If you want to understand Panama, forget the postcard for a minute. Forget the skyscrapers, the canal, the turquoise Caribbean islands and the cloud forests disappearing into the mist. Go somewhere where breakfast is being cooked in a hot pan, listen for the unmistakable sound of dough hitting oil, and wait.
Because sooner or later, somebody is going to put a hojaldre in front of you.
And that's when you discover one of Panama's greatest culinary secrets.
A hojaldre is deceptively simple. It isn't covered in exotic ingredients. It doesn't require a complicated sauce or an impressive culinary technique. At its heart, it's a piece of seasoned wheat dough that is flattened and fried until it becomes golden, crisp on the outside and soft and airy inside. It is often eaten for breakfast with things such as fried eggs, cheese and guisado-style sausages, although it can also be paired with meat and other savoury foods.
And yet somehow, this humble piece of fried dough has become one of the foods that instantly feels like Panama.
It is the kind of food that doesn't need a fancy restaurant, a reservation or a five-page menu.
In fact, putting a hojaldre on a fancy white plate might almost be missing the point.
The magic happens when it's fresh.
Really fresh.
Fresh enough that it's still warm.
Fresh enough that you can tear it apart with your fingers.
Fresh enough that the smell of fried dough reaches you before the plate does.
That's when you understand.
What exactly is a Panamanian hojaldre?
The first thing to know is that the Panamanian hojaldre can be confusing to foreigners because the word hojaldre means something quite different in other parts of the Spanish-speaking world.
In many countries, hojaldre refers to laminated puff pastry, the delicate pastry made by creating layers of dough and fat that separate during baking.
Panama has its own interpretation.
Here, the hojaldre is essentially a fried dough, usually made from flour, salt, a little sugar, baking powder and fat or oil, then flattened and fried.
So if you arrive in Panama expecting a French-style pastry and somebody hands you a golden disk of fried dough, don't panic.
You haven't been given the wrong food.
You've just discovered the Panamanian version.
And honestly, after one bite, you probably won't care what anybody else calls it.
The great breakfast debate
Breakfast in Panama can be a wonderfully serious subject.
There are different combinations of foods, different family traditions and different regional preferences, but hojaldre frequently appears alongside other classic breakfast foods such as eggs, cheese and sausages.
A particularly popular combination is hojaldre with salchichas guisadas, where the fried dough is served alongside sausages cooked in a savoury tomato and vegetable based sauce.
And this is where the humble hojaldre becomes something much more interesting.
By itself, it is delicious.
But give it something savoury to soak up and suddenly you've got a breakfast that is simultaneously crispy, soft, salty, slightly sweet and incredibly satisfying.
Add an egg.
Add cheese.
Add sausage.
Add a cup of coffee.
Now you're not just having breakfast.
You're having a very Panamanian morning.
The texture is the whole point
The best way to understand a hojaldre is to forget everything you think you know about bread.
It isn't quite bread.
It isn't quite a pancake.
It isn't quite a doughnut.
It occupies its own wonderful little category.
The outside should have that satisfying fried crispness.
Then you bite through it.
The inside is softer.
There can be little pockets of air.
The dough has enough structure to hold toppings but is still soft enough to tear apart easily.
And then there is that subtle balance between savoury and sweet.
Sugar is often used in the dough, but the result isn't necessarily a sweet pastry. Instead, the slight sweetness helps create a more interesting contrast with salty cheese, eggs, meat or sausage.
It's one of those foods where the simplicity is actually the clever part.
The smell is impossible to ignore
There are certain foods that announce themselves.
Fresh coffee.
Bacon.
Bread coming out of an oven.
And then there is a hojaldre being fried.
You can be walking down a street in Panama and suddenly catch that smell.
Your brain immediately goes:
Breakfast.
Even if you've already eaten.
Even if you're supposedly "just having a coffee."
Even if you promised yourself you weren't hungry.
The smell of freshly fried dough has a way of destroying elaborate plans.
And honestly, this is one of the reasons travellers should eat where locals eat.
You don't need a food critic to tell you where to go.
Sometimes your nose is perfectly qualified.
Hojaldres are not trying to be complicated
One of the things that makes hojaldres so appealing is their accessibility.
The basic ingredients are ordinary.
Flour.
Salt.
Sugar.
Baking powder.
Water or another liquid.
Fat or oil.
Then the dough is worked, rested and flattened before being fried. Recipes vary, and some use ingredients such as milk or butter, but the basic concept remains remarkably straightforward.
There is something wonderfully old-fashioned about that.
You don't need a kitchen full of expensive equipment.
You don't need a machine that costs more than your backpack.
You don't need seventeen ingredients imported from somewhere you've never heard of.
You need flour, a little know-how and a hot pan.
And someone who knows what they're doing.
Because simplicity doesn't mean easy.
The person making them matters
Ask different people for their perfect hojaldre recipe and you're likely to get different answers.
Some doughs are softer.
Some are thinner.
Some are thicker.
Some are crispier.
Some are slightly sweeter.
Some are more savoury.
Some people swear by particular resting times.
Others have a family recipe they refuse to reveal under any circumstances.
That's part of the fun.
A hojaldre can become a little bit like a family signature.
The basic ingredients might be familiar, but the finished result can vary considerably.
And that means trying hojaldres in different parts of Panama becomes its own little culinary adventure.
Hojaldre with eggs
Let's start with the obvious.
Eggs.
A freshly fried hojaldre with a fried egg is one of those combinations that requires almost no explanation.
The crispy dough gives you texture.
The egg gives you richness.
And if the yolk is still soft, it can mingle with the hojaldre in a way that makes the whole thing considerably more delicious than the ingredient list has any right to suggest.
This is not delicate breakfast cuisine.
This is fuel.
The kind of breakfast that makes sense before a long day of hiking, exploring, travelling or simply doing absolutely nothing.
Hojaldre with cheese
Then there is cheese.
White cheese is a classic pairing, and other variations can appear depending on where you're eating.
The combination works because the salty, creamy cheese contrasts beautifully with the slightly sweet fried dough.
This is one of those situations where you take a bite and immediately understand why people keep making the same combination.
It works.
No explanation required.
Hojaldre with salchichas guisadas
Now we're entering serious territory.
Salchichas guisadas are sausages cooked in a flavourful sauce with vegetables and seasonings, and they're a well-known companion to hojaldres at breakfast.
This is where the hojaldre becomes almost a tool.
You can tear off a piece and use it to scoop up the sausage and sauce.
The crispy dough absorbs some of the juices.
The soft interior catches everything else.
Suddenly your breakfast has become an edible plate.
And that's one of the great qualities of hojaldre.
It isn't merely something you eat with food.
It can become part of how you eat the food.
Hojaldre with meat
Hojaldres don't have to stop at breakfast.
They can also be paired with savoury meat dishes, including preparations such as bistec encebollado, and Panamanian food traditions aren't afraid to let the fried dough wander beyond the breakfast table. La Prensa has noted that hojaldres can be eaten with cheese and coffee at breakfast, with bistec encebollado at lunch or dinner, and even with sugar and cinnamon as a dessert.
That versatility is part of what makes them so useful.
They're basically the culinary equivalent of the backpacker who somehow gets invited to every party.
Breakfast?
Absolutely.
Lunch?
Sure.
Snack?
Why not.
Dessert?
Apparently.
Yes, people even eat them sweet
This is where travellers sometimes get surprised.
You might expect hojaldres to be entirely savoury because they're so strongly associated with eggs, cheese and meat.
But they can also be eaten with sweet toppings.
Sugar and cinnamon are one example.
And suddenly the same fried dough you've been eating with sausage has wandered into dessert territory.
It's a reminder that hojaldre isn't really about one rigid recipe.
It's about a type of dough and a way of preparing it.
What you put on it is where things get interesting.
Hojaldre versus the hotel breakfast
There is something funny about travelling internationally.
People fly thousands of kilometres to experience a different culture and then wake up in their hotel and order exactly the same breakfast they could have eaten at home.
Eggs.
Toast.
Bacon.
Pancakes.
Coffee.
Repeat.
Meanwhile, somewhere down the road, a Panamanian fonda is serving fresh hojaldres.
And you are missing it.
This is why food is such an important part of travel.
You don't have to eat something strange just for the sake of being adventurous.
Sometimes the best cultural experience is something incredibly simple.
A local breakfast.
A cup of coffee.
A table with people who have been eating the same foods their entire lives.
That's how you start understanding a place.
The fonda is part of the experience
If you really want to appreciate hojaldres, don't just look for them in polished tourist restaurants.
Try a traditional local eatery or fonda.
That's where the food makes sense.
You see people ordering breakfast before work.
You hear conversations around you.
Coffee is being poured.
Food is moving from kitchen to table.
Someone is frying another batch.
And suddenly you aren't eating "traditional Panamanian food."
You're simply eating breakfast in Panama.
That's a much better experience.
The sound of a fresh hojaldre
There is also something wonderfully satisfying about the first bite.
You hear the crunch.
Then the soft dough gives way.
The heat is still there.
Maybe there's cheese.
Maybe egg.
Maybe sausage.
Maybe nothing at all.
And you realize that something made from a handful of basic ingredients has somehow become one of the most satisfying things you've eaten during your trip.
That's the magic of traditional food.
It doesn't have to impress you visually.
It just has to taste like somewhere.
And hojaldres taste like Panama.
Why backpackers should try them
For backpackers, hojaldres make particular sense.
They're inexpensive compared with many tourist breakfasts.
They're filling.
They're easy to find in many local breakfast settings.
They pair beautifully with coffee.
And they're exactly the kind of food that gives you a break from the internationalized menus you find around tourist areas.
You could eat pancakes and eggs anywhere.
You could eat cereal anywhere.
You could eat a smoothie bowl anywhere.
But when you're sitting in Panama with a fresh hojaldre, eggs, cheese and coffee, you're eating something that connects you directly to the country you're visiting.
That's the point.
The great Panama breakfast combination
If you're visiting Panama for the first time and want to try a classic breakfast combination, consider ordering a hojaldre with eggs, cheese and salchichas guisadas.
You don't need to overthink it.
This isn't a tasting menu.
It's breakfast.
A big, satisfying, gloriously unfussy breakfast.
And if someone at the table tells you that you ordered it incorrectly because their family has a completely different preferred combination, congratulations.
You've just started a conversation about Panamanian food.
That's exactly what you're supposed to do.
Hojaldres and coffee
There is one pairing that deserves its own paragraph.
Coffee.
Panama is famous for coffee, particularly the highlands around Boquete, and hojaldre with coffee makes almost ridiculous amounts of sense.
The slightly sweet and savoury fried dough works beautifully with strong coffee.
It's the sort of breakfast that encourages you to sit down for a few minutes rather than grabbing something and sprinting toward your next attraction.
And that's something travellers sometimes forget.
You don't need to maximize every minute of a vacation.
Sometimes the experience is sitting at a table, drinking coffee and eating something that has been part of the local food culture for generations.
Why hojaldres are bigger than the food itself
The real story of hojaldres isn't flour.
It isn't oil.
It isn't even breakfast.
It's tradition.
Food becomes culturally important because people keep making it.
Parents make it.
Grandparents make it.
Families argue about the correct way to make it.
People remember eating it as children.
Travellers discover it and take the memory home.
And eventually, something that began as a simple recipe becomes part of how a country recognizes itself.
That's what makes traditional food fascinating.
You aren't simply tasting ingredients.
You're tasting a piece of everyday life.
The ultimate Panamanian food challenge
If you're travelling through Panama, make a little game out of it.
Try a hojaldre in Panama City.
Try one in the mountains.
Try one somewhere on your route through the country.
Try it plain.
Try it with cheese.
Try it with eggs.
Try it with a savoury topping.
And then decide which one wins.
You will probably discover that your favourite isn't necessarily the fanciest one.
It might be the one you ate at seven in the morning when you were exhausted from travelling.
It might be the one served with an absurdly strong cup of coffee.
It might be the one you discovered because a local traveller told you, "You have to try this."
Those are the foods you remember.
The final verdict
Panama has spectacular beaches.
It has mountains.
It has jungle.
It has islands.
It has the canal.
It has wildlife.
It has coffee.
But sometimes the most authentic taste of a country comes in a much smaller package.
A golden piece of fried dough.
Crispy on the outside.
Soft in the middle.
Slightly sweet.
Savoury enough to pair with almost anything.
Served hot.
Preferably with coffee.
And ideally eaten while you're still trying to figure out what you're doing with the rest of your day.
That's the beauty of the Panamanian hojaldre.
It isn't trying to be sophisticated.
It isn't trying to be trendy.
It doesn't need a fancy explanation.
It's simply one of those foods that makes you take another bite before you've finished the first.
And perhaps that's the best possible introduction to Panama.
Forget the fancy breakfast for one morning.
Find a local spot.
Order a hojaldre.
Get some coffee.
Add an egg, cheese or salchichas guisadas.
Sit down.
Take that first bite.
And understand why, for so many people, the humble hojaldre isn't just fried dough.
It's breakfast in Panama.