Homemade with Love and Sprinkled with Life Lessons

A recipe for love of family was being created in front of my little girl eyes as I sat in a chair in both my grandmothers' kitchens. I am so grateful for the memories I have of both of my guelas making tortillas, a staple in our family. It seems appropriate that this was a topic I was led to write about during Hispanic Heritage Month.

At my Guela Amelia's (my maternal grandmother) I was enthralled watching her pat the corn dough in her hands as she shaped a tortilla by patting it out and turning it masterfully in her aged, worn hands. I thrilled at listening to my mom and her sisters buzzing around my grandmother joking and recounting stories of when they were younger. I remember the distinct sound of the tortilla sizzle on the hot comal as the lard helped cook the tortilla up and waiting patiently to take one and add a pat of butter to it and enjoy it as the kitchen kept hopping as my grandmother and her daughters continued to make these delicious delicacies for their families.

Even though it was part of a meal we were sharing as a larger family, I now see that I was learning that families work together and share and that through collaboration everyone benefits. One of Guela Amelia's strengths was that she made sure she taught her children by involving them in the work, and those are lessons I carry from my guela as well.

At my Guela Teodora's ( my paternal grandmother) kitchen I also sat out of the way as I watched in amazement as she worked hard rolling that pin! Her rolling pin seemed to obey her commands as she expertly shaped these bigger than life flour tortillas. Not only were they bigger than I was used to eating, but they were delicious. I couldn't wait to fill one with her delicious chorizo and egg! On days that I watched her, it was an awesome experience, but there were times when she was up before any of us, and you could hear her in the kitchen shuffling around getting ready to mix the simple ingredients for the tortillas in her mixing bowl. Then you could hear that familiar sound of the kneading and formation of the tistales that would turn into the tortillas. Then you could hear her applying pressure on them with the rolling pin plus the slapping sound as she methodically turned them to help them take their perfect shape.

When I was a little girl, I was thrilled that she provided the tortillas for our meals (especially for breakfast), I now see that she sacrificed so much for family. She could have chosen to sleep in or to have used store bought tortillas, but that was not who she was.

As I reflect on these memories I see how my guelas took so much pride in providing nourishing meals for their families. I realize that part of my formation as a woman, wife, and mother came from sitting watching them not only create scrumptious goodness, but also from the strength of their characters. I know I come from strong women who had to work hard to feed their families (many times without modern conveniences), and that I draw my strength from them.

If you have the good fortune to have someone cook something delicious for you, be grateful. They are showing their love for you through epicurean means. ¡Buen provecho!