Recipe for Remembering

Early on Christmas Eve day, I sat in the kitchen with my brother while Justin prepped for the next day’s meal. We’ve hosted Christmas dinner for most of the 20 years that we’ve lived in this house. And almost from the beginning, Justin took over the duty of cooking our traditional Cuban meal for the holiday. He likes to recount the time he asked my Dad what was in the marinade for the pork roast. The way my Dad chuckled as he answered, “the same thing we marinate everything in.” It’s not quite that simple, and it is unbelievably delicious.

So while Julio and I sat at the table with the fragrance of garlic and citrus thick in the air, the conversation naturally turned to foods we remembered having as kids, the tins of cookies Mom would make in our tiny kitchen, especially the pecan tarts and how we wish we knew the trick for making the perfect little well to hold just the right amount of gooey filling for the buttery cookie. I got my handwritten recipe book out of the cabinet, and we reminisced about recipes and the people associated with each one.

“And what about Tio Andrés’s torticas de Morón? Remember?”

“No, no, but did you ever have Tio Pancho’s mother’s torticas? Those were incredible.”

Like our parents, the aunts and uncles who passed down those recipes are gone now. At least on our side of the family, we’ve transitioned earlier than expected to being the family elders. I’m so grateful that Justin loves the traditional Cuban recipes my family passed down to us and lucky for me he’s a damn good cook, too. We’ve started passing those recipes down to our kids, one recipe, one memory at a time, keeping the flavors and the warmth of my parents’ home alive for them.

Holy One,

Thank you for all the ways we can share our lives with one another. Thank you for sweet memories made in tiny kitchens and at crowded tables.  Amen

Eli is a song leader at Peace. She is the daughter of Cuban immigrants from a long line of great cooks and bakers, and she’s a really good eater.