José Antonio Pantoja: turning brushes into oars of freedom

A Cuban painter who dreamed about and planned his departure for 15 years now uses the Midwest as his new canvas.

He could have chosen the home of Caribbean exile in the sunny city of Miami, Florida. But he did not like that little Havana of the first world, perhaps because of the proximity of that stormy sea which he saw swallow not only many of his dreams and hopes for 40 years, but friends and acquaintances who tried to cross the 90 miles between the oppressive yoke of the Castro brothers and the land of opportunity.

José Antonio Pantoja, an artist who is 41, considers himself a sort of Cuban Crocodile Dundee who defected from a communist dictatorship, exchanging hunger, oppression, poverty and abuse for just one thing: freedom.

Left behind is the anguish and frustration of wanting to but not being able to, and the torment of living isolated from the world.

And like the vast majority of immigrants who arrive with nothing, except for their talent, today there is much that he enjoys: walking freely, spending hours in the supermarket trying to decide between an endless selection of milk and eggs, enjoying the Internet without fear of being punished and imprisoned, opening the bathroom faucet and know that there is water, enjoying a new dish called pizza, partying with friends who only speak English, driving without difficulties. All of this because his future arrived in June 2011, when he requested political asylum while in the city of Querétaro in Mexico, where he had been invited to an art exhibition that never existed.

“It was like being born again,” recalls the painter, interviewed in his home and studio in the Brady district just north of downtown Tulsa. “The dreams of freedom were no longer just in those old black and white films I used to see in Cuba. It was reality, and in full color.”

Pantoja tells his story almost breathlessly and gesturing with his hands while looking over some of his sketches. “There is so much to talk about that a book could be written,  but everything can be summarized in one word: freedom! My thirst for freedom, my frustration with the reality of Cuba – that is what brought me here.”

From Cuba to Tulsa

The artist often mentions a topic that he finds remarkable: supermarkets. “There is so much abundance,” he said. “I still find it hard to go; it is not easy to adapt, given that 40 years without freedom can traumatize anyone. After living in a little box for 40 years, this is starting to live, but at a speed of a million miles per hour. “

Pantoja said Cubans are under strict food rationing. This is determined by a “supply book,” set up in March 1962 and by which products such as meat – in this case chicken and soy – are limited to 230 grams per month. “It’s the same with eggs and even soap. Everything is controlled. That’s why going to a market here is unimaginable, a fantasy.”

The misery in the country is extreme, Pantoja said. “It’s a form of repression. That and education, when you limit those two things, you have control.” With an average annual salary of $229, it is “impossible to live.”

Pantoja said that he is neither a revolutionary nor a dissident, nor is he a nationalist and much less a Yankee. He is a painter who with his brushes fought the oppression of a regime for 40 years.

He began developing his idea of ​​leaving the island – and technically to become a deserter – when he was very young, he said. “There are paintings where you can appreciate my desire, my search for liberty.”

In fact one of the works in which Pantoja is currently working on in Tulsa depicts a huge cup tied to a monumental balloon, and inside there is a sort of Noah’s ark. “In our minds we still must consider all possibilities, and everything in Cuba is so difficult that one has to think more.”

Pantoja belongs to an elite group of Cuban painters who managed to convince the government to establish a space for artistic expression; it was called the Culture Project, a kind of open-air gallery along the Havana seawall. Of course, this small window of emancipation was achieved through many years of being patient with the humiliations of the regime, including two years of strikes.

Pantoja said that dealing with and taking part in the National Council of Plastic Arts was like living with “a dream-killing machine,” but being there allowed him to further develop his plan to leave because he had Internet access in an office. “Of course, I was watched, very carefully watched,” he explains. “They are watching every key you press.”

That’s how Pantoja turned the frustration of having to hide his works and avoid the pressure of the regime to change his painting’s themes; it was all in an effort to move ahead. His fame on the island turned him into a person beloved by the people and hated by the communist party leaders. “Yet I had very powerful government customers who bought my paintings to make fun of Fidel (Castro) in their homes, behind closed doors.”

Pantoja’s perseverance enabled him to avoid hundreds of bureaucratic hurdles and counter many negatives so that he could obtain approval for a trip to an art exhibition at the Museum of Querétaro, Mexico. “Finally I was able to get the invitation,” he said. After he obtained the “blessed letter,” Pantoja gambled on his future. “I had to either leave the island or end up living in a dungeon. Fortunately, I was able to get out. “

Exile has not been easy. Pantoja, as do other immigrants, opened a wound that is difficult to heal, especially because of what is left behind and because of the uncertainty of the unknown. “It’s hard, very hard,” he said. “But at the same time freedom helps you, it supports you and gives you strength.”

Painting in Oklahoma

“My works give voice to the people of Cuba,” says Pantoja. “There are very few people who can speak out. And fewer who do speak and survive.”

Painting in Tulsa is something he loves. “First, because I have the freedom to do so, and second because it is something new for the other people, who see a world of which they know nothing.”

Pantoja said that through his work “I paint the errors of the revolution.” But he expects the work to be useful for “those who with so much power, can rectify and change, although in truth I doubt they will do so; unfortunately, they only know how to cut the wings of freedom.”

He said his paintings are still sad. “There is no other way; I am traumatized. I have to reflect what I feel,” he said. “It’s a process of liberation and those wounds are still open: I still sense the smell of the sea.”

Pantoja said he will continue painting. “And now that I am out of Cuba, even more so,” he said. “It’s very difficult to create when they kill your dreams, when they crush your ideas. But in freedom you create forever.”

The artist will exhibit some of his work in Tulsa in June, adding photographs and visual objects that will allow the audience to better understand his art.

The painter and his memories of Cuba

“The smell of the sea. One does not forget that.”

“My people. They travel with my paintings.”

“The light of dawn.”

“Cuba got stuck in time and Bejucal [his hometown] cannot even find an hourglass.”

Photo by Juan Miret

Hot dogs: reinventing an American classic

Who would have thought that an emblematic American food – the hot dog – would become a hybrid Hispanic menu item?

This classic snack found at baseball games is no longer a torturous,tasteless boiled frankfurter wrapped in bread as white as a ghost and sprinkled with mustard and ketchup.

That has changed – a lot. The Hispanic-style hot dog is as colorful as a repertoire of excuses from a repentant husband.

“Spicy, tasty and very different from what people are used to,” said Luisa Contreras, who takes the orders at a mobile food stand in the Kendall-Whittier neighborhood. “It has everything on it. It is a full meal.”

This version includes a spicy sausage, sliced ​​fresh tomatoes, onions,j alapeños and a covering of mustard, mayonnaise and ketchup. However, its special touch – “what makes us different from others” – Contreras said, is a “chile de árbol as a garnish.”  This is in addition to some bits of bacon that give it a crunchy texture.

For José Ledezma, a cook at a mobile food stand usually found in eastTulsa, the best hot dog is from the Mexican state of Sonora.

“The bread is a bolillo type of roll,” said Ledezma. He pointed out that the wiener is wrapped in bacon,“but that takes a long time, so I don’t do that part.” The dish is garnished with tomatoes and onions cut into squares. “And two chiles from the grill.”

Ramiro Hernández has a hot dog cart in far southern Bixby, and for three years he has been developing what he considers the best hot dog. “I don’t use store-bought sauces; I make all of them. That is why I am sought out,” he said, speaking in the parking lot of a well-known building supply store. “Plus, I add lettuce, tomatoes and jalapeños.” Another feature of his recipe is that the bread is toasted.

 Maybe hot dogs will not make it to a bullring or be the perfect appetizer for a game of dominoes, but in some way they have been reinvented and adapted to the Hispanic palate.

Tell me where you come and I will tell you what kind of hot dog you eat

As one would expect, Latin Americans have not only transformed a disht hat is claimed by many creators, but whether they are European or American,there are versions that have made ​​the hot dog part of Spanish cuisine. Thus one finds the choripán, an Argentinean version.

“It is an appetizer that is served while waiting for the grilled meat,”said Olga Fugazza, a former Buenos Aires resident who has lived in Tulsa for 14 years. She was shopping in a store in south Tulsa that carries South American products. “It is not frankfurters that are used, but chorizo sausages – beef or pork – cooked on the grill.”

Fugazza said the bread is a country type roll, like the Mexican bolillo.The meat is cut in the middle, giving it the name of “butterfly,” and the sauce is the classic South American  chimichurri.

The Venezuelans have invented some french fries, tiny and thin, that top their hot dogs.

“Besides the three typical sauces – mustard, mayonnaise and ketchup –they come with onion, cabbage and potatoes,” said Estella Suárez, who was with Fugazza buying snacks.

“And there are others that come with cheese, shredded carrots and a few kernels of corn. It is the favorite after a long night of partying.” This version uses the Vienna sausages,which are thinner and usually boiled. The bread is the one usually used for hot dogs.

Photos by Juan Miret

Frida Kahlo, universal woman

 (Photo by artist Elisa Abadí)

It was 105 years ago that Magdalena Carmen Frida Kahlo y Calderón was born in a small blue house in the neighborhood of Coyoacán in Mexico City. Her works immortalized her, and the planet came to know her simply as Frida, a Hispanic who went from being a Mexican to becoming the world’s heritage.

“Frida turned pain into art,” said Flora Peña, a former resident of the Mexican state of Veracruz who is now living in Tulsa. Her home in east Tulsa is a sort of museum honoring Kahlo. “This painting is enveloped in a jungle that may one day give me bananas; for now, I guess it will serve as food for the monkeys.”

Peña discovered the artistic legacy of Kahlo as a teenager. “I grew up in Mexico City and thanks to a visit to Coyoacán, I was able to learn not only about Frida’s work, but her history, the mark she left on Mexico and the world. She was a woman ahead of her time. Even today, her thoughts are very progressive.”

She has many books, paintings, posters and Kahlo keepsakes, but Peña says her collection grows smaller as her friendships grow. “I always ask my friends: Do you know who Frida was? No matter what they answer – yes or no – I give them something about this great artist so that they will remember her and so they will continue to promote her work.”

Venezuelan artist Elisa Abadí, who regularly dresses in the style of Kahlo but with a Caribbean touch, said via Facebook that Frida has been a major influence “because I lived in Coyoacán, next to her house.”

Abadí, whose art is influenced by German expressionism and is splashed with tropical colors and inspired by the turbulent social reality of Venezuela, said that “you cannot imagine the feelings there are in her house,” referring to the famous blue home. “It seems like she is giving you a tour of her space, her room, her kitchen, her studio, her paintings, her easel, her wheelchair. Everything is impressive.” She added: “For me, Frida in four words is: passion, strength, color, life.”

Lozada Angeles, a newcomer to Tulsa from Mexico, is a Frida fan. “I love her, especially because she was a woman who fought for things, and was very proud of her Mexican roots,” she said from her home in south Tulsa while showing a poster bearing many images of the painter’s face. “She is a real woman, no Photoshop. Flesh and bones. I am fascinated by her because she is real.”

Monica Bello, a Tulsa resident who is originally from Guatemala, said “Frida is an example for all women” because “she suffered, but was able to bear her pain with dignity. She fell in love, broke rules, and always, always, was proud of her people.”

Bello has a Kahlo-inspired doll covered with a white mantilla and bearing a crown of flowers. “She looks like a virgin, or better yet, an Indian woman about to marry,” she said. “I bought it for 20 pesos in Coyoacán, many years ago.”

Artist, feminist, dreamer, but above all talented, Frida Kahlo created a magnificent showcase for the world to notice and enjoy Latin American art.

 (Photo by Juan Miret) 

Simply Frida

Born in Coyoacán, Mexico, on July 6, 1907. She died there on July 13, 1954.

The last words she wrote in her diary were: “I await the exit happily and I hope to never return.”

Her life was marked by physical suffering, pain and illness. The first of these misfortunes was when she contracted polio in 1913, which led to a series of ailments, injuries, accidents and operations. The first illness left permanent damage: a right leg that was much thinner than the left. In 1925 she was in a serious bus accident with injuries that affected her for the rest of her life.

She married artist Diego Rivera in 1929. Ten years later she divorced him.

In 2007, coinciding with the centenary of her birth, Mexico’s Palace of Fine Arts displayed 354 of her works in an exhibit titled “Frida Kahlo 1907-2007. National Homage.” It was estimated that the exhibit attracted more than 415,000 visitors, a record number for any artist in that venue.

Did you know?

Kahlo’s life has been twice presented in movies. The first was “Frida, naturaleza viva,” with actress Ofelia Medina, and more recently, “Frida,” with Salma Hayek.

Corn in a cup: portable flavor, permanent roots

It could well be considered the darling of the Mexican appetizers. This explosion of tender corn, freshly removed from the cob, covered with sour cream, bits of salty white cheese, a touch of melted butter, and of course chile, a lot of chile – it leaves the most refined gourmets literally licking their fingers.

“My secret is a knife that is thin and well sharpened,” said Ramiro García, who sells corn in cups from a food stand in east Tulsa. “You can have all the ingredients, but if the knife is not good, you’ll damage the ear and you won’t get the corn kernels as they should be,” said the cook, who is originally from the state of Michoacán in Mexico. This snack is known there as vasolote. “The other thing is to have a pot of boiling water to put the corn just in as soon as you cut it. It is left there for about five minutes.”

García said he leaves salt out of his recipe “because the cheese itself is very salty.” He garnishes it with two lemon wedges and a bit of Valentina sauce or some spicy-fruity chamoy. “It depends on the client’s taste.”

María Gutierrez, whose stand is two blocks from García’s, said the “‘corn in a cup’ does not exist; what exists are esquites.” She says the corn should be fried with onion, chiles and garlic. “The other way in which it is sold is boiled corn with cream. For me, that is not corn in a cup.”

Gutierrez’s sofrito sauce includes green chiles, chile de árbol and some epazote leaves. Its consistency is like a sort of stew with a lot of corn kernels. She said that is how it is eaten in the Mexican state of Hidalgo. “This is the original form.”

Lupita Echeverría sells corn from a mobile food stand in the Kendall-Whittier neighborhood. “The best thing about this dish is that people take it with them and enjoy it while walking or driving,” she said. “My recipe is simple. I mix two types of cheese: yellow to give it consistency and Cotija to flavor it.” She also adds lemon juice to the cream, and then dips it in a mountain of chili powder. “Each mouthful will convey all the flavors.”

Julio Pereira uses mayonnaise instead of cream. “That is like my trademark,” he said as he handled several orders in his stand at Plaza Santa Cecilia in east Tulsa. “Mayonnaise makes it firmer and it tastes better.”

Regardless of the time of day, hot or not, one can get a to-go gift in the form of corn in a cup. It is without doubt the best way to get a bit of our traditions in one’s hands and on one’s taste buds.

How does one choose the best corn?

Cooks who were interviewed agreed on these factors to get tender and fresh corn:

It should be in its husk, which should have a light green color and have no spots.

The corn’s silk should be bright and moist.

The kernels should have a bright color: bright white or yellow.

When the kernels are pressed, they should express a bit of juice; otherwise, they are dry.

Photos by Juan Miret

The ‘Bloody Mary’ of the Hispanics

A beer, even ice cold, is not enough for Hispanics, and while some claim that blondes have more fun, as far as the popular beverage, the opposite is sometimes the case.

It is simply impossible, especially during extremely hot weather, to ignore a michelada, or its next of kin, the chelada.

The barley flavor is enhanced with little tangy Mexicans lemons – proof that “good things come in small packages”. Salt, a dash of Worcestershire sauce, a pinch of soy sauce,black pepper, kitchen seasonings and a bottle of Mexican beer make it a favorite beverage among Hispanics. This explosion of color and flavor might be a kind of Bloody Mary, but on this side of the Atlantic pond.

Beer is not just a component of European cuisine; it is a Hispanic cultural component. Take onefact from history: Only 20 years after the fall of Tenochtitlan, the Aztec center of power, the Spanish conquerors established the first brewery in

America.

The permit for this beer-making establishment was granted in 1542 by King Charles V to Alonso de Herrera – with a condition: that he send Spain a third of the profit from thesale of this beverage. Production was not very successful in the first years because the authorities penalized excessive drinking, and pre-Hispanic alcoholic drinks were deeply rooted in popular taste.

Beer is the alcoholic beverage that is most widely consumed worldwide. Hispanics drink it more than any other alcoholic beverage, including wine. According to a study published in July 2011 by the online magazine América Económica, beer production in Latin America in 2010 stood at 300 million hectoliters, 4 percent above 2009. The main beer-producing countries are Brazil, Mexico and Venezuela, which account for 38, 28 and 10 percent of production in the region, respectively.

Among Hispanics, those who consume the most are Venezuelans, with a surprising 84.2 liters percapita each year. Mexicans are second with 51.5 liters per capita.

Cheladas

“I like the Russian style,” said Manuel Preciado, a cook at a Mexican restaurant downtown. “It islike the chelada, but it is made ​​with a grapefruit soft drink, salt and lots of lemon.”

Despite the many versions, which vary according to the altitude where it comes from, the micheladas or Mexican cheladas consist of mixing beer with lemon, tomato juice,lots of ice and a salt-rimmed glass.

“There are people that add chamoy, tabasco sauce and even oyster sauce,” said José Landaeta, a native of the state of Guerrero in Mexico. “It is consumed that way particularly by those on the coast.”

Landaeta said there are Cuban-style cheladas in which beer is mixed with tropical juices. “But that is for women. Men should drink it only with tomato.”

To battle the heat,one need just embrace the right traditions and customs. There one finds, among many other things, the chelada, which is both a formula to cool down immediately and a sort of antidote for the excesses of the night before. Even  if there is no heat or hangover, then one can resort to the excuse of the flavor – the flavor of culture.

The origin of the Michelada

One popular version for its originpoints to the city of San Luis Potosi, specifically to the Club Deportivo Potosino, where Michel Esper used to order a beer with lemon, ice and salt in aglass known as a chabela. The drink was similar to a lemonade made with beer.This eventually led to the name of the drink. Over time, members of the clubbegan asking for a lemonade like Michel’s, calling it “Michelada.”

Photo by Juan Miret