How to Make Ropa Vieja, the Classic Cuban Shredded Beef Stew (Patreon)

This article has been updated to include a link to the braised peppers and onions subrecipe needed for the New York Times version of the dish. The links appear at the bottom.

Ropa vieja—literally “old clothes”—is a braised beef dish from Cuba. Originally from the Canary Islands and brought to Cuba by Spanish settlers, it’s since become Cuba’s national dish and spread throughout Latin America, with cousins like carne desmechada in Colombia and Venezuela. No matter where you find it, the idea is the same: a slow-braised cut of beef that separates into rich, silky strands as it cooks, soaking up whatever liquid it cooks in. In Colombia, sometimes it can as simple as a tomatoes, onions, and a couple spices. In Cuba, it's often cooked with peppers, onions, olives, capers, and maybe even a few raisins, giving the dish a briny-sweet flavor.

When I wrote my New York Times version (free gift link) a few years ago, I built the dish around a pre-made base of braised peppers and onions—one of the “building blocks” I used at my restaurant during the pandemic to streamline cooking when we were producing hundreds of meal boxes a day. But at home, I use a more streamlined traditional method where that base happens naturally. After searing the meat, I add raw peppers and onions right to the same pot. Their juices lift the browned bits off the bottom, and the vegetables soften and melt into the stew as the meat simmers.

Choosing the right cut of beef makes a big difference here. I like skirt steak best—it’s loose-grained, rich with connective tissue, and shreds into those long, tender ribbons that make ropa vieja what it is. Flank steak, flap meat, or even a piece of brisket can work too, but avoid tight-grained steaks like strip or ribeye—they’ll turn stringy and dry. And even though this is a braise, it’s still possible to overcook it.

A cut of meat is comprised of a series of muscle fibrils that are bound together like fiberoptic cables. These bundles are, in turn, attached to each other with connective tissues comprised mostly of collagen. As the meat braises, the first thing to break down is that collagen, which converts to gelatin in the presence of heat and water. Once that connective tissue breaks down, the muscle bundles will separate easily into individual tender strands. That's when you want the cooking to stop!

If you continue cooking the meat past that stage, the bundles themselves can break apart. When you bite into it, any juices they contain squeeze out like a sponge, and you wind up with a dry, chalky mass of tangled muscle fibrils in your mouth instead juicy strands. You don't want to let your meat get to this stage. A couple hours on the stovetop at a bare simmer is enough. By that stage, the muscles should shred with just a little pull, and the vegetables should melt into the sauce, making it thick and rich.

The finished dish is deeply comforting: salty, tangy, a little sweet, and packed with flavor. It’s perfect with rice and black beans, but it’s also great folded into tacos, tucked into sandwiches, or baked under cornbread for a quick tamale pie. Like most stews, its flavors will mellow and mingle a bit if you let it cool and reheat it the next day (especially the sharper flavors of the olives and capers), but it's also fantastic straight out of the pot.

You can find the full NYT Cooking recipe (free to read!) here.

You can get the sub-recipe for the braised peppers and onions here.