I moved from my native Puerto Rico to New England 15 years ago to attend MIT, eventually becoming a baker and restaurateur. Even though my homesickness never fades, I feel instantly connected every time I tear into a freshly baked mallorca and dip it into my breakfast cafe con leche.
Mallorcas are a fluffy, dry, sweet bread made with lard and topped with confectioners' sugar, commonly found in Puerto Rican bakeries across the island. IN Little sistermy Puerto Rican-inspired cafe in Providence, Rhode Island, we make our own interpretation of mallorcas, fusing elements from the original Spanish dessert prototype and its subsequent evolution in Puerto Rico.
Food photography and styling by Liz Neily
The dessert is not native to tropical Puerto Rico; it's a tradition we inherited from the Spanish during the 405 years our island was a Spanish colony. During four centuries of Spanish rule, ships laden with imported wheat flour docked in Old San Juan, and lard was rendered from domesticated non-native pigs to make rich pastries adored by the criollo population. The recipe for mallorcas was similarly imported, arriving in the 1800s with waves of immigration from the Balearic Islands. Puerto Rican Mallorcas are named after the island of Majorca in Spain, where bakers prepare a similar pastry called ensaïmada, from saïm, meaning “pork fat”. (Ensaïmada began to contain lard when Jewish bakers in 14th-century Mallorca were persecuted and decided to modify their bread with an oil and butter base to “prove” they had converted to their religion.) It was Mallorcan immigrants who started Mallorca's oldest and most famous bakery in Puerto Rico: La Bombonera Puig y Abraham, founded in 1902.
Balearic pastry traditions are well adapted to the humid and warm climate of Puerto Rico – Mallorcan dough has a strong gluten network to withstand a strong rise in warm conditions without excessive insulation. Over time, Mallorca Puerto Rican has changed from the original to suit the local palate: it is more similar in texture to croissant with a tighter, sweeter bite, while the Balearic version is extra light and fluffy with a crispy exterior from the lard. And while the Spanish make variations on mallorca (like stuffing it with candied pumpkin, for example), in Puerto Rico we eat it classic style, sprinkled with confectioners' sugar. I remember the workers at La Bombonera dusting the sugar on top according to each customer's preference; for me, always more, more, more!
Food photography and styling by Liz Neily
Over time, Puerto Rico's artisanal candy tradition has eroded and mallorcas have degraded. The flavorful pork has been replaced by cheaper vegetable shortening, while the richness of the eggs has been replaced by yellow food coloring, emulsifiers and more shortening. La Bombonera ended its 110-year run in 2012. Today, most mallorcas are made in large commercial establishments and bought in plastic bags at the supermarket. They taste like no-name enriched bread, and their only connection to the original is their shape and distinctive sugary surface. I fear that the artisanal tradition of these extraordinary pastries is being lost as production becomes industrialized and fewer young people enter the craft.
During a recent trip to Spain, I was able to connect the dots between the Puerto Rican pastries of my childhood and the prototypes perfected in Mediterranean Spain over the centuries. As I tucked into the ensaïmadas at Valencia's Mercado Central, I thought back to the Mallorcans I ate growing up and pondered how I could bring together the best attributes of each version. Nicely flaky with lard like the Spanish version. Texturally rich and incredibly decadent with lots of sugar like the Puerto Rican Mallorcas of my youth.
I started work as soon as I got back to the kitchen. I started with an earlier version of mallorca that had never been perfect for me, then I applied my newer ideas. I replaced the eggs with egg yolks to increase the richness of the dough. I chose the lard dough, as I saw the bakers from Forn Sant Francesc in Mallorca do on Instagram: spread the dough over the dough and stretch it, roll it and roll it. I pushed the correction times further and further to make them smoother, with my nerves high at the 16-hour mark. As soon as they came out of the oven, I dusted them generously with confectioners sugar and took a bite. All the feelings of love, warmth and nostalgia came rushing back. The mission was accomplished.
Food photography and styling by Liz Neily
I am honored to share my Mallorca recipe and encourage you to tweak it and make it your own. I don't claim to have the most traditional version; tradition and authenticity are subjective and ever-evolving. My recipe is true to my lived experience, with the exact attributes I love about all previous versions. Shaping technique is the most important aspect of mastering this recipe, and I encourage you not to be stingy with the salt. Play with size; the recipe as written will make pastries as big as your face, and you can size them up or down accordingly.
You can eat your marshmallows as is, or lose them inside the black hole of the internet exploring ensaïmadas and discover how bakers in Spain slice them and pipe all kinds of fillings inside: Nutella, pastry cream, whipped cream and more. My favorite way to serve Mallorca here's how we make them at Little Sister: sliced in half and filled with bacon, melted Swiss cheese and a sunny-side-up egg with a runny yolk.
Cover photo and food styling by Liz Neily.
