Moros y Cristianos

I had an interview today with Rogelio, President of CASA. I'm pursuing a story about ethnic food, specifically Cuban food, and how it has this amazing connection to cultural identity. So after our interview I was beaming, ready to transcribe my notes and breeze through my story. Rogelio also told me of the best Cuban restaurant he knew of in the city, and I had already made a romantic dinner date with Grayson in my head for this Friday (after interviewing of course).

As I passed the grocery store on my way home, I was struck with the urge to cook my own Cuban dinner. I went inside, bought some bell peppers and chicken (I'm still hesitant to eat too much beef), and headed back to whip up some black beans and rice. The dinner came out fabulously! The rice was perfectly fluffy, the beans nice and rich, and the chicken deliciously spiced. (Grayson and Emma loved it too).

Proud of my exertions, I continued to work on my story and research Cuban cuisine. During my interview with Rogelio, he kept mentioning these weird dishes that I hadn't heard of, but I decided to just look up the Spanish when I got home instead of cutting off his quotes. Anyway, as I was reading about typical Cuban cuisine, everything started looking shockingly familiar. Congri is just rice and beans, something my mother served 3 times a week. Ropa Vieja? I knew the look of the tomato stewed, stringy beef all too well. Mojo? Just some garlic sauce my mom loved to smother on everything.

I began to realize what a strong hold food really holds on culture. As separated as I've always felt from my Cuban identity, I was always held close to it every night at the dinner table. I never recognized my mom's food as something other than just that: food. But the spices, the beans, the perfect rice, all tie back to an island. Centuries of people are connected merely by what their mothers have served them every night.

I'm going to make an effort, I've decided, to perfect my home-made, Cuban cooking.