I remember her sitting on the couch and taking the thorns off cactus leaves. The meticulous back and forth of her knife and the thin slice that continuously chopped off the danger points. She cooked from morning until evening. I can still vividly remember the sweet and savory smells of her mole, enchiladas, sopes, & buñuelos.
Summers in Mexico
For many summers, I grew up with my grandma. She once gave me a mini-sized tortilla maker so that I could mimic her. Unfortunately, I never really quite took to cooking...until recently.
Every Sunday, I plan 5-6 meals (leftover dinner usually becomes next day lunch). I research what I want to eat and I write down the ingredients I’m missing. On Monday, I take my handy-dandy notebook to the grocery store and buy my fill of spices, vegetables, broth, meats, and carbs. Every meal is like a potion, a pinch of this and a dash of that. Stir stir stir. I’m constantly multitasking; while something cooks, I take time to dice onions and mince garlic.
I think back to my grandma and how happy she would be to see me running around like a mad woman putting together the different components of a meal. The clear focus on my face.
Thanks, Abue for teaching me the passion, patience, and strategy for cooking.
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