepping into her shadow as she would gracefully glide across the white-tiled kitchen floors of our family-style kitchen.

The spices and aroma from the pernil, stewed fish, and beans would fill every room of the house. I was both hungry and awed by how food could instantly become “the thing” that would bring friends and family together to eat and commune. 

Soon enough, I learned that in our family and culture, tradition is what kept families whole and alive. Food is what brings us all together. 

Despite my parent’s migration to the states, they wanted me to grow up having an appreciation for the land and where we first originated. In the summer months, we’d always go back home to visit family and friends in the Caribbean. 

For 10 months out of the year, I’d be thirsty for the authentic Dominican foods and flavors that we simply didn’t have access to back home. So, whenever we’d touch down, my cousins and I could be found walking along the streets of DR until I’d locate my favorite—“empanada” carts.

The empanada cart lady had the sweetest, most comforting smile. But the smell of her freshly made, fried pastries filled to the fold with meat, veggies, eggs, and cheese would hit your nose first before you’ve made it around the corner. It was confirmation that I was home. 

These are the moments that led me to start Lula’s Empanadas. 

Whenever I think of my mother Lula, I'm reminded of her love—her love for cooking, and the happiness that it always brought to our family and friends both here in the states and back home in the Dominican Republic.