Eating fruits with spicy condiments

Can you imagine devouring a sweet tropical mango that has been sprinkled with salt, lemon juice, ground chile and “chamoy” – a sort of viscous sweet and sour sauce? 

For Hispanics, that is common, although for others that may not be so, says Sandra Alcántara, a cook at Antojitos Mexicanos, a food stand near Plaza Santa Cecilia, Tulsa, Oklahoma.

“We Hispanics love that,” Alcántara said while preparing an assortment of tropical fruits with spicy seasonings. “For others, this is something new, very odd. They taste it carefully and then they like it a lot. “

For Alex Ojeda, a native of the Mexican coastal state of Quintana Roo, fruit with spicy additives takes him back to his homeland. “I come from the sea,” he said. “So when I eat my fruit with ‘picante,’ it’s like I’m in Cozumel.”

Alcántara, who is originally from the state of Michoacan in Mexico, has been working for a year at the fruit stand. “People eat it all the time,” she said. “When it is cold or hot, people ask for it.”

So, now you know: When eating a mango or a watermelon, enhance the flavor with some spicy ‘picante.’ 

Photos by Juan Miret 

Renaming coffee

Here in the United States, coffee is often nothing special – just coffee: a watery drink, served out of a big pitcher.
But if one is on the other side of the Atlantic, say, in Italy, and asks for a cup of coffee – without elaborating –surely we would get an espresso so perfect and beautiful that even the best barista in the world would be amazed.
But Hispanics, being so different from other mortals, have many ways of asking for coffee. And we cannot be content to say “coffee, please.” If in Colombia, one would ask for a “tinto”; in Venezuela it would be a “guayoyito”; in Argentina, “una lágrima sin espuma” – literally: a tear without foam; and in Cuba – if Fidel allows – a “cortadito,” that is, coffee “cut” with a small amount of milk. And so on, to infinity.
And perhaps we reveal our origins with those inventions that are impossible to explain and measure: two drops of milk, a pinch of brown sugar, a bit of grated nutmeg and a touch of salt – as it is served in the Versailles in Miami, Florida.
For Hispanics, plain coffee does not identify us; we have to baptize it with our Spanish language. Otherwise, it will not taste good.


Unforgettable coffee
Coffee stories heard in Washington, D.C.

On the morning of March 29, three Hispanics complained about the coffee served at the W Hotel in the national capital where the U.S. Hispanic Chamber of Commerce was holding its Legislative Summit. These were some of the comments:
For Ricardo Gonzalez, the best coffee that he’s ever had was in the middle of the Coyoacán neighborhood in Mexico City, near the corner of Cuauhtémoc and Centenario streets. “It tasted like heaven. I don’t think that anyone in the world can beat that streetside flavor.” He found another coffee, almost as good, also in Mexico, in Veracruz. “They mix it for you in your cup and it is very rich. An ideal accompaniment to sweet bread.”
Manuel Estrada said: “In Colombia we have the tinto, a morning coffee, which is never reheated.” He said it is “served in a very small cup, and that will do it for you all day.”
Laura Maldonado, a Cuban living in Virginia, said the Cuban cortadito “is a part of my island, spread over the world.” According to Maldonado, that variant of coffee “is more than an espresso with milk, much more. It’s like made in heaven.”
The three left their disposable paper cups on the marble counter and went in search of a Starbucks.
Exploring that adventure will have to wait for another day, or perhaps another coffee. 

Photos by Juan Miret  

Tasting tequilas

 

The atmosphere is not deafening. The music is not loud. Nor will one hear a verse before one gulps a shot, such as “down the hatch.” Tasting tequila is a sort of solemn ceremony, an art where the sense of taste serves as judge of good qualities and shortcomings.

The practice of tasting (“catar”) means “to analyze, classify, break down and judge,” Andrés del Moral, a member of the Mexican Academy of Tequila, said in an e-mail. “The tasting of tequila goes well beyond the sensory analysis; it is an act of harmony between history and the present, the consummation of an ancient process.”

The tasters engage in rigorous training. “In the tasting nothing is improvised. Everything is done at a specific time,” said del Moral. “There are even specific times for tasting tequila. It is a codified art. Even the walls of the place have to be clean; there can be no strong odors. Everything, absolutely everything, must be planned.”

According to del Moral, a taster must evaluate in several ways: identify the colors based on their intensity, vividness, appearance and cleanliness; then take in the smell or bouquet; then by taste – considered as the key step in the process – and finally the touch or feeling sensation. “While it may seem odd, the tasting is also related to the feeling sense,” he said. “The feel of liquor on the tongue, palate, cheeks and lips.”

The classification of tequilas as white, aged up to a year (reposado) or aged beyond a year (añejo) would be “insufficient,” said del Moral. “Therein lies the importance of the tasting, which evaluates all the components that make up a tequila.”

Del Moral stated the oath of the tequila taster: “I promise to drink only the good tequila I find on my path and I will never allow a tequila to consume me.”


Did you know?
The agave is not a cactus, but a plant belonging to the agavaceae family. It has long, fibrous lanceolate-shaped leaves, and is of a bluish-green hue. The part that is used for the production of tequila is the base or heart, also known as pineapple (“piña”).

Photos by Juan Miret 

El Día de los Muertos

Death can mean pain and sadness, but for the Hispanic culture, the Day of the Dead is an event of celebration and family enjoyment.

There is no doubt that death has been interpreted according to the history of each culture, and for that reason one can find different ways to celebrate the eras and the views of the various peoples.

In particular, on the Day of the Dead one can find a syncretism between the religious and pagan, in addition to a clear concern for maintaining  the existing legacy of those who have died.

In this way, during the Day of the Dead, death becomes life through a popular cult that combines prayers, performances, altar and fun.

Religion

According to the Catholic calendar, the Day of the Dead is traditionally celebrated on Nov. 2, corresponding to the Day of All Souls. The provision of commemorating it on that date was an initial attempt to eradicate the pre-Hispanic festivity, considered as sacrilegious and pagan at the time of the Spanish conquest. However, the tradition refused to die and gradually incorporated elements of European cultures. “It is an extraordinary day, because we remember our dead with a feeling of peace and spiritual joy, knowing that they achieved glory,” said Rev. David Medina of Our Lady of Guadalupe Parish in Tulsa, Oklahoma. “This custom, originating with the Aztecs, is a very important tradition, where we celebrate the passage from death to life, because after this life, a better one awaits us.”

Medina explained that it was previously thought that all souls were allowed once a year to visit their loved ones here on Earth. “They built altars, they placed their favorite food of the departed, their special drink. It was a great party.” He added that “as Christians we know that souls cannot come back again, as they are in special place waiting for the resurrection, that is, the Last Judgment, where the Lord calls them to enjoy the heavenly homeland. We continue the tradition because Christian meaning is important. That is why we gather as a family; we build an altar, remembering the lives of our loved ones, their love, their devotion. We even tell anecdotes.”

The altars are the key elements of the tradition. They represent the cultural mix or the “Catholic introducing itself to the Aztec world,” as Medina describes it. In this way symbolic elements that do not belong to the Mesoamerican cultures were added, such as rosaries, crucifixes and sacred icons.

Medina said that the creation of the altars fluctuates according to the idiosyncrasy and items available within a given region, as well as the particularities of different cultures. “Every altar must exhibit four fundamental components: air, fire, earth and water.”

Air is symbolized by the “papel picado” or colored tissue paper cut into shapes. Medina said the pre-Hispanic Aztecs used a rough tree bark of trees, which was covered with color, primarily yellow and purple.

Fire is represented by candles. “This item adds an air of majesty to the altar, but also functions as guide for the souls that return.” That is why torches or candles arranged in the shape of a cross are part of the altars.

Earth is represented by seeds and fruits. Medina recalls the saying: “Dust thou art, and unto dust thou shall return,” from the book of Genesis in the Holy Scriptures.

Water, meant to ease the fatigue of the souls after their journey is represented by the deceased´s favorite drinks.

“With all the elements used to create an altar, we celebrate the memory of those who have gone ahead of us and now rest eternally,” said Medina. “It is not about making fun of death, but about getting together with the family and friends to remember the work and talents of the deceased . We use the moment to pray for his eternal.”

Many of the items that decorated  the altars retain a pre-Hispanic flavor, where it was common to use skulls as fundamental bases for the rituals. “That is why on the altars we see sugar skulls and traditional images of Catrina – a skeletal lady,” said Medina. “But the really important thing is to honor and pray for those who have been called to the kingdom of heaven.”

Culture

Sara Martínez, coordinator of the Tulsa Public Library´s Hispanic Resource Center, says the Day of the Dead is the “perfect multilcultural amalgam.” She said that in “very few traditions can we see such a warm reception within the host culture as in this case. It is so because death is something transcultural; it is fascinating for any culture.”

Martínez noted the importance of the Day of the Dead to the cultural heritage of future generations. “This celebration is critical, very important and much more so when we are exposed to other trends,” she said, adding that “of course, we must understand that the purity of this celebration is found only in books, and the outside of Latin American borders, there are adaptions and changes. This is normal; it is a natural process. It was for the Aztecs and it must be for us and those to follow.”

Arte

Steve Liggett, artistic director of Living Arts of Tulsa, was captivated with the Day of the Dead during a trip to Oaxaca, Mexico. He defines it as a “cultural explosion,” so much that since 1993, he has been organizing an arts festival in honor of that event, observing it on Nov. 1 rather than Nov. 2.

“One of the best forms of contemporary art is a form called installation art,” said Liggett. “The Day of the Dead Arts Festival is a wonderful presentation of this artistic expression.”

Although some people unfamiliar with the tradition of the Day of the Dead might consider it a Hispanic version of Halloween, Liggett emphatically said it is not. “No. This tradition is rich in art, culture and goes far and beyond a simple celebration. It is a way to honor our loved ones.” He said the Day of the Dead “gives us a great opportunity to remember our family and friends.”

For Liggett one of the greatest benefits of the observance is that one can celebrate it “anywhere in the world.” He said “arts do not know about borders or languages; they are beautiful, they are mine, yours, and everybody´s. The Day of the Dead is part of the contemporary art; therefore it is universal.”

  

Defending the ñ

Is it possible to dream in Spanish without the letter ñ? Imagine our world without being able to strike a piñata, without the fall season or “otoño,” without our children, or “niñitos,” playing in the yard – and without our respectful greeting to a familiar elder woman: “Good morning, doñita.”

Or more serious matters: a world where the mole sauce would lack taste, as there would be no jalapeños; cows would explode because the word for milking – “ordeñar” – would be missing; also missing would be beachside “piña coladas,” and perhaps there would be no festive “caribeños” – Caribbean folk.

The issue is that this letter – ñ – is more than just an “n” with a top hat, or a tilde, as a professor of Spanish would say. The ñ is the epitome of the Spanish language; it is the identity of the Hispanic tongue. (Note that the letter ñ is pronounced in Spanish roughly the way the letters N and Y sound when next to one another in the English word “canyon.”)

Even Gabriel García Márquez, winner of a Nobel prize in literature, once said that the “‘ñ’ is not an archeological piece of trash, but quite the opposite: “a cultural leap from one language which left others behind when it expressed in a single letter a sound that other languages continue to make with two.”

In the United States, the defense of the ñ has been led by the Cervantes Institute, a cultural center in New York that is sponsored by the Spanish government, and by the National Association of Hispanic Journalists. Both entities have taken the “eñe” as their standard and in a way as their symbol.

Argentinean composer and author, María Elena Walsh, a fervent defender of the ñ, often repeated: “Ladies (‘señoras’), gentlemen (‘señores’), colleagues (‘compañeros’), and beloved children (‘niños’) – do not let them take away our ñ!”

The ñ and last names
The letter ñ also has a bearing on the tradition and heritage of Hispanic surnames. Its fading role is the result of Anglicization. Thus, we often see Munoz instead of Muñoz, Ibanez rather than Ibáñez, Carreno instead of Carreño, instead of Peña we get Pena, and the list goes on and on.
The Royal Spanish Academy has not stated a position regarding the Anglicisms, which it views as a trait of the English language. “The issue of Anglicisms is very difficult,” said Víctor García de La Concha, academy director from 1998 to 2010, during a conference in 2006. “It’s part of the phenomenon of globalization.”

For now, if one wants the Spanish-language to have a tomorrow – a mañana – then the ñ must be defended as a symbol that identifies speakers of Spanish.
Jose Emilio Pacheco, a Mexican poet, essayist and translator who in 2009 he was awarded the Queen Sofia Prize for Latin American Poetry and the Cervantes Prize, wrote a poem – in Spanish – in honor of the letter.
While the poem itself states that it cannot be translated, included below (with apologies to the author) is an edited version of a translation that appeared in a news report in 2009.

In defense of the ‘eñe’
This animal that growls with the eñe of ‘uña’ (fingernail or claw)
is completely untranslatable.
It would lose the ferocity of its voice
and the eloquence of its claws
in any foreign language.”