Why I asked my grandmother for her recipes
I remember waking up at my grandmother's house. I could hear the huevo con chorizo crackling in the pan.
The amazing smell of Mexican sausage drifting into our bedroom, awakening my senses.
Oh, I knew it was time to wake up.
My grandma would microwave a scoop of frijoles (she made them in bulk) into a ceramic bowl and warm them up with a scoop of butter.
Breakfast would not be complete without her pan con mantequilla.
I remember her toasting it, then letting it sit atop the toaster so the warmth could melt the butter even more.
For lunch, we'd have some of her delicious guisado.
It was usually stored in one of those '70s white floral ceramic tupperwear, the one with the glass tops.
Let us not forget dinner. She'd make towering stack of enchiladas.
These memories, aromas, the sound of the oil sizzling in the pan are engraved in my mind. They remind me of a beautiful culture, a beautiful childhood.
When I lived on my own, away from home, I lost touch with these recipes. I would usually meal prep - make the same old grilled chicken, brown rice and mixed salad over and over again.
When I had my little boy, my cooking changed.
I wanted him to have the same experiences with the rich, delicious Mexican food I had growing up.
I have called my grandma several times over the years to ask her what her secret is to her amazing guisado (a can of Rotel) or why my sopita is just not as good as hers. (onion and garlic)
I want these recipes to live on.
When I watch my little Nathan eating albondigas, or calabacitas with tomato sauce all over his face - I just smile and think of my own childhood, my own roots and it warms my heart....and my stomach!