I know that I’ve written about empanadas before, but I just wanted to let you all in on a little secret: The best thing that I have ever eaten was a chicken empanada from Casa Blanca, a Mexican-Peruvian place on Vermont Ave. NW in Washington D.C. Hooooly fucking shit, y’all. Goddamn.I honestly wasn’t expecting to be hit by a freight train of delicious mojo when I bought these. Casa Blanca was a somewhat unappreciated eating establishment at my workplace, and each empanada was a mere $1.25. To even get them, I had to go all the way to the back and submit my order to an old guy in a wifebeater that was a greasy yellow around the edges. All I could do while I waited was stare at all of the crazy Peruvian kitsch scattered around the counter: girly calendars, gross tapestries and bull horns. What the hell, I was broke. Retreating to an unoccupied row of newspaper vendors, I thought, okay, these will at least get me through the next two hours.My first bite was a revelation, to say the least. It was as if I were the enlightened prisoner in Plato’s allegory of the cave, having seen the truth behind the shadows on the wall. The dough used in the empanadas was the true, perfect dough that I had been denied my whole life. The filling inside was made of really moist chicken that had been stewed, plus half a boiled egg and — for an insane, yet oddly fitting flavor — half of a red olive.After I finished it I had to sit for a while and think hard about my life.Damn, that shit was dope.