Mi Abuela

I was not a pretty child. My sister was gorgeous. She had these adorable little ringlets and this round perfect face. But every Sunday when we visited my Abuela she would grab me first and give me a smothering hug. You would think in a state of being smothered one would find it hard to hear, but my Abuela's beautiful voice cooed in my ear, "Ay que linda." I had no idea what that meant. I wouldn't know till many years later, when I was in Spanish class, what this phrase meant; but when she said that phrase to me I felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. I was my Abuela's princess.

I wanted nothing more than to please my Abuela, to be like my Abuela. She was the perfect hostess. Every Sunday her family would come and she created what seemed like mountains of food. No one could make the amount of food she made every week with such ease. She might have, but I never once heard her complain. When everyone was fed and happy, she really had no interest in jumping into the family debate of the day. She would sit down next to me on her big cushy chair and hold my hand in hers. Her favorite place was watching everyone; she never needed to be the center of attention.

Her hands were the most beautiful thing in the whole world. Those hands that chopped and diced and prepared the best rice and beans that have ever existed on this planet, were so soft. They weren't soft like the hands of someone who never knew work; they were soft like the banister I still tend to swing on a little as I run down the stairs at my parent's house. They were worn down like my mom's wedding ring, to a smooth and cool touch.

The tip of her thumb was missing. When she was very little, she had cut it off with a machete while harvesting sugar cane in Puerto Rico. She would hold my hand and rub the tip of her thumb on my hand. I loved her.

All of my interest and need for food in my life can be traced back to my Abuela. I think she invented the true passion for food and then passed it on to all of her children and their children. My Titi Stella is one of the best cooks I know. My cousin and brother were the pickiest eaters (they decided they didn't like butter for a while and normally fed off of each other's dislike of certain foods) and somehow she persevered creating incredible culinary creations accepting the silence of chewing as her sole reward. My Titi Carmen makes amazing desserts. When my mom was new to the family (she married my Abuela's baby, so her cooking skills had to be up to par), she made these amazing Swedish meatballs. My Uncle Tony looks at her and makes a snarky remark about her being the new competition. My mom tells that story so proudly. I think it was one of her finest moments, feeling like she could impress this family so steeped in good food.

When I was 12 my Abuela passed away. Sometimes I wish that I could bring her back for just one day so she could see me now. I would love to have her hold me and tell me how beautiful I am (sometimes when I'm having a terribly ugly day I look in the mirror and imagine her hugging my awkward bony frame and still thinking I was pretty). I would want to eat her food just one last time.

Once someone dies we never get that one more day. It's probably the only thing that can still bring tears to my eyes with no notice. I don't know why I couldn't get my Abuela off my mind tonight, but she just felt close for some reason.

Happy Eating!!!

Emily