As my grandfather always said, Como te vas a casar si no sabes cocinar? (”Who will want to marry you if you don’t know how to cook?”)
My love for food, family and domesticity was unavoidable. Three generations of women in my family each approached the kitchen weber natural gas grills – review 2017 their own way and I picked up tricks and traditions from each.
My grandma was a homemaker. She made fresh tortillas de harina seven days a week, fulfilled breakfast requests from each one of her nine children every morning and stretched her husband’s roofer salary to keep 9 bellies full.
My Madrina (that’s spanish for godmother) is a well travelled woman. She lived in the Mexican border city of El Paso, Texas for most my childhood top gun – pellet smoker reviews 2017. She was a true Mexican food aficionado – cooking meals of Frijoles Charros and roast beef sandwiches with avocado and fresh asadero cheese. Her home was filled with Folk Art, the energy of pet parrots and a Chihuahua and the aroma of coffee and antique furniture.
My mother was a housewife until I was ten years old. She cooked sit-down dinners for her 2.5 kids and her high school sweetheart five nights a week, plus homemade waffles on Saturday. And these are just three of the women in my life; my Aunt Patty makes the best chile rojo and fresh flour tortillas and Aunt Maryann’s New Mexican Torta and tamales are the best to be had.
So it’s no small wonder I’m the kind of girl a (Chicano) boy takes home to mom, the kind of girl he wants to marry. The put-in-your-pocket-save-for-when-I’m-ready-to-settle make and model. Do I have a sister? No. Tried and true: the way to a man’s heart is through is stomach.*
*Okay, not always but it sure helps.
