Picadillo – Ground Beef Hash With Potatoes, Carrots, And Raisins

My cousin Miguel almost set the kitchen on fire trying to make toast last week. Picadillo seemed safer, relatively speaking.

Picadillo. It sounds fancy, right? Like something you’d find in Spain or Cuba. But listen up. It’s got roots way back. Moorish influence, brought over during the Reconquista. That’s all history stuff – basically, people fighting over land, but also swapping recipes. ¡Ay Dios mío!, imagine arguing about paella while battling! It ended up in Mexico, where it evolved into what we know today. Each family has their version, of course. Mine? Well, mine involves a lot of yelling and potentially burnt raisins.

But seriously, picadillo is just a ground meat hash. Usually beef, but sometimes pork, even turkey if Abuelita is feeling…healthy. (She doesn’t feel healthy often). The key is the sofrito - onions, garlic, tomatoes, building the flavor base. And then...the sweet and savory combo. Potatoes, carrots, peas, olives, raisins! Some people add capers, even almonds. Don’t even think about pineapple. This isn’t Hawaiian pizza, mija. Though Tía Mildred tried that once with her Thanksgiving stuffing. Disaster. Absolute disaster.

Abuelita started making picadillo when my mom was little. She’d stand on a chair, stirring the pot, pretending she was a chef. Mom said Abuelita always let her sneak a taste of the meat before it went into the sauce. Probably why Mom grew up so stubborn. It was comfort food, survival food, party food. My dad used to say Abuelita could solve world peace with a bowl of picadillo. He was dramatic like that.

The first time I tried to make it myself, I called Abuelita practically every five minutes. “Too much cumin?” “Are the potatoes supposed to be this soft?” “Is the onion crying because I'm crying?” She just laughed. “Mija, relax! It’s just picadillo. It’s not rocket science.” Then she proceeded to give me instructions for two hours. (Which, honestly, felt like rocket science).

My cousins were over last time I made it. Chaos. Absolute chaos. Little Mateo kept trying to eat the raisins straight from the bag, and Sofia insisted on "helping" by stirring everything with a wooden spoon…while simultaneously building a fortress out of Tupperware. Honestly, I think they were more interested in the boxes than the actual food.

Then, of course, there’s Tía Mildred. Bless her heart. She decided she wanted to “improve” the recipe. By adding cinnamon. And chocolate. "It needs something extra," she declared, waving a handful of cocoa powder. I almost had a heart attack. Abuelita nearly fainted. The resulting picadillo tasted like a weird dessert pretending to be dinner. We all politely ate a bite, then hid our plates under napkins.

Tía Mildred doesn’t take criticism well. Especially when it comes to her cooking. She went on a rant about how "modern cuisine is all about experimentation" and how we were all "stuck in the past." My uncle Ricardo just quietly excused himself to get more tequila. A wise move, if you ask me. He knows when to avoid a culinary debate with Tía Mildred.

Husband Carlos walked in during the height of the Mildred-induced madness. Looked around, saw the chaos, and said, “Smells interesting.” That was his contribution. He then retreated to the living room with a book. Smart man.

Abuelita always says the secret ingredient is love. But I suspect it's actually a really good sofrito and a strong dose of patience. And maybe avoiding Tía Mildred’s “improvements”. Last Christmas, Abuelita made enough picadillo to feed the entire neighborhood. Everyone brought a dish, but everyone waited for Abuelita’s picadillo. It’s tradition. It’s family. It’s slightly messy, usually loud, and always delicious.

Making picadillo isn’t just about following a recipe; it's about remembering all those stories, all those laughs, all those arguments over cinnamon and chocolate. It’s about carrying on a tradition that’s been passed down through generations. And hoping that Miguel doesn’t try to toast anything while you’re busy stirring.

Recipe

Ingredients 🌽🥘

• 1 tbsp olive oil
• 1 large onion, chopped
• 4 cloves garlic, minced
• 1 lb ground beef (80/20 is good)
• 1 tsp cumin
• ½ tsp oregano
• ¼ tsp smoked paprika
• Salt & pepper to taste
• 1 (28 oz) can crushed tomatoes
• 1 cup beef broth
• 2 medium potatoes, peeled and diced
• 2 carrots, peeled and diced
• ½ cup frozen peas
• ¼ cup green olives, sliced
• ¼ cup raisins
• 2 tbsp capers (optional, but recommended!)
• 1 bay leaf

Tools 🔪🥄

• Large pot or Dutch oven
• Cutting board
• Knife
• Measuring cups & spoons
• Wooden spoon or spatula

Steps

1. Heat the olive oil in your pot over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until softened, about 5 minutes. Stir in the garlic and cook for another minute until fragrant. Don't burn it! Abuelita will haunt you.
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2. Add the ground beef and cook, breaking it up with a spoon, until browned. Drain off any excess grease (unless you like greasy picadillo…no judgment).
3. Stir in the cumin, oregano, smoked paprika, salt, and pepper. This is where the magic starts happening. Seriously. Smell that?
4. Pour in the crushed tomatoes and beef broth. Add the potatoes, carrots, and bay leaf. Bring to a boil, then reduce heat and simmer for 30-40 minutes, or until the potatoes and carrots are tender.
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5. Stir in the peas, olives, raisins, and capers (if using). Simmer for another 10 minutes, allowing the flavors to meld together. Taste and adjust seasonings as needed. More cumin? A pinch of sugar if it’s too acidic? You do you.
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6. Remove the bay leaf before serving. Trust me on this one. No one wants to chew on a bay leaf. Serve hot with whatever side you like – just please don't let Tía Mildred near it with cinnamon.

Make-Ahead / Storage

• Picadillo actually tastes better the next day! Flavors get even more developed.
• Store leftovers in an airtight container in the refrigerator for up to 3 days.
• It freezes well, too! Freeze in portioned containers for easy weeknight meals. Thaw overnight in the fridge.
• Reheat gently on the stovetop or in the microwave.

Side Dish Pairing

• Fried plantains (plátanos maduros) offer a sweet contrast to the savory picadillo.
• A simple green salad with a lime vinaigrette provides freshness.

Tía Mildred always decía, “A little chocolate makes everything better!”

But trust me, with this picadillo, you won't need it.

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