by Lydia Gil
In the kitchen, I start to hunt down the ingredients, but I’m missing so many! We don’t even have skirt steak, the main ingredient. This really will be a poor person’s meal.
In a short while, Doña Esperanza arrives with a mountain of things: meat, tomato sauce, peppers, garlic, cumin … She’s like a walking supermarket!
“Let me see,” she says, ripping the letter out of my hands.
I love seeing her almost as excited as I am.
Between the two of us we start chopping up the vegetables. I slice the onions and, like always, I start to cry. But this time my tears are not entirely caused by the onion. I cry for my grandma, because I miss her, and for my friends, because they don’t understand me. And for my mami, because she isn’t here with us.
“What’s wrong, m’ija?” Doña Esperanza asks me. “Is it the onion?”
“Yes and no,” I tell her. “There’s this girl in school who’s been making my life miserable. And to top it all off, ever since the letters from Grandma started coming, my friends treat me as if I’m crazy.”
“Well, what do you think?” she asks. “Do you think you’re going crazy?”
“Sometimes … I don’t know,” I tell her, wiping my face with a kitchen towel. “I like that Grandma writes to me … but it is a bit weird.”
“I wouldn’t worry too much about it if I were you,” she says, putting the knife aside for a second. “As your grandma used to say, ‘everything comes and everything goes …’ If I were you, I’d enjoy the letters and not worry so much about how they got here.”
My eyes burn. This time it’s because of the onion. Doña Esperanza finishes slicing it and I start chopping the garlic. It has a really strong smell, but it doesn’t make me cry.
When Mami gets home, she’s surprised to see Doña Esperanza cooking in our kitchen.
“What’s all this?” she says, looking at the valve dancing on top of the pressure cooker.
“Ropa vieja,” I announce, proudly. “It should be done in half an hour.”
Mami sits down at the table and watches us cook. But her break doesn’t last very long. After a few minutes, Doña Esperanza takes off her apron and puts it around Mami’s waist.
“Come on, Rosita, you can help us with the sofrito,” she tells her. “It’s the most important part.”
I can see that Mami is about to protest, but Doña Esperanza puts the garlic in her hand so that she can add it to the hot oil.
I don’t want it to show, so as to not break the spell, but for the first time today, I feel really happy.
Ropa vieja
3 tablespoons of olive oil, separately
2 lbs of skirt steak
1 (8 ounce) can of tomato sauce
½ cup of canned beef broth
1 tablespoon of sofrito cooking base
2-4 cloves of minced garlic
2 bay leaves
1 sliced yellow onion
1 sliced green pepper
½ cup of green olives (pimento stuffed, whole)
Salt and pepper to taste
Lime wedges, optional
• Coat the bottom of the pressure cooker with 2 tablespoons of olive oil and heat on high. Working in batches, brown the meat on both sides and immediately fill with enough water to completely cover the steak. Fully close the pressure cooker and let it cook at steady pressure for approximately 30-40 minutes.
• Prepare the sofrito in a large, deep pan over medium heat. After coating the bottom of the pan with the remaining tablespoon of olive oil, add the sofrito cooking base and minced garlic. Cook, stirring constantly for one minute. Add the tomato sauce, beef broth and bay leaves, and cook for another minute, stirring occasionally. Season with salt and pepper, and drizzle olive oil over the top. Let simmer on low heat while the meat cooks.
• After 40 minutes of cooking at steady pressure, remove the pressure cooker from the heat and set aside until depressurized. This should take around 15 minutes.
IMPORTANT: let an adult open the depressurized pressure cooker because the steam can burn.
• Remove the meat to a bowl—reserving the juices. Discard any visible fat and shred the meat using two forks.
• Add shredded meat and juices to sofrito, along with the onion, pepper and olives, mixing it all together. If the meat is not completely covered by the sauce, add more broth as needed. Cover and let simmer on low heat for about 20 minutes. Adjust seasoning if needed.
• Serve over white rice or congrí with a wedge of lime (optional).
7
MISUNDERSTANDINGS
Mami and I walk together to school. We don’t talk. I walk slowly, looking down at my feet. Mami asked at work if she could start a little later today. She says she received a message from the principal saying that he needed to see us both as soon as possible. I think I know what it’s all about, but I don’t tell her. I’m a bit ashamed.
When we get to the principal’s office, Silvia and her mom are already there. Now I’m sure I know why we are here. But Mami looks shocked.
“Hello, Rosa,” Silvia’s mom greets my mom in a somber tone. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
Mami thanks her for the condolences and sits down quietly.
The principal calls us into his office.
“Well, you both know why you are here,” he says to Silvia and me. “However, your mothers don’t … Who wants to tell them what happened?”
My eyes remain glued to my shoes. I wish I could turn invisible and cover Silvia’s mouth with duct tape to keep her quiet.
“Celeste called me fat,” she says. “She pointed at my stomach and said it was huge, in front of everyone!”
“That’s not exactly true!” I protest. “I said that I was worried about the amount of candy you eat.”
“Liar!” she yells at me.
“Alright, alright,” the principal says. “Celeste, why did you say you were worried about her diet?”
“Because I’m sick and tired of her and Karen treating me like I’m some crazy person!”
The principal waits in silence, as if expecting an explanation. But neither one of us says a word.
“You both know that in this school we have a zero tolerance policy for bullying,” he finally says. “And hurting someone else’s feelings, on purpose, is considered bullying. Besides, Celeste, this isn’t the first complaint that we have received about you. You also pushed Amanda so hard that she had to go to the nurse’s office. That isn’t an accusation that we take lightly.”
Nobody says anything. We sit in silence for what feels like hours. Finally Silvia speaks up.
“I saw what happened with Amanda,” she says. “Celeste didn’t push her that hard. Besides, after what Amanda said, I probably would’ve done the same thing.”
“And what is it that she said to you, Celeste?” the principal turns toward me.
“I told her to get lost and leave me alone, and she said that I was the one that needed to go … Back to my country.”
The principal looks at Silvia as if to confirm my story. I lower my eyes, not so much out of shame, but because I don’t want to see my mom’s.
“Well, I will take care of Amanda,” he says. “Now what about what you said to Silvia?”
“I didn’t mean to say it, but I’m just so tired of my own friends not believing what’s happening to me.”
“I just wanted to help her,” Silvia responds. “I know that it’s sad that her grandma died because they were so close, but she’s been saying that her grandma has been writing her letters and teaching her how to cook.”
I look at her as if she’s just revealed the biggest secret in the universe. I wish I could strike her down with my eyes. Even though I don’t turn around, I can feel my mom looking at me, full of questions.
“Cielo, did you really say that?” Mami asks.
“Yes,” I say. “But it’s true!”
All of a sudden everyone is looking at me as if I’d said aliens were taking over the school.
; “Of course Grandma has been writing to me,” I tell her in Spanish. “How else do you think I learned to make the cangrejitos and the congrí?”
“But, Celeste, honey, dead people can’t write letters,” Mami replies, switching back to English.
“I can show them to you when we get home,” I tell her. “I have them all in my nightstand. I didn’t tell you so you wouldn’t get sad.”
Nobody says anything. I think they’re all waiting for me to apologize. I do, but only for what I said to Silvia. I can’t apologize for the rest of it, because I haven’t done anything wrong! If I’m in this mess, it’s for having told the truth!
“I’m sorry,” I say to Silvia. “I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“It’s fine,” she says. “But quit with the ghost stories, they really scare me.”
Silvia comes closer and we give each other a hug. I’ll explain to her later that they aren’t stories. For now, I only want to get out of here.
“Please let me know when you solve the mystery of the letters from the beyond,” the principal says to us. “The story is fascinating. But now head back to class because the spirits aren’t going to do your homework for you.”
Mami kisses me goodbye, but I can see that she’s confused. We’re going to have a lot to talk about tonight.
8
ASKING FOR HELP
Lisa comes to pick me up and I tell her everything that happened. She says I have to show the letters to my mom. Even though Mami doesn’t believe in spirits, the evidence will convince her. A bunch of white flowers have bloomed in front of one of the houses we pass on our way home. The bushes look like they are covered with butterflies. Lisa picks a small bunch and gives it to me.
“But, Lisa,” I say, protesting, “they aren’t yours!”
“Shhh!” she says, placing her finger on her lips. “Today you need these flowers more than they do. Besides,” she adds, “if the people say anything, I’ll explain it to them.”
The flowers are beautiful.
“Wild and simple,” I think, “just like Grandma.” Right at that moment, I feel a cold chill. And, for an instant, I think we are not walking alone.
Later that afternoon, I think about something that Grandma wrote in her last letter: “Most people like to help.” Was she referring to Doña Esperanza? To Lisa? Mami? Even Silvia had wanted to help me. And what if I don’t want help? Nobody can help me with what I want: for Mami not to work so much and for me to go back to dance class. I can take care of the rest myself. I don’t need to go around begging people for help. That’s not me.
I hear the front door open and I get scared because Mami isn’t supposed to get home until much later. Today, however, she came home early.
“Mami!” I scream and run to hug her.
“Cielo, how did the rest of your day go?” she asks me. It’s been such a long time since she asked me that I don’t know how to respond.
“Fine,” I say. “No more drama.”
Mami starts to prepare the café con leche, and I, without asking, start making some toast. It’s almost like it used to be, with Grandma.
“We need to talk, Celeste,” she says, without looking at me. She adds sugar to the coffee and stirs it very slowly as if she were casting a spell.
“I know,” I tell her.
I go up to my room to fetch the letters. I’d placed them in an empty chocolate box with the hope that someday it would be filled with them. But I have the feeling that I won’t be receiving many more. I place the box on the kitchen table.
“This is all of them,” I show her.
Mami opens the box very slowly and examines the first envelope. Tears begin to run down her cheeks. But I think she’s also smiling.
“I don’t know how she did it,” I tell her, pointing out the postmark. “But the truth is that these letters took away some of the sadness I was feeling”
Mami takes out the first letter and reads it in silence. Without even taking a sip from her coffee, she does the same with the other letters. When she finishes, she puts them all away and looks at me.
“Do you think there will be more letters?” she asks me.
“I sure hope so,” I say.
We eat our tostaditas like Grandma used to do it: dipping small pieces of toast into the coffee until the butter melts.
“Mami, what do you think Grandma meant when she said that people like to help?”
“She always used to say that,” she says, “She’d say that it’s harder to ask for help than to give it.”
I keep thinking about this while I finish my snack. I think I know what Grandma was trying to tell me… .
As soon as I finish, I run to my desk to look for my dance teacher’s phone number. I’m a little bit scared that I won’t be able to say the right thing. Or that she’ll say no. But I’m definitely going to do this.
“Most people like to help,” I repeat to myself like a mantra. Either way, the worst that can happen is that she will say no.
“Miss Robyn, this is Celeste.” My voice trembles a bit. “Am I interrupting?”
“What a surprise to hear from you, Celeste!” Miss Robyn says. “We’ve really missed you in class. How’s your grandma doing?”
“She passed away a few weeks ago,” I tell her.
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I didn’t know.”
“I’m not so sad anymore,” I say, “even though I miss her a lot.”
“She used to love to watch you dance. When will you come back?”
“Well, that’s actually why I’m calling. I’d love to come back, but my mom can’t really afford to pay for classes right now… . ”
“Whenever you’re ready, Celeste. You know I’ll always have a space waiting for you.”
“Well, I was thinking that maybe I could get a job,” I say, timidly.
“But Celeste, you are too young to work … ”
“Well, I wanted to ask you, maybe… perhaps, I could help with the classes for little ones,” I say, “like a job.” I’m embarrassed to hear myself saying this.
“What a good idea, Celeste!” Miss Robyn says. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. Of course you can! You can be my helper with the kiddie class in exchange for your lessons!”
“Really?” I ask her, clearly surprised.
“But you have to ask your mother first,” she tells me. “Tell her to send me a note saying she’s okay with this arrangement.”
“Of course!” I tell her. “And thank you so much. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“Thank you for suggesting the idea, Celeste,” she adds, “I’m very happy I can help.”
Grandma was right. “Most people like to help.”
9
FLAN
My Dear Celeste,
I’m running out of time, but I didn’t want to leave you with a memory that is salty or sour, but with a sweet one. In life, you will get to eat many different foods, some that taste good, and others, not so much. Some will be so spicy that they will make you cry, and others so exquisite that you will remember their taste forever. That is how my life has been: sweet, bitter, sometimes perfectly seasoned and, at times, too salty or completely bland … But when I think of you and your mother, the memories that come to mind are always sweet. That is how I want to say goodbye to you, so that when you think of me, you have a memory of something sweet.
Here I’m sending you the recipe for the flan you love so much. Be careful when you make the caramel: when the sugar begins to melt you have to work quickly and attentively, because if you don’t, the caramel will burn or you may end up burning yourself. And don’t rush it. Everything good takes time. When the flan is ready, refrigerate it overnight. The next day, before sitting down to eat it, cover the table with a nice tablecloth and put a flower in a vase. Take out a cloth napkin and use a nice plate. And then sit down and eat it slowly. When you take that first bite up to your mouth, drenched in caramel, close your eyes and smell the sweet aroma. In
that instant, I’ll be right by your side.
Don’t be sad, my dear Cielo. Remember me with love … and flavor!
Your grandma that loves you,
Rosa
My hands shake as I read the final words. I know that I’m holding my grandma’s last letter. I think about how all I have left of her are just a handful of recipes. I think about how I’ll never know how she’s been sending me these letters after she’d gone. I think that no matter how many times I cook them, my dishes will never taste like hers. And, all of a sudden, I hear her voice murmuring into my ear: “Remember me with love … and flavor!” That’s why she sent me these recipes! The coffee, the cangrejitos, the congrí, the ropa vieja … The recipes were like spells, so that every time I make the food, Grandma could once again be with me!
As soon as Mami gets home from work, I show her the letter. She gets really sad, and I let her cry. But later, I have a great idea, something that Grandma would’ve loved.
“Mami, Grandma asks us to remember her with flavor, right?”
She nods, but doesn’t say anything.
“I get it!” I tell her, jumping up and down with excitement. “Think about all the recipes that Grandma sent … What do they have in common?”
“They were the ones you liked best,” she says.
“And what else?”
“I don’t know. They’re all from Cuba?”
“Yeah, but not just that,” I tell her. “If you put them together, we have a dinner! Look, Appetizer: cangrejitos. Main course: ropa vieja. Side dishes: congrí and mariquitas. Dessert: flan. Don’t you see? Grandma wanted us to have a dinner—to remember her!”
Mami’s tears immediately disappear and I can see that Grandma’s magic is working.
“That’s a fantastic idea!” she tells me. “Let’s do it this weekend.”
“We’ll set up an elegant table with a fine tablecloth, flowers, candles. Just like she used to like it,” I say. “With music in the background!”
“Invite your friends, cielo.”
“And Lisa and Doña Esperanza!” I say. “I want it to be a real celebration.”
Flan
