A Love Letter to Mi Nana and her Curtido
A Love Letter to Mi Nana and her Curtido
I recall an assignment from my high school Spanish- Natives class: ask a family or close community member to share their immigration narrative with you and create a transcript. It has taken me well over ten years to see my mother as more than a young woman who has no interest in moving to the US but rather as a daughter and granddaughter who gave herself the opportunity to experience a different world and be able to return to her home.
My mother is an Aries Sun, and she raised me to see the fire that I carry within. She showed me how to use my fire to cultivate the land that is our field of Esperanza y Fe. She shared her wisdom by maintaining a curious spirit and with intentions of not only clearing but paving the path for her children and generations to come. She paved a path that extends from Los Angeles, California, to Chinamenca, San Miguel, El Salvador. The refugee mother is a mother that plants cafe y maiz to guide her path from her new home to the place where her heart was partially left.
A love letter to celebrate Womxn’s Herstory Month. A declaration of love in the form that I receive it. Resilience tastes like curtido. I see my mother’s love and ternura when she prepares
Her curtido.
My mom’s curtido is like a bowl of healing herbs being prepared to mend the spirit.
One begins by examining the quality of every ingredient, moving with ease and grace as the water cleanses the bits of earth. We begin with the repollo (the head of cabbage) and with the intention comenzamos a picar (begin to dice) and place in a bowl. Next, we prepare the carrots, and we peel the first layer as a symbol of our willingness to be present and open. We continue to peel the remaining layers from three carrots as a symbol of integrating ourselves into our purpose and honoring our talents. Then comes the freshness of the two to three cucumbers, depending on the size. The cucumber is then cut into thinly sliced half moons to demonstrate the power of transparency, vulnerability, and complexity in togetherness. We slice one onion to remind ourselves that it is okay to cry and that jalapenos are optional.
The last two ingredients are salt and spicy vinegar. It is important that we practice patience at this point in the process because although we are nearly done, the last part requires a level of intuition or faith. We mix the salt with all the vegetables and mix thoroughly. We let it sit until the mixture has released all of the water, and then we strain. A reminder to trust the process. The final step is to add the spicy vinegar. If you are like me, I let it all finally sit together for 24 hours before I begin to add the healing curtido to all the nourishing food she and I make.
My mother’s curtido pays homage to all the refugee mothers who planted cafe y maiz from the motherland to their new home.