Vaca Frita (Cuban Shredded Beef)

Vaca frita, or what I like to call ropa vieja's crispy cousin, is proof that sometimes the simplest list of ingredients can unlock the deepest flavor and best texture. The name translates literally to "fried cow," and the recipe is nearly as straightforward as that. Simmered beef, a mallet or something blunt to smash it with, a short marinade, and a quick sear in hot oil is all it takes to turn a humble cut into crunchy, juicy, tender shredded bites of beef.

The Best Cut of Beef for Vaca Frita

Most vaca frita recipes tell you to reach for flank steak, a lean cut with long fibers that shreds relatively quickly. It's traditional, and for good reason: Flank's structure makes it easy to pull apart into uniform strands, and its mild flavor means it takes on marinades beautifully, sure to deliver a predictable, no-fuss vaca frita every time. But after chatting with the Cuban butcher at my grocery store—and double-checking with a few of my Cuban family members—I decided to try falda de res, which in most American supermarkets is sold as beef chuck roast or shoulder roast. The advice was unanimous: Sure, the flank will get tender sooner, but taking the extra time needed to simmer the shoulder cut will reward your patience with deeper flavor and a better balance of fat, moisture, and beefiness. And when you're cooking a dish as simple as vaca frita, in which the beef is both the star and the stage, every ounce of flavor matters.

Simmer in Plain Water, Not Broth

That's also why I simmer my beef in plain water with just a couple of bay leaves and a hit of salt, rather than in a rich broth. It might sound counterintuitive—you'd think broth equals more flavor—but here the logic flips. When you simmer beef, most of the flavor actually moves into the liquid, not the other way around. In a soup or stew, that's exactly what you want, since the broth is the star. But for vaca frita, where the liquid doesn't go into the final dish, why waste time? Using water keeps this recipe simple, allowing the beef flavor to shine through. The chuck slowly tenderizes in the cooking liquid, while its flavor concentrates. The result is meat that tastes purely of itself—clean, intensely beefy, and perfectly primed to soak up the garlicky lime marinade.

Smash It Up

Once the chuck is cooked through and falling-apart tender, I reach for my meat mallet. Smashing the meat before shredding it further with your hands or two forks is a faster, more efficient way to break the fibers into a mix of fine threads and bigger hunks. That combination of textures is crucial: The thin, stringy pieces crisp up in hot oil, while the thicker ones stay juicy, giving you the crunchy-tender contrast that defines great vaca frita. And if you don't own a mallet, don't overthink it—use a potato masher, the bottom of a skillet, or even your fist wrapped in a towel. Imperfection is part of this dish's charm.

The Post-Smash Marinade

The marinade is as simple as the cooking method. Five cloves of garlic are grated as finely as possible and stirred together with lime juice, cumin, salt, and pepper. That mixture infuses the warm beef with brightness and spice while you soften sliced onions in a skillet. Don't be tempted to fry everything together. Cooking the onions separately from the beef lets you control textures more precisely. The onions become sweet and lightly caramelized, and the beef is fried in batches until it is golden brown and crisp.

The onions and beef come back together in the skillet at the end, just long enough to warm through and take on a final splash of lime. Paired with black beans and rice, vaca frita delivers a filling, weeknight-friendly meal with crisp edges, tender shreds, and a bright hit of citrus that keeps you reaching for the next bite.