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suggest your mother, tell your story: click here |
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lea en español - haga clic aquí the Cuban way to say I love you Cooking is my Cuban mother's way of saying I love you, and she sure has loved a lot of people. There were six of us - two boys and four girls, but we all brought friends home to dinner. She loved it, and somehow there was always enough. More than enough, because she'd put a little on the side for an old woman who lived in our block in New York City. One of my chores was to be her delivery boy. I grew up running around the building, or going up and down the block with food in my hands. There was the older lady down the street, and around the corner was an Irish family that had befriended my mother when she was a lonely young émigré missing her native Cuba. I'd go to the Irish family with a pot of ropa vieja and return with Irish stew or fresh soda bread. They introduced my mother to Worcestershire sauce, and that delicious Irish bacon. Sometimes she'd send me to my grandmother's with Cuban black beans poured over rice. My father's side was Puerto Rican, so abuela would send me back with Puerto Rican pink beans and rice. I laugh when I think about changing one pot of beans for another, but they were very different because each Caribbean Island uses spices differently. My sisters and I are all great cooks, and we love to argue about sofrito. I like it smooth, so I make it in the food processor. They like theirs chunky and do it by hand. We argue about it, but we like each other's cooking. ABOUT ERNESTO: When not cooking, Ernesto is working toward his master's degree in political science. |
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