Food with memory
If there is one thing I learned since I was a child, it is that one of the languages of love is cooking for the other what they like: cooking with true pleasure, with enthusiasm and care. Also, that to make a tasty meal, all you need is to want to, because with two or three ingredients, delicacies are created; or at least that was what my grandmother did, who had the gift of multiplying food.
When I was a child, my grandmother was the one who cooked the most at home (my parents worked) and she did it in a sort of ritual of textures and smells: she seasoned the meats, marinated them, then sautéed the spices (I still remember my grandmother when the onion, chili, and garlic spread their aromas in the pan), then she would place each thing into the pots arranged in the kitchen, while sprinkling salt and pepper as if they were magic powders or a final sigh.
If there is a dish that makes me remember my childhood, it is hallacas. Hallaca is a typical Venezuelan dish, consisting of a kind of cornmeal cake wrapped in plantain leaves, filled with a stew made with meats (chicken, pork, or beef), olives, capers, and raisins. Similarly, depending on the area where you live, it may include eggs, potatoes, carrots, and even chickpeas. These cakes are boiled and are typically eaten during Christmas celebrations, accompanied by chicken salad, ham bread, and black roast.
At home, hallacas have always been made together in a festive atmosphere: my grandmother would make the stew, my mother would wash and cut the banana leaves, and we had small tasks like chopping the bell peppers, cutting the string, or washing the green onions. Mom and grandma, when everything was ready, would arrange the ingredients on the table, put on their aprons, have the music playing, and start the work, which could last for hours.
When the first hallacas were ready, they would give us some to try and thus "give it the thumbs up" or "to check the seasoning" with a bit more salt, garlic, or spice. Every person who arrived at the house would be given their piece of hallaca because at home, although there wasn't much, there was always enough food to give away, to share, even if we had to divide our hallacas into 3 or 5 pieces.
Likewise, if there is a dessert that I remember with true affection and gratitude, especially now that I have discovered the love that was in it, it is the Chocuta. The Chocuta was a humble dessert that my grandmother made with old bread and sugar water when, at snack time, hunger made our stomachs rumble and we jumped around Grandma wanting something sweet. Then Grandma would boil water, add sugar to it, then chop the bread that had been left over from the day before and stir it slowly, with patience, without haste, until the bread soaked up that sweetness that came from her fingertips.
People say that love is a feeling that is expressed with words, kisses, hugs; but in my house, I was taught that it is also given with spoonfuls, sips, with the smells that come from the stove, with a plate of food served. For me, the kitchen is not just a place, but a way to express feelings and show affection.
This post is in response to the new initiative that the @silverbloggers community has for all of us. I'll leave the invitation post over here in case you want to participate . Regards.
All images are from my personal gallery and the text was translated with Google
Thank you for reading and commenting. Until next time, friends
Such a touching and beautifully written piece! Cooking truly is a powerful expression of love, and your words perfectly capture the warmth and memories tied to every dish. 🍽️❤️👩🍳
Food, when made with affection, turns out delicious. Love is the best-kept ingredient of those who love to cook. Regards and thank you for your comment.
Se me hizo agua la boca
Venezolano que se respete, le gusta la hallaca, amiga. Saludos
The hallaca is also one of my favorite dishes; I would say it is part of the heart of Venezuelans because it tastes like family, like home, and as you rightly say, cooking for others is also an act of love. I also love that you talk about your grandmother, it reminded me of mine. Blessed greetings!
Those of us who had the blessing of growing up under the protection of our grandmother know that there is nothing like her meals, her little treats, and her stories. Regards, friend.
Happy and grateful for your support, my friend. Best wishes to the entire @ecency team.
Awe Nancy, what an absolutely lovely response to this week's Chronicles!. I truly believe food is often made as an act of love.
This was my first read for the day, what a great start to my day. Thank you🥰
I'm glad you liked it, my friend. I think it's really nice when we cook for the people we love. It's a very meaningful act of love. In fact, it's not just what you give, but how you give it: the joy and love you put into making each dish. Big hugs to you.🫂
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Food tastes nicer when it is made with love and passion🥰.
That's right, my dear. A meal prepared with sadness will surely not taste the same as one prepared with care and joy. Best regards.
Oh yes I remember coquicoin telling us about Hallacas. I can imagine it being a great time at Christmas when you were a child doing your chores.
It was funny you know, I started reading the post and I saw the first picture, I thought Nancy was going to show us her cooking!
Great recipe for a memory Nancy :)
My kitchen? Are you curious to see where I make my magic potions? Hahaha. A witch's hug for you, Ed.
Haha yes I am. A wizard's hug to you Nancy :)
Ah... How tasty is the Hallaca made with care and affection! Yes, I think like you; cooking is science and art, but above all, an act of love.
I loved your post, my friend.
Greetings
The memories we have from childhood, the Hallacas, the taste and smell not only of a sensational time of year but also a time of family togetherness. Greetings, good post.