Arroz, Frijoles, y Tortillas:

Growing up, I always thought that there was no better-tasting food than the food made by my mother. So, one day, I asked her how she got so good at cooking. She went on to tell me how she learned how to cook. A story that I have never forgotten.

At 18, my mom ran away from home and headed to the courthouse to marry my dad. Soon after tying the knot, they would relocate to Laredo, Texas, my dad’s hometown. They headed to the border town because my dad’s mom had fallen ill and was not doing well. Upon arrival, my parents walked into my grandma’s house and excitedly announced their nuptials. One of the first things my grandma would say was if my mom knew how to cook. This was important to her because she wanted to know if my mom would be able to feed and take of her eldest and rumored favorite son. However, fresh out of high school, my mother did not know how to cook even the slightest bit. Not pleased by the news, my grandma quickly devised a plan. Unable to do much herself then, she had my mom wake up early every morning and talk her through how to make my dad’s favorite dishes of arroz, frijoles, y tortillas. Responsible for feeding the whole family, the pressure was on. At first, the tortillas were too small, and the rice was slightly burnt, but after some time and a lot of practice, my mom finally began to perfect her skills in the kitchen. Knowing that her family was now taken care of, my grandma would sadly pass away soon after.

Now an aspiring cook myself, I’ve been studying and learning from the best, my mom, of course. Who might be as impatient, if not more impatient, than my grandma. I never got to meet her, with her passing before I was born, and all I know of her is what I’ve heard from stories and seen in pictures. But now, through each dash of seasoning and flip of tortilla, I feel connected to her in a way I never thought I could. Her legacy and recipes live on, filling my belly and heart.