We don't know what we have, until we lose it?

Tonight is hard night.  I want to be with you.  I just don't know what to say?  My heart hurts.  So many thoughts running through my mind.  So many memories too.

At times when I feel like this, I try to channel the moments where I felt...right.

You know what I thought of a little while ago?  I was wondering what I wanted to write to you tonight (I really never know until I start) and I thought that tonight I just wanted you to sit with me.  No need for words.  Sometimes just knowing that you're there is enough.

And of course, the thoughts that followed were of my grandmother and my mom...  Towards the end of Mamita's life, she lived in Jackson Heights, Queens.  My mom and I lived in the Bronx.  Mamita would take two trains and commute for over an hour, in poor health, just to be with her girls.  She knew that we needed her.  We just needed her there. 

As a young girl, I tried to be sensitive to the feelings of my loved ones but as many young ones do, I may have missed some signs.  I may have missed some moments when my mom needed me to just be there.  I would be back and forth from my room to the kitchen, stop for a while and back again. 

Looking back, I remember one of the first things that my mom would say to Mamita when she got in and settled.  Mamita would come in the kitchen and ask if she could help my mom.  My mom would smile and say, "No sientate ahi... quedate conmigo"... "No, sit there, stay with me" .  I understand that now.  I understand that so well.       

I understand my mom now.  She used to ask me the same, and still does when I go back home. 

Silence is such an ambiguous element...  sometimes it drowns and confuses.  Other times it speaks volumes and reinforces.  

It's funny how all things come full circle.  Earlier today, a friend emailed me a recipe for my favorite soup that I emailed him a year ago, suggesting that I should write about that...
 Later this afternoon, my mom referred to a post I made last night on Facebook's Sofrito Disciple page where I asked, "What meal would you want to be remembered by?"  

My mom asked me what I would remember her by the most and I said two things.  First, her pork chops with rice and beans.  You have to take my word for it, sounds simple but the flavor that she packs into that is amazing.

I would get excited climbing up to our 4th floor apartment because when she would cook that I could smell it as soon as I came into our building and it was so incredible.  The second was the same soup that my friend reminded me about today.

What amazes me about that is that soup is what I cook when I'm sad.  Don't feel bad about that!  Sadness brought me to you.  If you recall our first meeting Reader, was the night of Hurricane Irene.  I made that seafood soup and poured my heart into that, then told you about it.  That was my very first entry...  That brought me to you... Asopa'o De Camarones.

Random, I know.  What is it about soup anyway?  Is it a metaphor for how we assimilate pain?  We take beautiful, fresh ingredients and throw them in hot boiling water.  I feel like that some times.  I feel like that now.  Then I remind myself, that in the end that soup becomes warm, nurturing and revitalizing.  And so do we.  Life sometimes breaks us down and in the end nurtures our soul to make us better.

Before I started writing tonight I was reminded of a life lesson that I despise, the cliche "You don't know what you have until you lose it".  I don't like that saying, because I know just how true it is.  What wouldn't I give to once again be at my grandmother's door and greet her as I always did?  To take my grandmother's face, with her soft skin, and kiss her forehead again while she looked at me so lovingly? 

It's true.  You don't really know what you have, until you lose it. 

So learn.   

Tonight, I'll leave you with that very simple but treasured recipe...  My spin on Puerto Rican Ham soup...  

Sopa De Jamon

 (You can use any meat for this really...)

 Buy a ham steak.  They go for under $4. 

We also chop up a few pieces of salami.  We usually use the Spanish-style but go with your preference.

Cut it in cubes and put it in a pot, med high.

Chop onions, celery, peppers (different colors are nice), carrots and potatoes.
Add two table spoons of Goya pitted olives

Mix everything.

Add about 1/3 cup of reccao’.  Add 2 envelopes of Sazon with color.  Add Oregano. Basil is optional but I like it. 

Add a can of tomato sauce 

Add Water (pot 3/4 full)

Add some fideos or noodles when the soup is almost complete, but not too much or it will dry your soup out.

Let simmer until veggies are soft.  Add additional salt and pepper to taste.  You can garnish with fresh cilantro and shredded asiago or parm cheese (just a little).

This goes extremely well with Tostones (twice fried plantains- see previous recipe).  The warm flavors married in the soup with the cripy saltiness of tostones.  So delicious.  

I hope you enjoy this,,,  it brings back so many soothing memories for me. 

Muy Buen Provecho!

The [true] story of The Apron and The Magical Hand...

People do crazy things to become famous, never forgotten or to be remembered forever.  For me, I found the answer unintentionally almost 5 years ago, on a Fall afternoon, much like today.  I remember that it was early on a Saturday evening after my daughter and I had finished running errands.  It was a fun day overall.  We always found things to laugh at, or new activities to discover.  We still do.

The sun was still shining through the patio doors and I was almost done cooking dinner. My beautiful little girl came in the kitchen just as she always did.  I have figured out that she is driven there, in spurts, partly because of the anticipation of being hungry and then because of the marvelous aromas that lure her there.  That day I realized that she is also driven by...curiosity.

To a five or six year old who grows up in an era of convenience, super-market conglomerates and a generous assortment of chain restaurants in the heart of her suburb, cooking one's own meals must hold some type of "magic" potential.  She seemed to be wondering how the food that her Mama throws in the pot comes out of it magically delicious.  This was my chance!  A chance to form yet another bond with this lovely little giggling fairy of mine with the rosy cheeks, and the long brown curls.

In an instant, the giggles and the smiles just stopped and a sad look overcame my little girl. I asked her what was wrong, what made her change so quickly.  "Mama, what if I never learn to cook like you and Nanny?", she said with her big blue eyes afraid to disappoint.

I'm a mother, who treasures her child but also never wants to set her up for failure or disappointment.  In that moment, I had to look in my heart and think carefully at the answer that I gave her.  I looked back at whether I had ever shared her concern.  The answer was, no.

In my heart I always felt that there was a passion, a love and maybe yes, magic, that all the women in my family commanded in their presence as they cooked.  The kitchen was their realm.  I had seen Mamita and my Mom cook endless meals.  There was a time that I thought everyone cooked as they did but as I got older I realized that was not necessarily the case.

The experience that confirmed this for me happened when I was 12 years old, on one of our trips to Puerto Rico.  Although I had not yet learned how to cook (yes, I was a late bloomer in that sense), I watched my great-grandmothers, Marcola & Mera (short for Esmeralda).  It was on that trip that I realized where the technique, the intensity, the creativity and the dedication that Mamita and my mom had always showed, came from these women, the elders. It was also at that moment when I realized, without a doubt, that I would one day show that same love and prowess in the kitchen.  I didn't know when, but I was sure that I would. 

That memory gave me the ability to turn to my child and give her an honest answer, from my heart.  I needed to deliver the same message to her in a way that she could understand it at 6 years old.  I knelt down in front of her, took her hand and looked into her worried eyes.

"Do you see these lines, baby?"  I asked, pointing to one of the lines on her palm.
"What lines?  No." she answered, looking more through her palm than at it.
"These lines in your palm, that go in different directions."  At that, she smiled.
"Well one of these lines is your family line"  And she responded with a look of confusion, of course.
"What I mean is that the magic that Mama has when I cook came from Nanny.  The magic that Nanny has, came from Mamita.  And the magic that Mamita had, came from Abuela Marcola, and so on, and so on.  You come from a line of strong women, passionate women.  You won't understand that yet because life has to sometimes put us through tests in order for us to remember that it's there.  Every person has been given gifts, but sometimes life helps us to rediscover them.  Like I said, you won't understand that part yet.  What I want you to know is that you come from a line of women who were dedicated to the kitchen, in their heart.  And each of those women passed that happiness that comes from cooking to their daughters.  Nanny and I are giving it to you.  One day, it will wake up inside of you and you will be just as good, if not better."

"You promise, Mama?"
"I believe this with all of my heart", I said looking into those blue diamonds glistening at me, and holding her warm little hand to my heart.

That was a long time ago.  Yet, last week, the memory came vividly flooding back to me.  I was right.  

My daughter is eleven and is growing up in a suburb of Upstate, NY.  She comes from a Puerto Rican mother and a Dominican father.  She has not yet had the opportunity to step foot on either of our islands.  And yet still, that is one very proud little Latina.  Part of this comes from having parents and family who is proud of our heritage, yes.  However, in order for that heritage to flourish inside of her and to mean something to her, it must be nourished.  I found with my daughter that the best way to do this is in the kitchen.

She is a great student and has learned so much.  I marvel in watching her as she develops her own cooking techniques, even as a newbie, a little girl.  It makes me feel that perhaps we don't just pass on DNA to our children but also memories and experiences.  Sometimes I've watched her do things that I haven't yet taught her.  Or perhaps, it may be that she watches her grandmother and I even closer than what we realize. 

Last week I came home exhausted from a long day at the office, and saw it as an opportunity to continue her cooking lessons.  My daughter insisted that she wanted me there, but that night she wanted no direction.  She wanted to make that meal on her own, from start to finish.  Proud, and not at all skeptical, I conceded.

The meal was looking fabulous and the neighbors must have been well aware that we were cooking because it smelled amazing in our kitchen.  I was helping clean up before we sat down to eat, and caught myself glancing at her with one of my famous side-way squints.  

"Hey, what's up with you wearing Mama's apron, little lady?"  I teased her.  It was odd because she has her own apron that she loves.
She put down what she was doing and turned to me.  There was a moment's pause before she looked at me and smiling said, "I'm wearing your apron because tonight I cooked just like you do, and did everything just like you do.  Tonight, I deserve to wear your apron."

You can imagine the love and the pride that swelled in my heart in that moment.  I wanted to scoop her up and give her kisses just as I've always done since she was a baby.  I held back. Instead, I nodded and gave her a big smile, because she was right.

For that night we were as equals.  My baby was wearing my apron.  Behind her, I looked at the picture of my grandmother that always keeps me company in the kitchen.  I knew she'd be smiling just like that if she were there too.  And, I remembered that my daughter's gift, is literally in the palm of her hands...


The first (top) picture is my apron, coveted by the most beautiful little girl in my world.

The second is a Polaroid picture of my grandmother, Mamita, and I on the morning of my 6th birthday.

When [Hurricane] Irene and I made Asopa'o De Camarones

Late this week everyone was in a frenzy over Hurricane Irene that was rapidly and forcefully moving up the coast with a vengeance.  I knew all about her from my family in Puerto Rico, who kept us updated via Facebook as they were getting hit.  Once I knew she was coming, I started to prepare too.

By nature, I'm whimsical and impulsive.  My profession demands otherwise.  With discipline and dedication,  being a mother, and a Risk Manager, has taught me to calculate risk and prepare for the worst.  What I still haven't learned is to prepare for the best... (stay tuned because that's a monster many of us struggle with, a topic all on it's own).

I meticulously shopped for the items on my "Disaster Preparedness" list, jotted all emergency municipality contacts and carefully tied down all lawn furniture (that was too large to move indoors) with bungee cords.  Not bad for a single woman, eh?

It was my kids' weekend with their father and it was frightening to know that I'd be alone, and that my little one would be away from her Mama.  My ex-husband was gracious enough to offer me shelter, and thoughtful as he was I gather it may have been a tad bit uncomfortable for the new girlfriend.  Scary as it was, I looked forward to uninterrupted moments alone with my thoughts.

So what do I do when I need to make peace with my soul?  You guessed it!  I cook.  My kitchen is stocked with fresh herbs, vegetables, fruit and seasonings.  At any given moment I can cook a vast array of international delights.

Today, as I often do when I feel lost, I yearned for the warmth of my mom and my grandmother, Mamita.  I called my mom while I still had electricity and ran my tentative menu by her.  Then, I looked up at a picture of my dearly departed grandmother that I keep in my kitchen and ran it by her too.  I always talk to my Mamita.  She has been gone for 11 years now, and I still run everything by her, especially when I'm in the kitchen.

Often, I determine what I'm going to cook by how I feel, and then by the ingredients that I have on hand.  I had shrimp and fresh herbs, spices and veggies.  The choice virtually made itself!  I chose to stick to my Puerto Rican roots and make an Asopa'o De Camarones.  No, the accent is not associated with any fancy French pronunciation, but rather an African one.  In the Latino-Caribbean countries, we will often "drop" off consonants of a word, such as the "s" thus giving the word a more African enunciation.  Asopa'o is that pronunciation of the technical "Asopado", meaning to make a soup of.

As I washed the herbs and chopped the vegetables I felt the warm embrace of my grandmother in my mom's kitchen.  I thought of everything that I've been through this past year and what they both taught me.  Among these lessons, they always taught me to be prepared.  I always thought that meant to have a good education, but as I get older, I appreciate the lesson more.

This storm came and went without much consequence, but in those moments alone in my kitchen, Hurricane Irene reminded me of heartache I'd recently experienced last year.    Like the hurricane, promises of something great came & went..  And like the hurricane, they fell short and left damage behind.  Thankfully from both I learned a valuable lesson, to prepare for greater and more powerful things.

Lesson:  In both circumstances, I never lost power and now I'm prepared for the real thing...

                                                            Asopa'o De Camarones

Now, keep in mind that in my kitchen, just as two human beings are never the same, neither are my dishes.  My recipes evolve depending on what ingredients I have on hand, and how I feel.  The Asopa'o was so easy to make.  In a mixing bowl, I cut up a handful of red potatoes, 3 stalks of celery, 2 purple onions, finely chopped carrots, julienned peppers, two [table] spoons of olives, a handful of mushrooms and... a handful of chopped radishes.  Okay, I know my mom will be reading this, and she is gonna say, "What Mi'ja?  Radishes?  Pero, por que?  Radishes? Asopa'o does not call for radishes!"  Go with me on this one, they are just like potatoes when cooked, and soak in the flavor of your dish.  Yes, radishes.

Then to that mezcla, or mixture, you add two envelopes of Sazon, generously sprinkle some Adobo, a little oregano, chopped basil, chopped coriander leaves, chicken bouillon, 1/3 stick of butter, crushed garlic (be generous), finely chopped cilantro, two table spoons of tomato paste or one can of tomato sauce, and drizzle with olive oil....

Lastly, throw that mixture into a soup pot.  Give it some love.  Come on now!  Now add about 1-2 cups of rice.  Let it simmer and fall in love with each other over medium heat.  Once the veggies become somewhat translucent, add water almost to the top , cover almost completely and bring the heat down to a low simmer.  Take your time, have a glass of wine... once the soup is ready, add the shrimp.  One pound shelled and cleaned.  It takes two minutes for them to cook to that golden color.  Take the pot off the heat, you're good to go.  I love to sprinkle some shredded Parmesan cheese (not traditional, I know, but it taste so good!) and serve the dish with salted Tostones on the side, for dipping.



... Muy buen provecho!  

Everything that I know about living a good life, I learned in the kitchen

At first glance, aren't we all just ordinary people?  Although in everyone's lifetime there seem to be fleeting moments when we become extraordinary.  Yet, what do we do?  We long to be ordinary again.

The truth is that we all have a story.  I want to know yours... but if you're like me, you don't open up easily and you'll want to know what I'm made of.  Let me set you at ease... grab a kitchen stool from over there and sit with me while I cook.

I'm a Puerto Rican mother of two, who is a business woman by day and a philosopher by night.  I don't limit myself to any set definitions because I am a fusion of many passions and interests, which are also reflected in my cooking styles.  These experiences have come together to make me realize, at 36 years, most of what I know that adds value toward living a good life, I learned in the kitchen.

Some 30 years ago, my grandmother "Mamita" and my mom, Margie, molded my pride in my culture through cooking.  We were poor, but I didn't know it.  These ladies did not have the opportunity or funds to pursue a hobby or a cause as a means of self-expression.  What they had was their family, and their kitchen.

For many generations now, the kitchen has been our canvas. This is where the women of my family went to create masterpieces that tantalized the senses.  The kitchen is where we talked, cried, laughed and where the voices of the many women who precede me have become immortalized by whispering their secrets to me in my times of soul-searching.

And now it's your turn dear reader, because now you're in our kitchen and now you will be part of our secrets.